Mummy Porn

They returned to John's bedroom. He pulled off her dressing gown, they grabbed each other into a powerful embrace and he pushed her into the wall as she kissed him, both running their hands over each other simply because they could. He had superior strength and was in control, holding her upright, pressing her against the wall with his body, until he pulled his mouth far enough away to mention, "Personally, I'd like to hurt you a lot and see how much you like it even when you don't want to."

Karen didn't want to spoil the mood, but felt she had to give John fair warning: "I don't know how my body is going to respond to pain now. Can we start slow and carefully, because it might be like when I was pregnant and became a great big wuss? Actually, it wasn't the hitting that was a problem, it was that I couldn't breathe deeply enough to deal with it... But anyway, I haven't played much in the last few years, not intensely like I'd like, so I really don't know what to expect."

She certainly hadn't expected John's reaction, which was a confused stare as he stepped back, but then he leapt at her to pull her onto the bed and clasp her tight in a huge bear hug, giving her a deep, long, kiss. When he came up for air, she asked him what on earth he was on about.

He gestured at her, for once lacking words. "You... You've done this!" He pointed at her stomach, covered in a web of raised stretch marks, once scarlet, now silvery, almost distracting from the spots and crinkly skin below her navel. Her twice-postnatal belly really wasn't part of her body she wanted others to see; she herself tried to forget about the bits below her belly button.

John swept his hand down further. "You've had what, seven kilos of stuff weighing down your cervix! You've hauled about a baby's life support system for months! You've got permanent patterns from the most intense long scene anyone could imagine! You've had something push through your cunt that makes fisting look like a doddle! Twice! No way are you a wuss -- what you've been doing to your body -- you are so fucking hardcore, woman! I'm sure never going to match that achievement!"

She'd never thought about it quite like that. She didn't reply. Instead she grabbed him, reached behind his neck, pulled him to her chest, and kissed him deeply. They pushed their bodies together, writhing to press as much of themselves against the other as possible, her breasts facing friction from his T-shirt, both trying to force a tongue into the other's mouth, leg between their thighs, arm round the back, squeezing and groping arse... Karen knew damn well she would lose this wrestling match in a moment, but that wasn't the point. The erotic connection was exquisite, but more bluntly, it was just so much fun. She'd never really figured out why monogamous couples drew their line in the sand so far away from penetration.

Enough about others -- her attention was jerked back to the present when she found she couldn't move her head. John had twisted most of her hair round one of his hands and pinned her head to the bed with it. That done, he stretched his denim-covered thigh across her to straddle the tops of her legs, and reached up to her breasts. He left his elbow on a mass of her hair and extracted the hand.

Slowly and carefully, he put a thumb and forefinger to each nipple and pinched them together. Karen moaned and squirmed but he didn't let go. As ever, Karen felt her vagina tingling in response. She'd missed this. It had been so long since she'd been able to think of her breasts as sexual, rather than for feeding a baby.

Maybe it was because that thought crossed her mind; maybe it was because John was now holding her breasts just below the nipples, twisting and squeezing, but she suddenly realised John's fingers were slipping on one suddenly-wet breast. He lifted his hand in surprise; she put a hand over her face in embarrassment. "That hasn't happened in months," she muttered feebly.

John's confused look cleared. "It's milk?", he clarified. As Karen nodded, cringing under him, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean. "Yeah, milk." He shrugged. "Not my kink, but not a problem for me?" He reached for a tissue, tenderly mopped the offending breast dry, and put his hand over it, looking for her reaction.

She laughed, resignedly. "If you're OK with my body doing weird shit...?"

"Very much so. Now, where was I? Oh yes, having fun hurting you and watching you get off on it. Now, what happens if I do this?"

He squeezed the dried breast around the base, making Karen gasp, and then pinched her nipple again cruelly. It was almost too painful to be erotic -- it certainly triggered no comparison with an adorable toddler -- and Karen writhed, totally restored to a sexual mindset with no intrusive thoughts of motherhood.

Without thinking, she hooked her knee round his legs, pulling his thigh right into her crotch, and rubbed herself shamelessly against the denim. John chuckled, and released one of her nipples at a time to rub circulation back into it -- causing her to scream aloud -- and to scratch gently round her breasts and down her sides before kneading her breast -- more audible moans -- before pinching the nipple again. She pushed herself as much as she could against his leg, shamelessly humping it, feeling she could come soon if only she could get enough friction.

At last, she felt that wonderful quivering building up round her vagina, moaned in relief, and relaxed as much as she could to let the forthcoming orgasm happen.

John let go and pulled away from her, then lay down beside her, one hand under his head, the other on his hip, and gazed at her with amusement. She was furious. She refrained from punching his smirking face with an effort, and restricted herself to grabbing his head in both hands, pulling him to her, and hissing in his ear, "You motherfucking bastard! I wish I could give you what you deserve..."

He raised an eyebrow at her, calm in the face of her fury. "We hadn't got to the mother-fucking yet, surely? And don't worry, Cathy gives me what I deserve regularly."

He ignored Karen's muttered response, "Does she take requests?" and pulled off his T-shirt followed by his boots and socks, leaving the faded jeans on. It suddenly felt more equal to Karen's naked body -- no-one ever saw John naked, except Cathy, presumably. She reached out to fondle the skin on his back, and traced some near-faded scars on his shoulders.

Suddenly John spoke. "Would you like a collar? Actually, I'd love to see you in one, so let's have a look..." He got up and opened one door of the fitted wardrobes that took up all of the end wall.

He came back to the bed with a tall leather collar in each hand, and Karen pushed herself up to a sitting position. He put one down on the bedside table and fastened the other round her neck. The heavy weight and scent of leather helped keep her thinking about the potential this evening had for fun -- she'd always had a problem with intrusive thoughts during erotic encounters, and motherhood had made that ten times worse.

"Do you think you'll still enjoy a beating?", John asked, after they'd been lying still for some time.

"I should think so. Well, not enjoy exactly..."

They both smiled, aware that 'enjoy' wasn't exactly the right word for the satisfaction that came from having experienced pain. He fondled her bottom and nudged her, to suggest she should roll over onto her front.

Karen obeyed, realising she felt relieved her tummy was now hidden, and embarrassed that she was feeling inhibited by how her body looked now. It had taken a long time to recover from her daughter's birth and she was more unfit than she had ever been. While she was adamant this wouldn't let her stop herself doing anything, she had to admit to being self-conscious -- always rather relieved to enter the swimming pool and hide her body -- and this was the first time anyone other than her partners had seen her naked in the last two years.

On the plus side, her bottom was pretty firm thanks to all the walking she did, and John was fondling it nicely. She forgot about her looks and managed to enjoy the sensations, until she noticed him tracing the stretch mark patterns he could reach at her side.

"You know, if someone wanted to create patterns like that any other way, you'd need branding or scarification. Tattoos would be too flat. And branding round an area this big would need dozens of sessions, even if it was possible. It's really amazing!"

Karen was reminded of the Shirley Valentine bed scene where Pauline Collins exclaims, "He kissed my stretch marks!" The contrast between that film and her current situation triggered giggles. She couldn't stop. Gulping for air, laughter still going, she had to explain.

John found it even more entertaining, being compared to a Greek waiter on the pull. He attempted the accent. "Hello, my lady..."

It was not a good imitation, and they both shook their heads and giggled more. By the time they'd recovered laughing, Karen was collapsed on her back, with John's hand between her legs.

He made eye contact with her, raised an eyebrow. She nodded. A pair of his fingers slid easily inside her. He maintained eye contact as he began rubbing his thumb around her clitoris, in firm circles. His knuckles pushed against the wall of her vagina. She felt held firmly between his thumb and fingers and relaxed even more, putting her arms under her head to assist her in lying comfortably and being able to see what he was doing. She'd missed this -- that excitement of someone new pushing in her cunt... Well, he'd done it a couple times before, but not recently, so that didn't count. She'd had a baby since he'd last touched her there, so that was like a new pussy he'd never touched, right?

Her legs forced themselves downwards into the mattress, braced against the heat of his denim-covered thighs between hers, as she pushed her pelvis up to accept, even grab, more of his hand. She thought she might get off from that firm pressure and bucked herself more against his hand, trying to rub herself against it, but he slowed down. She took advantage of the opportunity to have a deep breath. He removed his hand and held it up in front of him, furling his fingers experimentally. "Shall I? Do you think it will fit?"

The thought of his hand -- fist -- pushing against so many sensitive points had Karen practically melt into jelly there and then. She got a grip and managed to reply. "Don't know, but do try. Please." She know she had changed shape inside, but that was a tiny detail. She wanted more.

John's smile melted into a look of concentration as he slid three fingers into her this time, playing with her clit with the side of his thumb, then using the thumb on her opening. After a moment, he slid the thumb tip inside also, then twisted his hand so the knuckles at the bottoms of his fingers pressed at her opening, desperate to slide in if she could only relax enough.

Karen loved knuckles pushing against her cunt. Relaxed wasn't how she would describe herself, wriggling and rubbing against his hand and forearm, but shortly she felt the bumps of his knuckles pop inside her, stretching her open around four fingers, his thumb unable, any more, to reach to where she wanted it.

She decided she wanted -- needed? -- more inside her. The flat of his hand just highlighted how much space around it wasn't being so beautifully stretched as she twisted and turned, wanting that pressure all round. "Put your thumb in," she gasped.

She wasn't sure that was possible, was sure it wasn't, desperately wanted it anyway. Karen rocked obsessively on his hand, not wanting to miss a second of these sensations, desperate for it never to end. She couldn't control her body. Nor her voice, which was making a repeated whining noise.

John looked down at her, and suddenly she understood he was finally getting what he wanted -- pushing her to the limit of the possible, as her moan sounded more like a scream.

He moved his thumb.

His thumb tip tickled just inside her. It was disappointing. But then he curled his fingers downwards into a fist, forcing his knuckles to stretch her even more inside, filling her totally. She lost control completely, shouting out in joy, happily filled and fulfilled. It was so intense, she had no idea what noise she was making or what her body was doing. Some time passed. She didn't think she'd passed out, but it was close.

A while later she noticed John had stopped moving his hand, and she lay back, floppy as could be, as John pulled his hand out, suction causing great slurping sounds. The air rushing in highlighted how much he'd opened her up.

"Wow...fisting," Karen murmured inanely, realising she had been screaming, and now wasn't.

"Technically no, but yeah," he contradicted and agreed. "Never got my thumb inside you," he explained, tracing his left forefinger round his right hand to indicate what had happened and how much of his hand had penetrated her. "I didn't want to distract you, seeing as you seemed to be enjoying yourself..."

His satisfaction from having brought about her overwhelming experience was obvious; what Karen would have described as "cat with two tails" until the gleeful image of "toddler with two dummies" superseded it. "Smug git" was also appropriate, but she wasn't going to object to that, not right now.

Competence was always sexy, she decided. And the comparison of a toddler wasn't freaking her out, now, just amusing. Karen felt that finally her maternal aspects were happily integrating into the rest of her life, and right now were rightly taking a back seat.

She pulled him back to her. He idly stroked her bare legs with his nails, then scratched them harder, digging his fingers in more firmly as she opened her thighs up for him. He grasped her flesh in his hands, squeezing handfuls of thigh, and round to her buttocks.

"Mmm," he said.

"Qué?"

"So smooth. Warm. And soft."

"Yes." The very definition of small talk, Karen felt -- filling in time and inching towards a more important question.

John paused a minute. "I'd really like to hurt you here," he stated, expressionlessly, running his hands in possessive circles round her arse. "Would you like me to?"

Karen noted the careful phrasing: not would she like that, as he knew full well how she struggled with how she wanted pain while hating it. She wanted him to take control and do it. Which he wouldn't, unless she explicitly consented. He loved to hear her struggling with embarrassment and having to force the words out.

"Yes, I would." There. Done. Committed. Now, only the fear that she had become so sensitive that sadism would be boring.

"Similar to last time? Or hard to tell?"

She couldn't really remember last the time. Over four years, apart from one cuddly date. Two children. So many new thoughts. So much change. Even if some strands of her previous life were finally weaving anew. "I have no idea. I don't know what I'll be able to take -- my skin gets so sensitive -- it might not be much fun for you..."

He put a finger on her lip, stopping her wittering. "It's not about what you can take. It's about your reactions while you're taking it. That's what I want to see." He saw her relax, nod, understand. "Besides, I don't want to wear my arm out, if I don't have to!"

Finally, she felt comfortable enough to confess: "I feel more clueless about my reactions than a total innocent newbie."

He nodded. "Cool. Slow, careful experimentation time it is, then. Oh, fun!"

He went over to the wardrobe and returned with armfuls of restraints, floggers, whips and toys.

"Turn over. Let's find out."