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When I come home from work, the gin and tonic awaits me on the coffee table: two ice cubes, the lime already squeezed into the drink to flavour it. A Bach harpsichord piece (something from the Well-Tempered Clavier?) is playing quietly. Kimmy doesn’t come out yet. She knows I want a few minutes alone first, to sink into the sofa, kick off my pumps, sip my drink, close my eyes, and anticipate what’s to come. Our evening ritual, as of three months or so ago. Kimmy likes ritual.
Presently, I stand up, stretch a bit to get the circulation going again in my forty-seven-year-old limbs. Languidly, I shrug off my jacket, unbutton my blouse, and drop them on the floor by the sofa. I unzip my skirt, drop it by its kindred. I peel off my thigh-high stockings and wiggle my toes. In my bra and panties now, I sink back into the sofa; the supple leather feels slightly cool against my the bare skin of my back and thighs. I take another sip.
“Kimmy … I’m ready.”
Ah, here she comes into the living room, just a few seconds later, naked, carrying a neatly folded towel and the KY jelly. Kimmy is a big girl — not tall, but abundantly proportioned, fore and aft. Particularly aft. It always take my breath away, that big nether-cushion of hers. Venus Steatopygia. I’m the top, and, oh yes, she’s my bottom.
I discovered her in a cubicle in our purchasing department, a year and a half ago: an office-girl cog in our corporate machine; early twenties, cute, with bobbed, honey-coloured hair, blue eyes, big front teeth; and ‘overweight’ (in her own estimation), with self-esteem issues. She lapped up the positive attention I gave her, after I seconded her to my office. She quickly focussed on what pleases me, and (within days) began making subtle, flirtatious gestures of submissiveness. She really was — is — quite a find. After a few weeks of hanky-panky at work, I offered her a more … permanent … position as my private housekeeper and live-in pet. My partner, really — for heavens sake, it’s not as though I have her on a salary or anything mercenary like that.
I stand up and kiss Kimmy on her forehead; she kisses the palm of my hand: a ritual greeting rather than a display of passion. Though the passion is building between us. But I don’t begin to touch her … yet. Kimmy smiles, unfolding the towel and spreading it on the sofa. I sit back down on it. The towel is there in case Kimmy gets … over-enthusiastic, later on. She puts the KY on the coffee table, by my glass.
“How was your day, Mummy?” (We don’t go in for that ‘Mistress’ business. ‘Mummy’ is a bit … tenderer, warmer, and the incestuous overtones make it more deliciously perverse as well.)
“Ghastly,” I close my eyes and rub my temples. (I know Kimmy is longing right now to rub my temples for me, to run her fingers through my short grey hair. Later.) “Wall-to-wall meetings, *and* a last-minute presentation to the board of directors. I don’t think they’re going to go for my real estate expansion plan.” I smile up at her. “But I don’t want to think about any of that right now, Pet.” I take another sip of my G&T, and I pat my lap.
She climbs onto the sofa, kneeling beside me, a bit awkwardly, lying face down across me, with her big rosy-pink arse in my lap, her head resting on her folded arms. She smells of baby powder. I begin lightly stroking the backs of her thick thighs, moving up over the magnificent swell of her rump. People go illegal bahis on about firm arses; but I adore Kimmy’s for its softness. I love the way it ripples and quivers under my fingers. Pure blubber.
“And what did you do today, Pet?”
“Well, I went food shopping, and did all the laundry the way you wanted. Ooh, that feels so nice, the way you touch me, Mummy. Then I went to my history tutorial, came home and read some more of those Virginia Woolf short stories. Ooh, I forgot to mention, I got us some lovely halibut steaks for dinner.” And as she chatters on, up and down my hands roam, stroking and kneading her big pillowy, arse cheeks, enjoying how the small of her back dips in, and then her hips balloon out in such a breathtaking curve. Soon her narrative gives way to contented sighs and cooings. It soothes me so, touching her like this. Soothes me and excites me at the same time, fairly puts me in a trance. If we were cats, we’d both be purring.
Sometimes I wonder what our relationship is based on, aside from the powerful erotic attraction we have for each other. (Yes, and aside from my good health, I’d be ill.) Our ages, our backgrounds, many of our tastes and interests are different. I suppose that doesn’t bode well for a permanent relationship. But … we find things to talk about, just the same. Kimmy is a cheerful chatterbox: sometimes I just let her words wash over me, not paying too much attention to what she’s going on about, but enjoying the sound of her voice, her animation. I’ve gotten Kimmy into a university programme, and she’s doing moderately well; but I know she’ll never have the makings of a high-powered financier or business manager. Like me. On the other hand, with my money — our money — she won’t have to.
What Kimmy does have is a powerful need to please me. At first, there seemed to be something insecure about that need, as though it was driven by some inner fear or emptiness; but lately, she’s become more self-confident about it, less desperate: she knows how to please her Mummy, and it pleases her to do so. It feels like … she loves me? Old dyke that I am, my aging body and all. And when I curl up against her in bed at night, after we’ve made love, and feel her breathing softly as she falls asleep, I feel a love for her that you could build a cathedral on.
She opens her thighs a fraction of an inch wider, the subtlest shift of position, but I can read in it my Kimmy’s eagerness. I can smell her eagerness, for that matter. I begin to trace big circles round her gelatinous cheeks, encompassing the outside of her hips and thighs, and on the inward sweep my fingers lightly graze the friction patches of her inner thighs and barely enter the deep crevice of her arse — a hint of what’s to come.
“Ooh, Mummy … soon?”
“Ssh. Patience, Pet.” But after a few more minutes of this, I relent. She’s been such a good girl, and I can’t resist much longer myself. “OK, Pet, the KY.” She has to reach it for me: I’m pinned down in the sofa by her weight, and her big arse is between me and the coffee table. Awkwardly, she hands it round to me over her head, her heavy breast flopping out from underneath her, hanging off the sofa. She tucks it back under her. Mmm, tempting … but I’ll attend to those tits later.
“Open up now, Pet,” I murmur. Her fingers at the ready, she reaches back to spread her cheeks for me. The crevice does open a bit; but there’s just illegal bahis siteleri so much arse, she can’t get hold of enough of it to open it very much, the crevice is just sooo deep. I know all this, of course, but I do appreciate her gesture. So now my fingers join the effort, parting her cheeks wide, at last laying bare my prize: Kimmy’s anus, a small, dusky swirl of muscle in the floor of that valley. As I lean forward and breathe on it warmly, it winks at me. Kimmy giggles.
I let go, and the crevice closes up a little; but Kimmy’s fingers have gotten a slightly better grip on her cheeks, so it’s still nicely nicely open. I squirt a generous blob of KY on my two fingers.
Starting at the top of the crevice, by her tailbone, I delve in with my KY-coated fingers, painting a trail of lubrication along the floor of the furrow, towards her anus. I haven’t warmed up the lube, and she shudders at the slight shock of it, like jumping into cool water, but in reverse.
“Be still, Pet.”
I squirt some more KY onto my fingers, painting a trail round her anus (but not touching it), to her perineum, before sinking, a scant two inches, into her neglected honey-pot. Kimmy’s cunt muscles try frantically to suck the fingers in deeper. She whimpers.
“I said to be still,” I scold. Her honey-pot is going to stay neglected for the time being. And she knows it. (Wait till tonight, Pet, I’ll more than make it up to you, I want to tell her.) It’s her other orifice that’s on the agenda right now.
Reluctantly, my fingers withdraw from her hot, wet tunnel, moving down to spread a little lube on her inner thighs (which are already getting wet from her own nectar). I squirt on some more KY, and slowly begin roaming back up toward her tailbone along the floor of her well-lubricated furrow, then back down toward her cunt lips and thighs, spreading the lube over her sensitive inner flesh, still giving a wide berth to her anus. The valley is now slathered with lube, a mixture of KY and, increasingly, her own cunt-honey (Christ, she smells heavenly!): I want her feeling all wet and slick in there, from between her legs to her tailbone; it will intensify the sensation when she clamps down. I’m beginning to feel rather wet myself, whether from my own excitement or Kimmy’s secretions flowing onto my crotch, I can’t say.
Kimmy’s trying very hard, I have to give her credit, to remain still as I continue to lube up the crevice of her arse; though I’m aware of her micro-shudders, her little gasps of mounting excitement. Each time up and down the valley, my fingers come a little closer to the vortex of her anus.
OK, enough torment. My slick fingers deliberately begin to circle right around her rim, till at last I’m touching her very core. It’s time for the main event.
“Yes, Mummy, oh yes, ohyes, ohyes ohyesohyesoh …”
And then I press, firmly. Abruptly, my middle finger penetrates her, all the way to the third knuckle. Her arse muscles clamp down on me, hard, and she gasps sharply.
I hold still for a moment, till she relaxes again. “Are you ready for more, Pet?”
“Ooh, please, Mummy, yes.” I draw my finger out, squeeze on some more KY, and now sink both my index and middle fingers, a little more slowly this time, all the way in.
“Uuuungh,” she whimpers, her eyes closed. “It’s so gooood.” And then I begin moving my fingers inside her, a gentle, rhythmic in-and-out, with a little rotation. canlı bahis siteleri This is my idea of heaven: my fingers delving in Kimmy’s arsehole, savouring the silky, warm tightness of it. I see her magnificent thighs and arse cheeks shudder and jiggle as I thrust into her, and she squirms back, trying to take me in deeper. She can’t hold her buttocks open any longer — she balls her hands into fists — and her deep arse crevice swallows my hand, up to the wrist.
I withdraw my fingers from her anus (“No, Mummy, please don’t stop, pleease …”). I want her to feel the emptiness of not having me inside there, for a moment, and I stroke up and down her furrow instead, concentrating on her sensitive perineum. But then, pausing to add a fresh dollop of KY, I plunge back in (“Oooh … yes, don’t stop, Mummy, don’t stop …”), resuming my movements, but this time curving my fingers, rubbing down behind Kimmy’s uterus, massaging it, stimulating her G-spot from the other side.
“Oh, Mummy, it’s so close … it’s so good … please? … Victoria?”
(That’s the only time she calls me by my full name, Victoria: to ask permission to come. At home, it’s Mummy, and in public, it’s Vicky.) “Wait, Pet, wait just a bit.” I give her another minute of vigorous thrusting with my fingers — I want it to build, I want her to have a big one today — and then I forcefully resume the G-spot massage.
“Yes, Kimmy, yes, darling, come for me, now.” She begins trembling, wriggling. “Give me your cummy, Pet.” Her powerful arse muscles clamp down on my fingers so strongly, I’m half-afraid she’s going to snap them off inside. Her legs are scissoring. She lets out a high-pitch wail, and I suddenly feel hot wetness gushing into my lap. I continue my movements, triggering another small gush, and her wailing goes on, in little crescendos, till at last her voice is ragged, and the gushes cease.
I withdraw my aching fingers from her anus. I give one more caress of my slick hand up and down her furrow, and then plant my hand on her hip with a wet, gooey love-pat.
I want so badly to continue this lovemaking, I love her so much, she excites me so much, the smell of her cunt-honey is driving me crazy, I want to come, I need so badly to come for her it hurts …
Decorum must be observed. Every ritual must have a closing. It’s better to let the desire build a bit inside myself.
Kimmy’s breathing slowly returns to normal. She sits up.
“Well, Pet, I think we both need a shower after that.” We stand, a bit unsteady on our feet for a moment. I peel off my bra and my soaked knickers. She picks up the towel and wipes off my hand, and my lap, and then her own, with the dry corners. Hmm. Maybe we should use two towels tomorrow. Kimmy eyes my bare cunt, with longing.
“Can I make you come in the shower tonight, Mummy?”
“No, Pet, I’d like to make it a short shower: I’m getting hungry for dinner. Halibut steaks, you said?”
“Uh-huh. With baby carrots. And I baked some fresh baguettes this afternoon. I know you like them.”
We walk to the bathroom, she turns on the shower. We step inside. Under the spray, I put my arms round her soft body, squeezing her big breasts against mine, looking into her eyes. “That was quite a cummy you gave me there, Pet. It made Mummy very happy.”
The look on Kimmy’s face is … radiant, exultant. I can’t resist kissing her, and she kisses me back, passionately. Christ, her body feels good. But I pull back before it gets out of control.
“After dinner … I’ve some ideas we might try,” I murmur . Excitement flashes in her eyes. I rub noses with her. “I think you deserve something special tonight, Pet.”
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