admin
07 Ağustos 2023, 10:11
"A Viennese Oyster, what the bloody hell is that, something you eat?"
"No," I replied, it's a sex position. One that I'd like to see you in. But yes, I could eat you that way."
"Okay, I know I said I'd try anything once," said Margaret, warily. "But what does it look like?"
I passed over the iPad. The blonde, nude model had her legs pulled right back so that her ankles were crossed behind her head, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her bottom was tilted invitingly upwards, displaying her spread vulva, and the stretched brown ring of her anus.
"Fuck me!" Margaret's eyes went round with surprise. "She's got her ankles behind her ears. How am I supposed to do that?"
"First of all, yes," I replied. "The idea is to fuck you like that. Secondly, don't focus on the difficulty, look at the aesthetics, doesn't she look beautiful? So open, so exposed and vulnerable. Wouldn't you love to show yourself to me like that? Thirdly, you go to yoga. It's just the same as a pose called the Sleeping Yogi, it can't be much more difficult than some of the positions I've seen you practise. Like that one where you bend all the way forward, put your hands on the floor and your head against your knees. Or when you hold onto your foot and extend your leg up straight."
I enjoyed watching Margaret practise her yoga positions, especially when she did them in the nude. Which she was happy to do whenever I asked her. Margaret was no skinny, long legged model. She had the curves and creases of a mature mother of two grown up kids. But she reminded me of a flexible Nigella Lawson. Not that I'd ever seen that celebrity chef naked (although I certainly would like to), but watching Margaret nude and sweating, as she worked through her routine, was a certain turn-on, and we usually ended up fucking like rabbits on her yoga mat. I often wondered what her class mates would think if they knew just how often we had both climaxed on that mat.
She wasn't exercising now, though. We were both in bead, reading. Naked. Ever since the kids had stopped demanding to sleep in our bed, we never wore pyjamas. And if it was cold, there was an easy way to warm up. Margaret was reading Elena Ferrante's Neapolitan trilogy. I'd given up on Luke McCallin, and was looking at porn, dropping hints by occasionally stroking my throbbing erection, wondering how long it would take before Margaret put her Kindle down. Suspiciously eyeing the tent pole under the bedsheet, she had eventually asked me what I was looking at. Hence the discussion of the Viennese Oyster.
'I'll ask Marianne to include it in our classes from now on shall I? I bet you'd love to see that, a roomful of sweaty women with their ankles behind their ears. What if she wants to know why? Do I tell her that you want to fuck me like that?"
"I'm sure she knows full well what you and your girlfriends get up to with all that increased flexibility." I reached over and gently pulled the Kindle out of her grasp. She didn't resist.
"Like that is it? You're bored reading, you can't keep your cock under control, and you expect me to do something about it." She was grinning though, and her hand reached across the bed and grasped my shaft. "Quick hand job before you go to sleep, or would you like me to tell you a bedtime story."
"I was thinking of more than that," I replied, rolling to face her and reaching a hand over to her breast, my fingertips brushing her nipple to hardness. "I'm serious about the oyster though. I'd looooove to see you in that position. And I'm sure you can get there with a bit of practise. I'll help of course."
She squeezed and tugged on my erection. We were gazing into each other's eyes now, and I slid my hand down over her belly to her crotch. She opened her legs sufficiently to give me access to her shaved sex, and sighed gently as I parted her labia and tested the warm wetness between.
"I bet you would, you'd probably rig up a pulley to hoist my legs up. But I'd prefer to do it without mechanical assistance, thank you." Her fingertips were circling my glans, massaging it with the pre-cum that was oozing from the urethra, and there was a wicked glint in her eye. "But tell me, lover. Why do want me to do this. And don't be shy, I want the full monty. Every last dirty little thought in that inventive head of yours. Make me blush with shame."
"Now there's a challenge. Well, for a start, you'd be very vulnerable in that position. Both orifices stretched open. The penetration, when I entered you, would be very deep. You'd have to trust me not to hurt you, and if I grabbed hold of your ankles you wouldn't be able to move. There'd be an incredible rush of power and control for me, and a complete lack of it for you. That would be a huge turn on for me."
"I can tell, you're leaking pre-cum like a tap with a faulty washer," she said, sliding her slippery palm firmly up and down my shaft, squeezing the glans and milking me with each stroke. "Perhaps I should get a plumber to come and attend to you," she chuckled. "But I like what I'm hearing so far. It means Aşağıdudullu Escort (https://www.pompaci.net/istanbul/asagidudullu) I get fucked deep and hard, and I do trust you. Just as I trust you when you cane me." She snuggled closer, leaned her head forward and kissed me, her tongue slithering in between my lips, searching mine out and entwining it, like two oily snakes wrestling.
I had managed to work two fingers deep into her vagina and hooked them forwards, probing for the sensitive spot behind her clitoris. Her legs had flopped apart as if the sinews connecting them had snapped, and through our locked lips I felt her soft, throaty, moan.
"Tell me more, lover," she said, breaking the kiss.
"Well, before I fucked you I'd want to have a good long look at you in that position. Watch you hold yourself open like that, waiting for me to do whatever I wanted with you. See you purely as a sex object, your orifices on display. I might open them both up and have a look inside. Perhaps ease some fingers in, or my tongue. Or lube up my hand and try and put that inside you. And then, once I'd played with you a bit, I get the camera and take high resolution photos. Some close ups of your openings, others showing your whole body."
I pulled my fingers out of her vagina, and drew wet, sticky circles around her clitoris with the tips. She moaned again, and closed her eyes, the fingernails of one hand gently raking my testicles and shaft, while those of the other pinched and raked my nipples. "What would you do with the photos?" Her voice was dreamy.
"I'd have them blown up and printed, maybe a life size print of the whole body shot, and large, exquisitely detailed close-ups of your vulva and anus, large enough to see the hair follicles and the scar where the obstetrician stitched you up. Maybe I get them printed on canvas, and hang them around the house where anyone could see them."
"Anyone? My mother, the kids, your mates from work?"
"Why not. I'd be proud to show them that the wife, mother and daughter they know can allow herself to be displayed as an object of visual and physical pleasure. The kids are grown up now. I'm sure they've seen most of you at the beach, so why not let them see the rest?"
I was becoming expansive in my fantasy. Imagining the appreciative and jealous looks I'd get from my workmates if I showed them the photos I was describing. Or even flashed them a quick slideshow on my iPad.
Margaret's hips were jerking, pushing themselves against my fingers as they worked on and around her clitoris. Her face was flushed, and soft, low moans escaped her lips. It wasn't the high octane orgasm of which she was more than capable. Just a gentle, controlled climax. The type she liked to allow herself as a prelude to a long, leisurely bout of lovemaking. There was a twinge of regret at the tiring night I was letting myself in for. But we both knew it would be worth the bags under the eyes, and the sleep deprived fuzziness of the early morning.
She reached a hand out and pulled me close, cuddling me and pushing her soft, full breasts with their rubber hard nipples, against me chest.
"My mother already knows you're a pervert, so those photos will just prove to her the kind of man I married."
"Why does she think I'm a pervert?"
"Well she knows you cane me, you even had my father show you how to do it. Besides that I've shown her the other photos."
"Which photos?" I asked, wondering if I should be astonished, embarrassed or aroused, or all three."
"All of them. Me posing nude on the boardroom table. The colour photocopies of my pussy. You sticking your lovely big erection into me, that we took using the tripod. The ones skinny dipping in the National Park. The ones of me after you caned my bottom, with your sperm oozing out between my labia. She's seen 'em all." She was staring at me with a mocking grin. "Whose blushing now, mister."
"Have you really?" I replied, lamely.
"Of course. I've always been very close to my mother. I tell her everything. She put me on the pill as soon as I told her about my first boyfriend, and after that I never had any secrets from her. I told her about all my boyfriends. And she knew all about you, and your nasty mind and habits, and that you were the keeper, even before you met her."
"Boyfriends!"
"What, did you think I was a nun before I met you? I never pretended I was a virgin. And don't stop stroking me. I want lots more orgasms before we're done." She leaned forward and kissed me again, her hand still stroking my cock, which, despite my surprise at the direction the conversation had taken, was still rock hard.
And Margaret was so wet that I was easily able to slip three, and then four, fingers inside her, gently rocking them back and forth, spreading my fingers to stretch her wider, and feeling the overflow of her hot juices. "So, you tell your mother everything. Does she enjoy hearing about what we do?" Two could play at this game.
"Yes, she thinks I'm a very lucky girl to have a man with such a perverted Aşağıdudullu Escort Bayan (https://www.pompaci.net/istanbul/asagidudullu) mind inside such a hot body. I think she rather fancies having a turn with you herself."
"A turn! What, like a dance or a whist partner?"
"Smart-arse!" She pinched my taut scrotum with her fingernails, causing me to wince. "I'll spell it out for you if that's what you want, I think she'd be happy for you to make love to her."
"I couldn't possibly do that," I said. "It would be wrong."
Margaret laughed her deep throated chuckle. "Come on, every man fantasises about his mother, or his mother-in-law. The pages of Literotica are full of them. Don't tell me you didn't masturbate while fantasing about making out with your own mother."
"No ... I mean yes, I did."
"There you go, but we'll talk about that another time. But you know David did the same, don't you. I saw the evidence with my own eyes."
David was our son. Both he and Jayney, our daughter, were in their early twenties and rented the investment apartment we owned, with their respective partners.
"The dirty little devil," she continued, chuckling. "I saw his eyes lingering too long whenever he managed to get a peak up my skirt, or at my cleavage. I could always tell by the way he blushed and wouldn't meet my eye. And the porno mags under the bed -- God knows where he got them from. And as for password security on his laptop. Goodness, I even learned a thing or two myself from some of the websites he visited."
"You spied on him?'' It had never occurred to me that Margaret had been so devious.
"It was hardly spying. His room was such a tip I don't know how he kept track of anything. Not to mention the used panties that turned up occasionally. Mostly mine, but sometimes Jayney's, with their crotches still damp with his sperm. He seemed to prefer the more soiled ones. Once I even buried a pair in the laundry basket that I deliberately wore for several days, including after you'd just fucked me. He kept those for a while. I never said anything, and they always turned up back in the wash eventually. I expect he's grown out of lusting after his old mother, now he's got that tart Belinda to satisfy his needs."
"Belinda's not a tart," I laughed, "she's a lovely girl."
"He dragged her out of a brothel."
"He met her on a Contiki trip that included a tour of Sheri's Ranch at Las Vegas - as you know full well." Margaret and Belinda got on like a house on fire, and the joke about being dragged out of a brothel was Belinda's.
"Yes, yes," she laughed. "But you know that every mother thinks that no girl is ever good enough for their son."
She leaned forward and kissed me again, chuckling. "So then, about my mother?" She took her hand off my cock and reached down between her legs, guiding my fingers inside her, and pulling them back and forth, slipping her own fingers in between mine so that we were both finger fucking her. She was obviously enjoying the conversation, as between us we had five fingers gliding easily inside her hot slippery sex.
"You must have wondered what my mother's like in bed," she continued, sighing gently as I extended my thumb and rubbed it across her clit. "And what she and my father get up to. Especially now that you know he spanks and canes her. She might be in her seventies, but there's a very sexy woman underneath that grey hair and twin set. I'd be more than happy to have her body at that age. And she can take anything you've got, in any place you choose."
My face must have given me away, as there was another throaty laugh before Margaret continued. "Don't look like that. You'd enjoy giving her a good, long, hard shagging. And I'm sure she'd be happy to oblige you. What's more, I bet she'd let you cane her again. For real this time, just like my father does to her."
We were straying onto dangerous territory. But as long she was in the mood for fantasising I was happy to play along. "So if boys fantasise about making it with their mothers, what about girls. Did you fantasise about making love with your father?"
Margaret dropped her eyes, raised her hand to her mouth, and fluttered her lashes at me. "Are you sure you want me to answer that question."
"Well I told you the truth. I did fantasise about my mother. And I'd be a liar if I said I hadn't looked at yours with more than a little thought of how much she might resemble her daughter, and what I would love to do to her given the chance."
"Truth or dare, eh? Okay, confession time." He face lit up into a mischievous grin. "Weeelllllll ... when you watched my father spank me, that wasn't the first time he'd done it. And I've gone a lot further than just fantasising about him ... all the way, in fact."
I couldn't believe my ears. "What, slept with him?" There was almost a note of panic in my voice.
"No, not slept, but we made love, and he caned me."
"But that's incest, maybe even child abuse."
"Incest, maybe. But I was a grown women when it happened. Escort Aşağıdudullu (https://www.pompaci.net/istanbul/asagidudullu) That wouldn't be illegal in some European countries."
A sudden thought flashed through my mind. "Was this before or after we were married?" "After. I'd had the kids by then."
"My God, so it was adultery, as well as incest."
"You're a fine one to talk about adultery, when only moments ago you wanted to post hardcore pictures of me all over the house. And that lovely man Paul you brought home. Does a man wanking himself off over my breasts not count? If I hadn't said something, he'd have had his cock into me and you'd have shared me that night."
It was true, but I was still so shocked that I had taken my fingers out of Margaret's vagina and was absent mindedly running them through my hair."
"Nice hair gel," she said reaching for my hand and guiding it back between her legs. This time she pressed my fingers against her clitoris and rubbed them gently around it. "Let your fingers do the walking lover, and I'll tell you the story. If you want to hear it?"
What could I say? It was better to hear the truth from her lips. Or was it just a fantasy she was making up as we went along. Whichever it was, I was excited as much as fearful at what I might hear.
"Okay, but if I'm going to pleasure you, then you've got to do the same for me."
"That's the spirit," she replied, reaching over and taking my penis in her hand. I had softened, but a few gentle rakes with her fingernails and I stiffened up. "'You see, you are liking this." Her face lit up with a feline grin.
"It happened like this. Mum had to go into hospital for an operation. Secret women's business. She went home with doctors' orders not to have intercourse for a month. Penetration would hinder the healing process, she said. So, after two weeks, my dad's climbing the walls. He's a very virile man, my father, with a strong sex drive. So two weeks without sex, let alone four, was like turning celibate. Mum did what she could. Hand jobs and blow jobs whenever he needed them. But it wasn't the same. In the end he took to sleeping in the study, and taking care of himself. Mum was at her wits end. She was pretty desperate herself. They're well matched that way. But penetrative sex was out of the question. Anyway, I was visiting her one afternoon when she told me the whole story. And that she was seriously considering getting a prostitute in to satisfy him. She wanted the woman to come to the house and fuck Dad in their own bed. She couldn't bear to think of him doing it in some sleazy brothel."
I dreaded what I guessed was coming next, and there was almost a look of contrition on her face. "I'm sorry James, but seeing Mum like that, and knowing how much Dad loved and respected her -- I think he would have been horrified at the idea of a prostitute -- I sort of ... just volunteered. To keep it all in the family."
I opened my mouth, but Margaret put a finger to my lips.
"Let me tell the story first, before you judge me. You were away on business at the time, so I told Mum I'd go home and pick up the kids after school, and bring them back with me. They loved sleeping over at Granny's. Then, after they had gone to sleep, if he wanted to, I'd let Dad make love to me. Mum was shocked at first. But in the end she agreed to ask him. If he said no then I would just have dinner with them, and take the kids home.
I grabbed a quick shower to freshen up, and put on clean underwear, but I was as nervous as a kitten by the time I got back. And dinner was surreal. We chatted about all the usual things, your job, Dad's job, Mum's committees, the kids' progress. And all the time I'm wondering what Dad was really thinking about the idea of making love with his grown up daughter. Yes, I'd fantasised about doing it, and Mum never made any secret of how much they both enjoyed sex, and how good he was in bed. My stomach was in knots wondering if I could go through with it, but I also got very wet just thinking about the possibility that he might.
And after dinner he did. The kids were soon fast asleep, and Mum just took me by the hand and led me up to their bedroom. My legs were shaking as she closed the door, and I saw Dad gazing at me with the same look I'd seen on each of my previous lover's faces, the first time they realised I was going to let them make love me. Part lust and part anxiety. It made him seem so much more vulnerable than the father I knew, and I took him in my arms and hugged him, feeling the man in him, conscious of the body underneath the clothes, and the beginnings of the erection hardening in his groin.
I think I mumbled something silly, about him thinking of me as a therapist rather than a daughter, but I knew, even as I said it, that that was impossible. He didn't say anything. Instead he reached out both hands and cupped my breasts, lifting them slightly, as if feeling their weight. Then his thumb and fingers caressed my nipples, and his touch was like an electric shock, sparking them to stiffness and making them throb. He asked the question with his eyes, and I nodded, surrendering to his caress. Moments later his firm, confident hands had removed my blouse, reached around my back to unclip my bra, unzipped my skirt and slid down my panties. There was no going back then, I was naked and his eyes were devouring me like a long awaited present he had just unwrapped.
"No," I replied, it's a sex position. One that I'd like to see you in. But yes, I could eat you that way."
"Okay, I know I said I'd try anything once," said Margaret, warily. "But what does it look like?"
I passed over the iPad. The blonde, nude model had her legs pulled right back so that her ankles were crossed behind her head, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her bottom was tilted invitingly upwards, displaying her spread vulva, and the stretched brown ring of her anus.
"Fuck me!" Margaret's eyes went round with surprise. "She's got her ankles behind her ears. How am I supposed to do that?"
"First of all, yes," I replied. "The idea is to fuck you like that. Secondly, don't focus on the difficulty, look at the aesthetics, doesn't she look beautiful? So open, so exposed and vulnerable. Wouldn't you love to show yourself to me like that? Thirdly, you go to yoga. It's just the same as a pose called the Sleeping Yogi, it can't be much more difficult than some of the positions I've seen you practise. Like that one where you bend all the way forward, put your hands on the floor and your head against your knees. Or when you hold onto your foot and extend your leg up straight."
I enjoyed watching Margaret practise her yoga positions, especially when she did them in the nude. Which she was happy to do whenever I asked her. Margaret was no skinny, long legged model. She had the curves and creases of a mature mother of two grown up kids. But she reminded me of a flexible Nigella Lawson. Not that I'd ever seen that celebrity chef naked (although I certainly would like to), but watching Margaret nude and sweating, as she worked through her routine, was a certain turn-on, and we usually ended up fucking like rabbits on her yoga mat. I often wondered what her class mates would think if they knew just how often we had both climaxed on that mat.
She wasn't exercising now, though. We were both in bead, reading. Naked. Ever since the kids had stopped demanding to sleep in our bed, we never wore pyjamas. And if it was cold, there was an easy way to warm up. Margaret was reading Elena Ferrante's Neapolitan trilogy. I'd given up on Luke McCallin, and was looking at porn, dropping hints by occasionally stroking my throbbing erection, wondering how long it would take before Margaret put her Kindle down. Suspiciously eyeing the tent pole under the bedsheet, she had eventually asked me what I was looking at. Hence the discussion of the Viennese Oyster.
'I'll ask Marianne to include it in our classes from now on shall I? I bet you'd love to see that, a roomful of sweaty women with their ankles behind their ears. What if she wants to know why? Do I tell her that you want to fuck me like that?"
"I'm sure she knows full well what you and your girlfriends get up to with all that increased flexibility." I reached over and gently pulled the Kindle out of her grasp. She didn't resist.
"Like that is it? You're bored reading, you can't keep your cock under control, and you expect me to do something about it." She was grinning though, and her hand reached across the bed and grasped my shaft. "Quick hand job before you go to sleep, or would you like me to tell you a bedtime story."
"I was thinking of more than that," I replied, rolling to face her and reaching a hand over to her breast, my fingertips brushing her nipple to hardness. "I'm serious about the oyster though. I'd looooove to see you in that position. And I'm sure you can get there with a bit of practise. I'll help of course."
She squeezed and tugged on my erection. We were gazing into each other's eyes now, and I slid my hand down over her belly to her crotch. She opened her legs sufficiently to give me access to her shaved sex, and sighed gently as I parted her labia and tested the warm wetness between.
"I bet you would, you'd probably rig up a pulley to hoist my legs up. But I'd prefer to do it without mechanical assistance, thank you." Her fingertips were circling my glans, massaging it with the pre-cum that was oozing from the urethra, and there was a wicked glint in her eye. "But tell me, lover. Why do want me to do this. And don't be shy, I want the full monty. Every last dirty little thought in that inventive head of yours. Make me blush with shame."
"Now there's a challenge. Well, for a start, you'd be very vulnerable in that position. Both orifices stretched open. The penetration, when I entered you, would be very deep. You'd have to trust me not to hurt you, and if I grabbed hold of your ankles you wouldn't be able to move. There'd be an incredible rush of power and control for me, and a complete lack of it for you. That would be a huge turn on for me."
"I can tell, you're leaking pre-cum like a tap with a faulty washer," she said, sliding her slippery palm firmly up and down my shaft, squeezing the glans and milking me with each stroke. "Perhaps I should get a plumber to come and attend to you," she chuckled. "But I like what I'm hearing so far. It means Aşağıdudullu Escort (https://www.pompaci.net/istanbul/asagidudullu) I get fucked deep and hard, and I do trust you. Just as I trust you when you cane me." She snuggled closer, leaned her head forward and kissed me, her tongue slithering in between my lips, searching mine out and entwining it, like two oily snakes wrestling.
I had managed to work two fingers deep into her vagina and hooked them forwards, probing for the sensitive spot behind her clitoris. Her legs had flopped apart as if the sinews connecting them had snapped, and through our locked lips I felt her soft, throaty, moan.
"Tell me more, lover," she said, breaking the kiss.
"Well, before I fucked you I'd want to have a good long look at you in that position. Watch you hold yourself open like that, waiting for me to do whatever I wanted with you. See you purely as a sex object, your orifices on display. I might open them both up and have a look inside. Perhaps ease some fingers in, or my tongue. Or lube up my hand and try and put that inside you. And then, once I'd played with you a bit, I get the camera and take high resolution photos. Some close ups of your openings, others showing your whole body."
I pulled my fingers out of her vagina, and drew wet, sticky circles around her clitoris with the tips. She moaned again, and closed her eyes, the fingernails of one hand gently raking my testicles and shaft, while those of the other pinched and raked my nipples. "What would you do with the photos?" Her voice was dreamy.
"I'd have them blown up and printed, maybe a life size print of the whole body shot, and large, exquisitely detailed close-ups of your vulva and anus, large enough to see the hair follicles and the scar where the obstetrician stitched you up. Maybe I get them printed on canvas, and hang them around the house where anyone could see them."
"Anyone? My mother, the kids, your mates from work?"
"Why not. I'd be proud to show them that the wife, mother and daughter they know can allow herself to be displayed as an object of visual and physical pleasure. The kids are grown up now. I'm sure they've seen most of you at the beach, so why not let them see the rest?"
I was becoming expansive in my fantasy. Imagining the appreciative and jealous looks I'd get from my workmates if I showed them the photos I was describing. Or even flashed them a quick slideshow on my iPad.
Margaret's hips were jerking, pushing themselves against my fingers as they worked on and around her clitoris. Her face was flushed, and soft, low moans escaped her lips. It wasn't the high octane orgasm of which she was more than capable. Just a gentle, controlled climax. The type she liked to allow herself as a prelude to a long, leisurely bout of lovemaking. There was a twinge of regret at the tiring night I was letting myself in for. But we both knew it would be worth the bags under the eyes, and the sleep deprived fuzziness of the early morning.
She reached a hand out and pulled me close, cuddling me and pushing her soft, full breasts with their rubber hard nipples, against me chest.
"My mother already knows you're a pervert, so those photos will just prove to her the kind of man I married."
"Why does she think I'm a pervert?"
"Well she knows you cane me, you even had my father show you how to do it. Besides that I've shown her the other photos."
"Which photos?" I asked, wondering if I should be astonished, embarrassed or aroused, or all three."
"All of them. Me posing nude on the boardroom table. The colour photocopies of my pussy. You sticking your lovely big erection into me, that we took using the tripod. The ones skinny dipping in the National Park. The ones of me after you caned my bottom, with your sperm oozing out between my labia. She's seen 'em all." She was staring at me with a mocking grin. "Whose blushing now, mister."
"Have you really?" I replied, lamely.
"Of course. I've always been very close to my mother. I tell her everything. She put me on the pill as soon as I told her about my first boyfriend, and after that I never had any secrets from her. I told her about all my boyfriends. And she knew all about you, and your nasty mind and habits, and that you were the keeper, even before you met her."
"Boyfriends!"
"What, did you think I was a nun before I met you? I never pretended I was a virgin. And don't stop stroking me. I want lots more orgasms before we're done." She leaned forward and kissed me again, her hand still stroking my cock, which, despite my surprise at the direction the conversation had taken, was still rock hard.
And Margaret was so wet that I was easily able to slip three, and then four, fingers inside her, gently rocking them back and forth, spreading my fingers to stretch her wider, and feeling the overflow of her hot juices. "So, you tell your mother everything. Does she enjoy hearing about what we do?" Two could play at this game.
"Yes, she thinks I'm a very lucky girl to have a man with such a perverted Aşağıdudullu Escort Bayan (https://www.pompaci.net/istanbul/asagidudullu) mind inside such a hot body. I think she rather fancies having a turn with you herself."
"A turn! What, like a dance or a whist partner?"
"Smart-arse!" She pinched my taut scrotum with her fingernails, causing me to wince. "I'll spell it out for you if that's what you want, I think she'd be happy for you to make love to her."
"I couldn't possibly do that," I said. "It would be wrong."
Margaret laughed her deep throated chuckle. "Come on, every man fantasises about his mother, or his mother-in-law. The pages of Literotica are full of them. Don't tell me you didn't masturbate while fantasing about making out with your own mother."
"No ... I mean yes, I did."
"There you go, but we'll talk about that another time. But you know David did the same, don't you. I saw the evidence with my own eyes."
David was our son. Both he and Jayney, our daughter, were in their early twenties and rented the investment apartment we owned, with their respective partners.
"The dirty little devil," she continued, chuckling. "I saw his eyes lingering too long whenever he managed to get a peak up my skirt, or at my cleavage. I could always tell by the way he blushed and wouldn't meet my eye. And the porno mags under the bed -- God knows where he got them from. And as for password security on his laptop. Goodness, I even learned a thing or two myself from some of the websites he visited."
"You spied on him?'' It had never occurred to me that Margaret had been so devious.
"It was hardly spying. His room was such a tip I don't know how he kept track of anything. Not to mention the used panties that turned up occasionally. Mostly mine, but sometimes Jayney's, with their crotches still damp with his sperm. He seemed to prefer the more soiled ones. Once I even buried a pair in the laundry basket that I deliberately wore for several days, including after you'd just fucked me. He kept those for a while. I never said anything, and they always turned up back in the wash eventually. I expect he's grown out of lusting after his old mother, now he's got that tart Belinda to satisfy his needs."
"Belinda's not a tart," I laughed, "she's a lovely girl."
"He dragged her out of a brothel."
"He met her on a Contiki trip that included a tour of Sheri's Ranch at Las Vegas - as you know full well." Margaret and Belinda got on like a house on fire, and the joke about being dragged out of a brothel was Belinda's.
"Yes, yes," she laughed. "But you know that every mother thinks that no girl is ever good enough for their son."
She leaned forward and kissed me again, chuckling. "So then, about my mother?" She took her hand off my cock and reached down between her legs, guiding my fingers inside her, and pulling them back and forth, slipping her own fingers in between mine so that we were both finger fucking her. She was obviously enjoying the conversation, as between us we had five fingers gliding easily inside her hot slippery sex.
"You must have wondered what my mother's like in bed," she continued, sighing gently as I extended my thumb and rubbed it across her clit. "And what she and my father get up to. Especially now that you know he spanks and canes her. She might be in her seventies, but there's a very sexy woman underneath that grey hair and twin set. I'd be more than happy to have her body at that age. And she can take anything you've got, in any place you choose."
My face must have given me away, as there was another throaty laugh before Margaret continued. "Don't look like that. You'd enjoy giving her a good, long, hard shagging. And I'm sure she'd be happy to oblige you. What's more, I bet she'd let you cane her again. For real this time, just like my father does to her."
We were straying onto dangerous territory. But as long she was in the mood for fantasising I was happy to play along. "So if boys fantasise about making it with their mothers, what about girls. Did you fantasise about making love with your father?"
Margaret dropped her eyes, raised her hand to her mouth, and fluttered her lashes at me. "Are you sure you want me to answer that question."
"Well I told you the truth. I did fantasise about my mother. And I'd be a liar if I said I hadn't looked at yours with more than a little thought of how much she might resemble her daughter, and what I would love to do to her given the chance."
"Truth or dare, eh? Okay, confession time." He face lit up into a mischievous grin. "Weeelllllll ... when you watched my father spank me, that wasn't the first time he'd done it. And I've gone a lot further than just fantasising about him ... all the way, in fact."
I couldn't believe my ears. "What, slept with him?" There was almost a note of panic in my voice.
"No, not slept, but we made love, and he caned me."
"But that's incest, maybe even child abuse."
"Incest, maybe. But I was a grown women when it happened. Escort Aşağıdudullu (https://www.pompaci.net/istanbul/asagidudullu) That wouldn't be illegal in some European countries."
A sudden thought flashed through my mind. "Was this before or after we were married?" "After. I'd had the kids by then."
"My God, so it was adultery, as well as incest."
"You're a fine one to talk about adultery, when only moments ago you wanted to post hardcore pictures of me all over the house. And that lovely man Paul you brought home. Does a man wanking himself off over my breasts not count? If I hadn't said something, he'd have had his cock into me and you'd have shared me that night."
It was true, but I was still so shocked that I had taken my fingers out of Margaret's vagina and was absent mindedly running them through my hair."
"Nice hair gel," she said reaching for my hand and guiding it back between her legs. This time she pressed my fingers against her clitoris and rubbed them gently around it. "Let your fingers do the walking lover, and I'll tell you the story. If you want to hear it?"
What could I say? It was better to hear the truth from her lips. Or was it just a fantasy she was making up as we went along. Whichever it was, I was excited as much as fearful at what I might hear.
"Okay, but if I'm going to pleasure you, then you've got to do the same for me."
"That's the spirit," she replied, reaching over and taking my penis in her hand. I had softened, but a few gentle rakes with her fingernails and I stiffened up. "'You see, you are liking this." Her face lit up with a feline grin.
"It happened like this. Mum had to go into hospital for an operation. Secret women's business. She went home with doctors' orders not to have intercourse for a month. Penetration would hinder the healing process, she said. So, after two weeks, my dad's climbing the walls. He's a very virile man, my father, with a strong sex drive. So two weeks without sex, let alone four, was like turning celibate. Mum did what she could. Hand jobs and blow jobs whenever he needed them. But it wasn't the same. In the end he took to sleeping in the study, and taking care of himself. Mum was at her wits end. She was pretty desperate herself. They're well matched that way. But penetrative sex was out of the question. Anyway, I was visiting her one afternoon when she told me the whole story. And that she was seriously considering getting a prostitute in to satisfy him. She wanted the woman to come to the house and fuck Dad in their own bed. She couldn't bear to think of him doing it in some sleazy brothel."
I dreaded what I guessed was coming next, and there was almost a look of contrition on her face. "I'm sorry James, but seeing Mum like that, and knowing how much Dad loved and respected her -- I think he would have been horrified at the idea of a prostitute -- I sort of ... just volunteered. To keep it all in the family."
I opened my mouth, but Margaret put a finger to my lips.
"Let me tell the story first, before you judge me. You were away on business at the time, so I told Mum I'd go home and pick up the kids after school, and bring them back with me. They loved sleeping over at Granny's. Then, after they had gone to sleep, if he wanted to, I'd let Dad make love to me. Mum was shocked at first. But in the end she agreed to ask him. If he said no then I would just have dinner with them, and take the kids home.
I grabbed a quick shower to freshen up, and put on clean underwear, but I was as nervous as a kitten by the time I got back. And dinner was surreal. We chatted about all the usual things, your job, Dad's job, Mum's committees, the kids' progress. And all the time I'm wondering what Dad was really thinking about the idea of making love with his grown up daughter. Yes, I'd fantasised about doing it, and Mum never made any secret of how much they both enjoyed sex, and how good he was in bed. My stomach was in knots wondering if I could go through with it, but I also got very wet just thinking about the possibility that he might.
And after dinner he did. The kids were soon fast asleep, and Mum just took me by the hand and led me up to their bedroom. My legs were shaking as she closed the door, and I saw Dad gazing at me with the same look I'd seen on each of my previous lover's faces, the first time they realised I was going to let them make love me. Part lust and part anxiety. It made him seem so much more vulnerable than the father I knew, and I took him in my arms and hugged him, feeling the man in him, conscious of the body underneath the clothes, and the beginnings of the erection hardening in his groin.
I think I mumbled something silly, about him thinking of me as a therapist rather than a daughter, but I knew, even as I said it, that that was impossible. He didn't say anything. Instead he reached out both hands and cupped my breasts, lifting them slightly, as if feeling their weight. Then his thumb and fingers caressed my nipples, and his touch was like an electric shock, sparking them to stiffness and making them throb. He asked the question with his eyes, and I nodded, surrendering to his caress. Moments later his firm, confident hands had removed my blouse, reached around my back to unclip my bra, unzipped my skirt and slid down my panties. There was no going back then, I was naked and his eyes were devouring me like a long awaited present he had just unwrapped.