Duncan Fox: Spankin mommy

God, though, it would be good to have a man again. It was getting harder and harder to remain faithful to Chuck.

She would discuss Charlie's problem with Eric, she decided. He would know what to do. Then she would have to discourage Eric's advances again. If he ever tried to physically press the issue, he would win. He was huge. Carla shivered. Her pussy became unexpectedly wet. Resolutely, she put on her robe and went out to the living room to see what was on television. She glanced at the clock. Charlie should be home soon.

Ann Jones did nothing to discourage him, so Charlie slid one hand over her right titty. The gentle hill of flesh felt excitingly warm and soft. He could feel her hard nipple through the soft, clinging cashmere of her sleeveless sweater. She wasn't wearing a bra this time.

His heart began to beat more quickly. He shifted to ease the agony from his cramped hard-on. He brushed his thumb over the alert button of her tit, felt it twist under, then spring back. His hand engulfed the entire mound of her boob. He massaged it, fascinated by its incredible warmth and softness.

Her hand was hot on his thigh. He felt her fingers move slowly up towards his crotch. She scratched one fingernail over the taut denim, across his cockhead. The tickling vibrations drove him mad. He felt a hot, stinging seeping stain his pants.

The movie on the drive-in screen went on, unwatched. Charlie wondered what to do next. He had no trouble remembering the pictures in the magazine, but he had no idea how to get from where he was to where he wanted to be. This was as far as he had ever gone.

His leg was cramped. He shifted it, and banged his knee painfully against the steering wheel. Monotonously, he fondled Ann's titty. He couldn't figure out how he could get his hand inside her sweater. It buttoned up the back, and she was tucked firmly under his arm. He would have to release the treasure of her boob and ask her to sit forward in order to do it.

He felt like he was going to faint as he considered it. Then he felt her easing the zipper of his fly down, and thought he was going to die. His cock surged up through the open gap, threatened to burst right out of his underpants. Then, incredibly, with Ann's help, it did. His tower of hard, hot meat speared up through the fly of his underpants, and her diminutive, yet strong finger curled around his rigid shaft. A second wave of searing stickiness flooded his cock, overflowed and spilled out. Instead of recoiling from his flow with disgust, the girl spread the slippery fluid over his blazing rod. Her fingers skated slickly along his overheated flesh.

He was still stupidly massaging her boob through her soft sweater, not having the foggiest notion of what to do next. Obviously, she was willing to go farther.

Tentatively, awkwardly, he reached across in front of himself and touched her knee. She pushed her thigh firmly against his and spread her legs. He moved his fingers up. Her skin was smooth, and soft, and hot. Her skirt eased up as he slid his hand up towards her crotch.

He kept waiting for her to stop him. She didn't. He moved his hand higher and higher. He felt her shift under his other arm. She eased her ass forward on the seat and slumped down farther. Her head resting on his arm, she presented her crotch for his exploration. He couldn't quite believe it was happening. He had his hand at least halfway up her thigh, maybe farther. Her legs gleamed ghostly white in the darkness.

It got hotter and more humid the farther up under her skirt he went. Her hand was pumping slowly up and down on his prick. She knew exactly what she was doing! Jesus! And what if he should come? Christ, he'd get it all over her hand. He wanted to warn her, to stop her, but couldn't. Jesus!

His fingertips touched hair! Under it she was unbelievably hot and humid and soft. She didn't have any panties on! Slyly, he explored the forbidden territory, touched the springy curls, the incredibly soft, warm, yielding flesh. He touched something wet, and pulled back.

"Yes," Ann groaned softly. Her hand tightened convulsively on his throbbing hard-on.

Delicately, Charlie touched her again. His fingers slid into a warm, wet nook, probed the soft petals of hot, slick flesh. He ran his fingers up and down her rippled moist gash. Ann's head rolled on his arm. He was mindlessly squeezing her titty, still through the sweater, but was hardly aware of what he was doing.

"In," Ann moaned softly. "In."

Hardly believing he had heard her right, he obeyed. His fingers seemed to be sucked into her dripping hole. Its longest finger plumbed her searing, clinging cunt. It gripped him warmly. Pussy hair brushed the rest of his hand. He felt her hips heaving, shifting and rolling. Her torso was twisting, making it hard for him to keep his grip on her boob.

"Deeper," Ann whimpered.

Charlie drove his finger into her cunt as deeply as he could. He felt her drenched interior, the rippled walls of her snatch, ease aside as he penetrated her wet hole.

"Ahhh," Ann sighed softly.

She began pumping her fist on his prick faster, more insistently. The slippery wet seeping were a slick paste between her palm and his cock. Her fingers pressed the nerve-laden underside of his prick, milked waves of juice out of him. He felt his nuts knotting up against his crotch. He wanted to tell her to stop before it was too late, but couldn't get the words out. He couldn't tell her. It was going to feel so good, better than when he jacked himself off. Besides, it was too late. It was too late. He could feel it about to happen, it was going to happen. It was beginning to happen. An, Christ! It was happening, happening.

His body was consumed by the flames of his youthfully urgent orgasm. His prick lurched and recoiled, pumped thick gouts of creamy rich jizz into the air. His balls, his hips, his ass, every muscle in his body, clenched, added force to the spurting eruption. Every gooey wad of cum was a high-voltage jolt that seared the length of his cock.

"Yes!" Ann hissed. "Yes! That's it, that's it, that's it!"

He didn't know if she was talking about his orgasm, or what his hand was doing in her fountaining crotch. The walls of her cunt pulsed around his finger. He pumped it in and out of her hole with a fucking motion. Her slender legs crossed, damped around his hand, pinned it in her moist pussy, then slowly relaxed as his prick began to shrink in her grasp.

Charlie was conscious of the heavy odor of jizz. There was also an unfamiliar smell – Ann's cunt juice. He extracted his hand from her twat. He was aware of fluids drying cold on his fingers, his pants. Ann's hand had to be drenched.

"I… I'm sorry," he mumbled awkwardly.

"There's… uh… there're some tissues in the glove compartment."

"Thanks," Ann replied matter-of-factly, leaning out of the circle of his arm to reach for them. She handed him a wad, and then, still sitting up, began cleaning her hand. She held it close to her face – it looked almost as if she were licking the cum off. But that was impossible.

Unwilling to lose touch with her completely, Charlie stroked the graceful curve of her back. She was sitting on the edge of the seat. His fingers bumped over the buttons of her sweater. She threw him a brief, coy, happy glance over her shoulder when he began toying with the top one.

Experimentally, Charlie unbuttoned it.

Ann kept her back to him and began squirming sensuously.

He unbuttoned the next button, and the next, exposing a narrow vee of skin, and the line of her spine. He stroked one finger down the vee of flesh. She shivered delightedly. Not only was she not upset by what had happened, she seemed eager to go still farther.

He unbuttoned yet another button. Then, almost hurrying, he finished quickly. The sweater fell open the full length of Ann's back. There was no interruption of the sleek expanse – no bra, no anything. He had never imagined a girl's back could be so erotically stimulating. Tenderly, spreading her sweater still more, he stroked her smooth skin. His cock began to get hard again, and he remembered he hadn't tucked it back in.