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Natasha slid her hand under the fabric of my boxer and caressed the inside of my right thigh as my cock throbbed harder and I felt a patina of sweat on my palms as I caressed her breasts.I heard Natasha let out a low moan, and she ran her left hand down to the small of my back and pressed on it, urging me to push myself harder against her. I ran my right hand down to her ass and stroked it, then grabbed it hard and holding her tighter, I began to lift her sweatshirt up her torso and press against her with more force, feeling my cock move about and poke into the crack of her bare ass as I thrust my hips.I unravelled our arms from each other and took off my shorts and then I pushed her gently to the bed and made her lay on her stomach in the bed."John" she whispered with trembling voice as she lay at my disposal not knowing what the meaning of an --around the world-- was. "Please be gentle with me, I don't want to be hurt" Don't worry my love, this is all about pleasure, I love you too. I don’t like the endless arguments we have had in the past. A good hard thrashing and move on is ideal.” “Mum” I said, knowing I had to say this. “You do know I like the feeling afterwards.” “Yes Emma. Your Aunt told me. That’s OK though because I know you are still learning from it. The spanking I mean. And that is important.” “Right” I agreed. Then there was silence as we both thought our own thoughts. It was seven years since Mum last spanked me. After a few minutes though Mum was quite talkative asking me how often I got spanked, although I had the feeling she knew the answer. At first I wondered whether I should agree. That is when I thought it was still up for discussion, but reckoned that if Mum is more relaxed then maybe home life will be as good as when I was with Auntie Sarah, so I was relaxed as well. We got home and I unpacked. Mum came in to my bedroom and sat on the bed. “You do know it was so relaxing at Auntie Sarah’s because there was no tension. She was.
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Air conditioning chilled the otherwise hot and dry summer night. Too cold for her who was nothing short of naked and her light tan skin prickled. Large portrait of a round-faced, brown skin old man with dark eyes and bushy mustache, in golden frame, hung on the far wall. Massive chandelier hung in the center of the room over a canopy bed, draped with silk of different colors. The old man from the portrait eyed her from within the plush bed and wagged a finger for her to go to him. Miar forced a practiced smile, one with eagerness mixed with a hint of shyness. She sauntered toward him, adding a little more sway to her hips. Miar spread her arms and spun, slow and deliberate, as she scanned the room for any potential weapon. Her brown gaze found a fruit knife on a gaudy looking table. She looked back at the old man and a surge of revulsion twisted in her gut. His fat belly rose and fell with heavy breath as his beady eyes oozed with lust. One of his chubby hands rested on his stomach.

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