Rex Taylor - Mother lover

Seeing Gwen at all was a big surprise. They had been closer when Cathy was much younger, but for the past nine years most of Gwen's work had kept her out of the country altogether. Gwen was a reporter for a national magazine, and she spent a lot of time abroad running down stories and interviewing celebrities. During those nine years Cathy had lived almost exclusively at one boarding school or another, and she had almost gotten used to not having a mother at all.

And then, just over a week ago, Gwen had turned up at Miss Proctor's School to inform her daughter that the long separation was finally over, that the magazine had given her a transfer, to the Washington, D.C., offices. In July, the two of them would move into a house Gwen had already found in Georgetown, and come fall Cathy could start in at one of the many good private schools about the nation's capitol.

It couldn't have come at a worse time. After eighteen years Cathy had finally fallen irrevocably, permanently in love, with a young college student who helped out as a languages tutor at Miss Proctor's. While conjugating French verbs, Cathy had made her declaration of undying love, italicizing it by removing her blouse and placing his hands upon her conveniently braless tits. He had turned red at the first contact, and then his hands had seized upon her boobs with an eagerness Cathy wasn't quite ready for, and before she could get around to telling him how much she wanted to be the mother of his children and the love of his life, he had her lying on the carpeted floor of the study room with her skirt raised, her panties lowered, and his cock poised on the threshold of her quivering pussy.

Involuntarily she winced at the sudden remembrance of the first stabbing thrust he had made with his cock inside her virgin cunt, and, wincing, she likewise involuntarily squeezed tight upon Chris' hand holding hers. He returned the tender pressure and she was glad she'd remembered.

That had been about six months ago. About? It was at 7:35 p.m. on the evening of January twenty-ninth. A girl doesn't forget when she sacrifices her cherry upon the altar of love. And it had been a nice experience, all in all. Cathy hadn't climaxed that first time, but she soon got over that. And the third time she and her lover got together, he had made her a gift of a medical prescription which, when filled, allowed Cathy to look forward to many weeks of worry-free screwing.

Of course, being able to fuck without fear of getting knocked up had its effect on Cathy, too. She realized within a matter of days that she didn't really love her tutor, that she was merely trying to rationalize her sex impulse, but what the fuck? When he put his cock inside her and she began to tighten her snug pussy upon it, she felt good, and he felt good, and so what if they weren't intending to make it a permanent, lifetime arrangement? What hurt most was to realize that she had been missing out on this for so long. Her tits had begun to sprout in brown-capped buds when she was eleven, and by the time she'd started eighth grade, the other girls, were calling her "Beaver" every time she undressed for an after-gym shower. She'd been ready for fucking long before she had managed to screw her courage to seduce her tutor.

What was strangest, Cathy thought, was how she'd lived eighteen years, almost, without ever being fucked and now, only six months after her first screw, it seemed to be a completely wasted week that didn't allow her to have something long, hard, and hot stuffed inside her pussy. Jesus, she said to herself as they walked into the woods, it's been nine days! And she knew as surely as she knew her own name that if this absolutely gorgeous guy didn't ball her, she'd have no choice but to rape him on the spot.

"See," he was telling her. "The island may be a tourist haven, but here in the woods you can feel just like Robinson Crusoe before he met Friday-all alone, with nature your only companion." Chris stopped in the shade of a big and ancient oak whose branches overhung them like a canopy. The leaves above their heads filtered the sunlight shining down, and the soft lighting gently accented the golden highlights of Cathy's hair and the rosy, lightly tanned pink of her young flesh. She reminded him of an impressionist painting or a David Hamilton photograph, and he wanted very much to touch her.

"It's really beautiful and quiet here," she said with a delicate huskiness in her voice. She looked at him. He was staring at her with the hunger so plain in his eyes, and she wondered if he might not be frightened. Why should he be? Chris was a good-looking guy-he had to know he was good-looking-and he should be able to read the message her own eyes were doing their damnedest to broadcast to him.

She sucked in her breath, making her tits rise smoothly for his inspection. A little flush spread across her face and she laughed reassuringly. Cathy's eyes dropped imperceptibly, peeking once more at the bulge in the front of his trunks. It seemed a little bigger than before, as if horny blood were beginning to engorge his cock in anticipation.

Her foot hesitated a moment. She was going to approach him, to take his hands in hers, to let her body brush against his, to touch him with her lips. Surely that would give him the message. Her eyes glanced past his figure and she said, "Oh. What's that?"

He turned. "That?" he said, and there was a little choke in his voice she hadn't expected. He

was getting hot for damn sure, she knew in that moment. "It's just a pond."

I can see that, she thought. "Is it deep? I mean, I'd love to swim in some fresh water. The salt in the ocean makes my hair brittle, and I think it's ruining my complexion." She waited for his answer, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Oh, sure," he said. "It's plenty deep enough for swimming."

"Well, come on, then!" she squeaked, and she bounced away from him, making for the wooded pond. He came up beside her while she stood on the bank looking at the surface of the water, where the overhead sun cast silver blades of light across the clear green. "It even looks dean," she said. "At least compared to the Hudson or the Connecticut."

"It's clean," he said, his voice still a bit shaky. He stepped forward and put his toes into the water, shivering at the cool tingle that raced through him. Goddamn it, he cursed inwardly. He'd been just about to give her a try, too! Maybe he'd read her wrong. Maybe all she wanted to do was talk and walk.

Cathy reached up behind herself, then presented her back to Chris. "Untie me," she said. "I can't quite reach it." Of course that wasn't true-after all, she'd put her bikini on with no help at all-but she knew instinctively that helping a girl undress was a real turn-on for guys.

He'd undone the bow holding up her bra before he realized it, and all he could do was stare at her suddenly bare back as she let the bra fall and flutter to the ground. Her hands skidded down her smooth sides to pull open the bows securing her panties and these, too, dropped. In the twinkling of an eye she'd become completely naked, and he was staring at her back, almost entranced, unable to take his eyes off the sinuous line of her spinal column, from where it showed beneath the fall of her hair to where it joined the perky, plump swell of her bitable-looking butt.

She smoothed hands across her golden hair and turned around to face him. He pursed his lips as he drank in the sight of her nudity. The bikini had been flattering and a turn-on when it was covering her body so provocatively, but naked? God! His eyes bulged until he was sure they must be fully as large and round as the pink, plump tits that perched high and proud on her chest, topped off by slightly oval-shaped nipples, brown and beautiful, the paps already beginning to stiffen under the frankness of his gaze.