The Art of Lust Pt. 03

If it isn't one thing, it's your mother.

Earlier Isabelle had startled at the sound of the car horn behind her at the traffic light and realized she'd been dreaming of John's cock again. She'd darted through the intersection to images of the young man's urgent, swollen manhood drooling for her and the familiar sound of her dead mother's voice in her head.

You're old enough to be his mother. You've got no business having sex with that boy. Or lying to him. Or lying with him like a slut.

John didn't need to know how her marriage had really ended and she wasn't going to tell him.

You made your husband gay.

NO! No, she and Walter had married at nineteen when she got pregnant with the twins and Walter hadn't even come out to himself yet. That took another eighteen years.

What makes you think you can keep a young stud interested? You haven't had much practice. Mom, relentless, didn't pull her punches. So what if she and Walter hadn't had a varied sex life? She'd been busy raising the girls and he'd been on the tenure track. That sounded lame even to herself. Now you're spreading your legs like a whore. He only wants you because you're easy.

Some part of her wished her mother could see her enjoying John's body. The cold, upright and domineering woman's own sex life couldn't have been very good. Isabelle's father was an evangelical minister who'd demanded his wife be subservient. Sex was mostly for babies, he'd preached. Now that Isabelle's libido had come roaring back with Walter gone and the twins out of the house, she'd been unable to get that 'boy's' magnificent cock out of her thoughts. Three carnal Sunday's with him and Isabelle was catching up fast as far as practice, though.

Her therapist had suggested she talk back to that scolding mother's voice until she could take charge of the dialogue and now she was going to do it. So just half a hour after the honking of that car behind hers, after the deluge of her mom's imperious voice all the way home, after meeting John at her kitchen door and dragging him upstairs, after a quick, hungry fuck, they lay cooling in her bed. And Isabelle remembered to stand her ground.

She spoke to her mother. "I'm going to show you what a cock is for. And what a pussy's for, mother."

Your language!

John's sculpted body sprawled face up on the sweaty sheets. Isabelle lay her head on his belly and took his softened cock in her mouth. She liked the sauce of cum and her juices on it. "This tastes good, mom. Can you taste what I taste, you being up in my head like you are?"

Don't degrade yourself! You don't know where that's been.

"You know that I do know, mother. It's been balls deep in my vagina. Taste my juice. Isn't it tart? Savor his cum - it's sweet and sour and bitter all at once, like the sauerkraut you used to make." Isabelle suckled at the sticky cock and cupped his heavy balls in her warm hand. Her other hand nestled between her own thighs. Her fingers lazily stroked her wet vulva, keeping her clit buzzing low. "I learned to play with myself early even when you said I'd go to hell for it."

Hell's not hot enough for your depravity.

"I've given myself more orgasms this year than you had your whole life, I bet. Did you even ever get wet? I'm sorry for you. Feel how that tingle spreads..." As Isabelle was perpendicular to him, John grazed his big hand along her shoulder, tickled the swell of her breast, trailed it along the arch of her hip and joined her hand on her moist sex. They floated silently, eyes closed, in the afterglow in the warm room, slowly building for another round.

"This 'boy' knows my body better than you probably knew your own. I feel so sorry that you never had this kind of joy."

Selfish, selfish, girl!"

"His cock's swelling again, growing in my mouth. I love this part, mom. How it pulses and his body's slightest quiver telegraphs into my body."

He'll choke you! He's using you like a whore!

"Mom, enjoying sex doesn't make a woman a whore. It makes her whole." John's thickening cock pressed her head back and spread her jaws. Her tongue had to struggle for space. "This makes me drool. I love making a man whimper with need of me. Listen to him."

He's an animal...men are animals. They take what they want.

"So you can feel his hand on the back of my head? He's gentle, not forceful. I'd say it's more of a suggestion, a guidance. And I'm going to take him as deep as I can, mother."

Disgusting.

"I like to think of it deep in my cunt again, insistent, eager, powerful. My fingers are getting juicy again, too. I'm dripping down there. I'm creaming on his caressing hand."

You're going to get a disease. You'll be sorry for that, not for my righteousness.

"No, you were wrong about sticky panties, mom. Remember how you scolded me for the stains? But women do have wet dreams. We do get horny."

Of which nothing good can come. I told you to read the Bible til it passed!

"I've learned that it's OK to want to get plowed nearly every day, whichever way I might want it: romantic or athletic or kinky, or all three!"

When you tempt a man, be prepared to be degraded in God's eyes.

"I'm beautiful in God's eyes. Every last inch of me."

You showed this boy your privates and he couldn't help himself.

"I love my labia. I love my thick, hanging meat-curtains, my liver-lips."

Lord, child, you're trying to disgust me even further, aren't you?

"You're right, mother, those terms maybe are degrading. But what's remarkable about John is he knows enough to make me feel good about my body. He calls it my beautiful pink butterfly."

That's an insult to butterflies...

"Especially when he's got his mouth on it. I can flutter from orgasm to orgasm for hours like that. Did you ever look at your own 'privates'?"

Don't be ridiculous.

"Mine are big. No tidy little wrinkled lips for me, no, I was born with extra. I was afraid to ask you about them."

That's what doctors are for.

"And therapists...surely you've heard my sessions."

Get right with God and you don't need a head doctor.

"You know when I go commando I can feel my labia brush against my thighs? It's so delicious. I get slippery and tingly. I wish I'd tried it twenty years ago."

This is the whorishness I warned you about. Impure thoughts lead to impure deeds.

"Then hell, right? Can you feel John's fingers so gently sliding in my juice? I've got my hand over his. I'm guiding him. Just like his hand on my head is guiding his cock into my throat."

Pure whorishness...I'm praying for you.

"Mmmm, his cock's pulsing out drops for us to taste. I can hardly swallow around him."

Get on your knees and pray for forgiveness before it's too late!

"Nope, I'm going to get on my knees and ask him to take me from behind." Isabelle didn't have to speak. She just rose and knelt at the side of the bed, stuck her ass up and smiled. John knew what to do. "Feel his wide knob spread my labia, mom. Didn't you ever need to be filled up with cock? Not once?"

Insofar as it resulted in babies like you and your sister. And for the glory of God, to multiply as the book says we're commanded to do.

"I never understood why you took the religion of a two-thousand-year-old desert nomadic tribe." John sank his rod slowly to the root in Isabelle in one long stroke and let it rest there so they could both feel him throbbing and her clenching.

God chooses us, not the other way 'round. You've turned your feet from the heavenly path.

"No, I choose. I choose to pull forward and feel him slipping back, every vein and ridge of him. I choose to be taken."

God will take you back, child! It's not too late to be saved. You can repent this whorishness.

"I repent nothing. I regret nothing! I want that beautiful, red, dripping meat spearing me apart. I'm swiveling my hips as he pushes in...feel how electric it is?"

You brought this on yourself.

"God, I hope so. I didn't know what I was missing. You're right, my thoughts led me to want this and to find a man who could give it to me."

But at the cost of your soul!

"I reject your premise entirely. In fact, shut up! There's nothing wrong with sex, or with me! I'll have whatever thoughts I like, mother. You know what I like to think about when John's plowing me like this? While I'm fingering myself with my arms trapped under my belly, with my face down in the quilt and John's grabbed my elbows so he can just pull me back and impale me on his cock over and over again, my inflamed nipples grinding on the bed? You know what I'm thinking when I'm getting close to an orgasm, when I can feel that he's letting his body run loose and his own climax is coming? When we're slapping our bodies together so hard we'll both be bruised tomorrow? When I'm being used like a fuck-toy? It's so glorious to feel safe and at the limits of physical pleasure! When I've abandoned all of my defenses. When I let my body feel what it feels best, unafraid! When my fifteenth explosion is about to trigger. That's when I imagine I'm in the stocks with my head and hands clamped in rough wooden boards and my feet are manacled to the floor, holding me apart for him. When my sweat drips loudly on the floor and John's grunts echo off of the walls and his body is going rigid, his feet planted firmly, he's pulling my ass hard onto his iron cock and I'm about to scream. You know what I'm thinking then?

......

"Did I shock you into silence, finally? You know what I'm thinking when John's swelling cock is driving into me over and over, when I'm trembling on the edge of infinity, straining at my bindings, chafing my skin, when my mascara's running down my face and the taste of sex is on my tongue? I imagine a black man in the room watching us. A big black man with a big black cock that's dripping because he's been stroking it three feet from my face, the foreskin sliding. I've been watching him sweat and quiver as he gets close. I've been watching the shiny drops emerge from his dark cock-hole and run down his knuckles. I'm watching the smile spread on his face and his forehead clench as he groans and stiffens all over. I've been watching his eyes linger on my swinging breasts and the ripples of ass-flesh that run across when John slams himself into me. You know what I imagine next, mother, when we're all three just about to pop? When my body goes rigid in the stocks and the orgasmic electricity's making me shake like I've got a car battery wired to my nipples? When I open my mouth to cry out in ecstasy, the black man pulls my head up by the hair and presses his leaking cock into my drooling mouth."

.......

"What, nothing to say to that, mother? Can you feel what it's like to get stuffed from both ends, to want to get stuffed from both ends? Can you taste the gushes of salty semen on your tongue? Can you bear to get even slipperier when John fills you with his churning seed? Can you feel the semen froth dripping from your pussy, running down your legs? Don't you want to lick it off? Can you feel the jizz foam streaming down your chin and splattering while your head is held tight and your shouts are reduced to gurgles around the fat, pulsing meat between your lips? Will you be too wrung out to even beg to be unchained? Will you just hang there in the stocks, dripping? I bet this fantasy is a result of your Godliness. Don't you think so? Isn't this what you wanted all along, to be bad. Isn't sinning what excites you most?"

.......

"Nothing to say? You're gone, I hope, at last. Or maybe we're one now. John's lifting me from my knees and carefully laying me on the rumpled bed, covering me with the sheet, wrapping his arms around me and fading off into sleep. A well-deserved sleep for him, the dear boy. You know what, mom, fuck me but I want him again, even as his two loads leak from my pussy and make a puddle. And just a warning to you if you do decide to take up residence in my head again. We're doing a three-way with another woman next week. Yeah, I'm going full Sodomite next Sunday.