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Amanda Frobisher swung her Bentley Arnage into the long, leafy drive that led to her spacious mansion, set on acres of rolling land in one of the most affluent parts of Long Island.
It had been a long day of signing forms in a Manhattan lawyer’s offices to take control of her late brother’s estate, but now it was all over she was many millions of dollars wealthier, although the main thing on her mind was a long, refreshing gin and tonic.
That, and her young nephew, her brother’s boy who was now her legal ward. He was such a handful, a moody, but handsome lad, with almost girlishly-long jet-black hair, dark eyelashes, flashing brown eyes, and a marvellously toned young body.
But Amanda was aware that the boy, 18 but in her eyes still a “boy”, had been casting increasingly lustful glances not only at herself – after all, she was still an extremely attractive and well-built 40-year-old – but also her daughter, Karla, aged 18, and Karla’s friend, Lucy, who was staying for the long summer break.
Lucy was almost a mirror image of Karla – both girls were busty brunettes, with superbly-muscled thighs and calves, and high, gym-toned buttocks. And the lad had been eyeing them with the sort of look that only a youngster with sex on the brain can give nubile teenagers.
Amanda sighed, as she eased the Bentley through the electronically-operated gates and aimed it towards the large house. If only the boy had behaved himself, then she could relax and enjoy a long, palate-cleansing drink. But if not ….
Once inside, Amanda Frobisher poured herself a slug of Queen Victoria Bombay gin, added ice, tonic, a twist of lime, then stepped out of her outrageously expensive Italian black dress, which left her clad only in a satin bra and panties, and Louboutin high heels.
She walked slowly out to the poolside patio, where she found her daughter and her friend, laying back sunning themselves on recliners. They were wearing skimpy little, wet-look bikinis.
In front of them, wearing only a gleaming posing pouch, was the boy, his body glistening with perspiration as he performed push-ups on a large beach towel arranged in front of where the two teenagers lay watching him.
To many, such a display would have been bizarre, to say the least, but Mrs Frobisher had no qualms about displaying her lovely, full-breasted figure, with her strong legs and brilliantly sculpted buttocks in front of the lad. Nor did she object to the girls wearing skimpy bikinis in front of him, either. They were gorgeous young girls and gorgeous young girls have a right to flaunt their fine figures in front of men – it taught them to appreciate the sight of feminine beauty, Mrs Frobisher knew.
To many, his apparel would also have been bizarre, but Mrs Frobisher liked the way the tiny satin pouch bunched the lad’s “equipment”. Mrs Frobisher was well aware that it served as a humiliation device, especially since the colour was pink, with little white frilled edging it added to that humiliation. It also provided her with an easy-to-spot check on whether he was aroused, as the satin clung tautly to his manhood. And that manhood, she knew, was fully shaved, including his pubic bone and his balls. Mrs Frobisher liked men – or boys – that way.
“And what,” said Mrs Frobisher, as she placed her gin and tonic on a glass topped table and settled in a chair, crossing her shapely legs, “do we have here? Don’t tell me the boy has been misbehaving again?”
“Sorry, mom,” said Karla, adopting what Amanda Frobisher knew very well was a mock look of disappointment, “but he was really, really disgusting this afternoon, so we’ve made him work out in front of us as a starter before you decide on his real punishment.”
The brown-haired beauty smiled at her daughter, and took another sip of the Bombay gin. “All right,” she said, in a rather resigned tone, “tell me the worst.”
Then, looking down at the still sweating and sit-up performing boy, she snapped: “On your feet boy and stand to attention, this pertains to you!”
The magnificently-built but slightly gasping youth sighed with relief at the end of his physical exertions, and stood, hands by his side, his eyes darting from the lovely bikini-clad girls to Mrs Frobisher in her mouth-watering lingerie.
“And while we’re all listening to what you’ve been up to, you may as well remove that pouch – I’ve a feeling you won’t be needing it any more!” she commanded the youth.
With a look at the girls, then back at his aunt, the boy appeared for a fleeting moment defiant, but then, sensing the older woman’s tone of voice, he peeled the pouch from his crotch and stood nude before the female trio.
Mrs Frobisher noticed that despite the boy’s obvious discomfort, his penis was standing out thickly in semi-erection, its shaft and heavy scrotal sac gleaming in the strong sun. She approved, then looked at her daughter, and nodded.
Karla grinned a wicked grin, took a sip from her orange juice, and started: “Well, you know you said we could go riding, mom, while you kartal escort bayan were in Manhattan? When we got back, we ordered boy here to hose down the horses and groom them while we changed.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Frobisher, “and he didn’t do it properly? Or he wasn’t dressed in his posing pouch, as per my instructions?”
“Oh no, mommy,” said Karla. “He did it OK, I guess, but after Lucy and I had showered, well we were messing around in my room, a pretend pillow fight, and I heard a sort of groan at the door, or a grunt.”
Mrs Frobisher leaned forward, her lovely large globes threatening to fall from their gleaming satin cups. “And?” she almost whispered.
“Well,” said Karla, warming to her tale, “I sprinted to the door and yanked it open and there was this filthy slut, on his knees, with his hand on his you-know-what, and it was dripping that stuff from it.”
“Pre-cum?” asked Mrs Frobisher, her voice relishing the term as she put it to her daughter.
“That’s it, mommy, pre-cum, whatever – it was disgusting,” said the girl, pulling a face.
Mrs Frobisher glanced at the sweating lad, then looked at the thick head of his penis. There, at the foreskin lips, she could see a blob of moisture seeping from the cockhead.
“Wipe that disgusting muck from your penis, boy,” she almost barked at him.
The boy did as he was told, holding his now pre-cum-smeared palm out towards his aunt.
“Don’t you dare wipe it on your thigh, boy,” said Mrs Frobisher, menacingly. “Lick it!”
The boy gave a sort of shudder, but complied.
Then Mrs Frobisher addressed Karla’s friend. “And tell me, Lucy, is that what happened? This isn’t a hoax just to get the lad in trouble, is it?”
Lucy shook her head vigorously. “Certainly not, Mrs Frobisher – I saw him, his willy was hard and he’d been stroking it while perving on us. He was all, er, wet, sorta?”
“Aroused?” prompted Mrs Frobisher, helping the girl out.
“Correct,” both girls chorused.
Mrs Frobisher felt the damp sweat running between her heaving breasts. This was all working out so perfectly.
She sipped again on her drink, adjusted her position in the chair slightly, feeling the oozing warmth at her crotch, then held out her glass to the naked, still semi-erect boy.
“Righto, lad,” she snapped, “fetch me another gin and tonic and while you’re doing that you’d better come up with a good excuse for your disgusting behaviour.”
The lad’s face reddened, but he took the glass and dashed into the house.
Mrs Frobisher looked at her daughter. “And while he’s getting me my drink, you can go and fetch me my Scot’s tawse, Karla, dear,” she instructed the 18-year-old. “You know where I keep it.”
“Why mommy, you’re not going to wait to hear his side of the story?” asked the girl.
“Don’t be silly, darling,” laughed the mature beauty, “it doesn’t really matter what he says, does it? After all, it’s two women against one male. So it’s pretty obvious who I’m going to believe, isn’t it?”
With a whoop of laughter, Karla Frobisher dashed away to do her mother’s bidding, and she was back with the evil-looking implement before the boy emerged with the gin and tonic.
Mrs Frobisher fingered the split-ended tool of torture as the lad placed her drink on the table. She saw his eyes look at the leather, as if they had been glued to it.
He stepped back and resumed his stance, his penis now noticeably less hard than before.
“Explain, boy,” snapped the 40-year-old, “and make it good!”
The lad started his explanation, his eyes barely straying from the foot-long item of discipline.
“Well, aunty, you see aunty,” he stammered, only to be snapped at by Amanda Frobisher.
“Out with it, child, we haven’t got all day,” snarled the Long Island socialite, although she knew well that she and the girls had all of the day that was left.
“I was walking past Karla’s room, aunty,” explained the lad, “when I saw the lace was undone on my sneaker, so I knelt down to re-tie it. And then Karla opened the door, and saw that my prick was sticking up out of the top band of the posing pouch.”
“Penis, boy,” murmured Mrs Frobisher, “no filthy language, if you please.”
“That’s a crock of shit, mommy,” Karla almost shrieked.
“Yeah,” agreed her friend, “since when can you tie sneaker laces up while you’re wanking with one hand!”
“Lucy, please,” said Mrs Frobisher, although with a smile on her face. “Masturbating, stroking, even – but not ‘wanking’.”
The girls grinned and then glared at the lad. His face was lowered. He knew he was in for it, the way Mrs Frobisher was threading the tawse through her fingers told him that.
“Sorry, aunty, it won’t happen again,” the boy spoke in a whisper.
Mrs Frobisher’s hand fell from the split-ended tawse and for a fleeting moment traced over her panty gusset. It was, as she knew very well, sopping wet.
“Oh, my dear boy,” she said, in a hushed tone, leaning towards him, “that’s the escort maltepe truest thing you’ve said today!”
The lovely brunette sipped on her refreshed gin, then settled back in her chair and crossed her shapely thighs, allowing the lad a tantalising glimpse of the shiny satin stretched sensuously across her pubes.
“Well, it goes without saying that you have to be punished, boy,” she said, quietly. “First by me, naturally, for abusing the hospitality I have been showing you since you became my ward. And second, of course, by the girls here for your disgustingly perverted snooping on them.”
Then a thought occurred to Mrs Frobisher. “And speaking of snooping, were you girls dressed? You said you’d been showering.”
The girls grinned at each other, and then Karla informed her mother: “We were buck naked, mommy. And I bet he got a good fuckin’ look!”
Mrs Frobisher tut-tutted in mock anger. “Really, Karla, such language. Still, I see what you mean.”
Then she returned her attention to the boy.
“Right, boy, we’ll start with the tawse,” she informed her victim. “It’s 15 strokes for snooping on the young ladies, and another 15 for stroking your penis while spying on them.”
Then, almost with a bound, Mrs Frobisher was on her feet and indicating to the naked lad to place his hands on the back of the chair and present his buttocks for the tawse.
The boy did as bidden with such speed it was obvious that he had obeyed such an instruction from his aunt before.
Mrs Frobisher stepped over to one side of the suntanned youth, and then looked at the eagerly watching audience.
“Girls,” she announced, “I think it’s a good idea if we have boy here in the same state as he was when he got into this predicament. Do you think you can make him ‘aroused’ as it were? Can you do that for me?”
The girls whooped with delight and quickly climbed from their recliners to stand on each side of the boy. Lucy placed a hand on the lad’s abdomen, then slid it down until she was cupping his scrotum.
Karla lightly placed the thumb and forefinger of her left hand – she was on the boy’s left side – on the sides of his shaft and began to stroke him, slowly, but firmly.
The about-to-be-whipped boy let out a low groan as the two 18-year-olds worked on his genitals, then Mrs Frobisher laid the tawse lightly on his buttocks and whispered: “Count them and thank me, boy!”
Gently she tapped him on his splayed cheeks, then the leather whipped down with a sharp crack.
“One, thank-you aunty,” came the boy’s low murmur, as the girls continued to work on his cock and balls.
Steadily, with no rush, the brassiered and pantied woman worked on the boy’s buttocks. At first his responses were measured, until after the seventh stroke he let out a hiss of pain. “Owwwww, seven, thank-you aunty,” was his anguished reply.
The next stroke produced a whimper, then an “Aaargh”, before he managed to intone “Eight, thank-you aunty”.
Mrs Frobisher was pleased, and after that eighth stroke she dragged out the boy’s discipline session by taking a draught from her long glass of gin and tonic. Then she resumed her work, her body gleaming with a light sheen of perspiration as she flogged.
Finally, after 15 strokes, the Long Island socialite decided to allow the lad a pause, to let him feel the burning building in his bronzed buttocks, not striped where the martinet had done its work.
Sipping again on her gin, Mrs Frobisher surveyed his posterior and announced: “Right, girls, for the last 15 strokes, I think you can change places. Lucy, stroke his penis, Karla, take his scrotum in hand.”
The girls maintained their places, Karla’s left hand now cupping the semen-heavy ball sac, while her friend placed the thumb and forefinger of her right hand on the boy’s surprisingly still-thick cock.
Mrs Frobisher switched the tawse to her other hand for the next 15-stroke delivery. The first blow – his 16th – brought an immediate announcement from the lad that she was attacking his burning flesh with renewed vigor.
“Yeaaaargh!” was the sound that escaped from his lips, before the compulsory “Thank-you aunty” and the number of the stroke.
The sound that echoed around the swimming pool and its precincts did not bother Mrs Frobisher in the slightest. The mansion was set well away from the two adjoining properties, the lad’s shouts would go unnoticed, she knew.
Finally, the youth’s ordeal was at an end, and Mrs Frobisher slapped the tawse down on the table top with a satisfying “Thwaaaack” and finished her second drink.
“Stand up straight, stop snivelling and display yourself, boy,” she ordered him, and as the naked lad obeyed, Mrs Frobisher noticed with intense pleasure that his cock was, if not pointing towards his chin, at least nicely thick and almost fully erect.
Resuming her place on her chair, Mrs Frobisher smiled up at the lad, only too well aware that she had promised the girls a share in his punishment. She saw by the look pendik escort on his face that he was dreading more flagellation.
Then she spoke – and allayed his fears.
“Now, boy, it’s the girls’ turn. You behaved disgracefully towards them, so you must apologise,” she told him.
“Yes, aunty, I’m sorry Karla, sorry, Lucy,” he said, feeling the fires burning in his buttocks.
“Oh no, my dear little slut,” said Mrs Frobisher, “just a word or two of ‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it. You must apologise properly. Now it’s time for the ass worship.”
The words “ass worship” were almost spat out of the busty beauty’s mouth, and they seemed to act like a whip on the lad’s body.
“Ass worship, aunty?” he stammered, and his aunt put up her hand imperiously.
“Yes, boy,” she snapped at him. “And don’t worry – if you’ve never done it before, I’ll be standing over you with the instructions. And with the tawse boy, just so you get it right!”
The lad’s face fell, then Mrs Frobisher stood, picked up the implement of correction once more, and beckoned to Lucy.
“We’re sticklers for correct behaviour here, Lucy,” announced the older woman, “so it’s guests first. Now, my dear, please be so kind as to remove your bikini bottom and adopt the same position against my chair as boy here did for his whipping.”
Lucy grinned a cat that’s licked the cream grin, stood, pulled off her tiny bikini bottom to reveal a dark little sprout of brown pubic hair on her mound, and lush, thick, aroused labia. Then she stepped to the chair, arranged the towel that the boy had been doing his push-ups on, and stood on it, feet wide apart.
Mrs Frobisher looked with interest at the girl’s dark brown anal whorl, and her hairless pussy, the lips thick and moist, gleaming, awaiting worship.
“On your knees, boy,” she snarled at the now totally erect lad, and with thick prick swaying around in front of him, the youth knelt behind Lucy’s glorious ass.
Mrs Frobisher laid the tips of the two-pronged tawse on the boy’s gleaming strong upper back, then leaned over, placing her mouth by his ear and whispered: “Worship, boy, worship!”
As she did so, Mrs Frobisher was acutely aware of the delicious feminine aroma exuding from the 18-year-old’s pussy. For the boy, she knew, the pussy perfume would be even stronger.
The lad’s tongue poked out at his aunt’s instruction “Buttocks first, lick ’em!” he began to lave at the sun-browned flesh of Lucy’s glorious backside.
After a while, Mrs Frobisher decided it was time to move on. “Now the anus, boy, lick it softly, then harder, then quicker – go!”
The boy, she decided, was a natural, obeying her instructions to the letter, before she allowed him further delight. “Deeper, over her cunt, between her labia, arouse her boy, arouse her!”
Karla giggled and said “Language, mummy, language!” but Mrs Frobisher snapped at her daughter.
“Shut up, darling, mommy’s in charge of something,” she told the girl.
The ministrations of mouth-on-minge soon had Lucy moaning, then sobbing, and finally, to Mrs Frobisher’s delight, she shuddered to a buttock-quivering climax.
As the girl calmed, the boy did not stop his work, but now pressed his mouth eagerly over her buttocks, which clenched and unclenched as her orgasm subsided.
Mrs Frobisher yanked on the boy’s hair, dragging him to his feet, where he displayed a rock-hard erection, the glistening tip laid bare by the fact that his foreskin had pulled partly away from the hood of cock to reveal a pre-cum oozing head.
“And now it’s your turn, my darling daughter,” smiled Mrs Frobisher, and Karla removed her bikini bottom to reveal a semi-shaved snatch.
Taking Lucy’s place, feet wide on the towel, hands gripping the chair, crotch lewdly displayed, Karla shouted: “Get him back to work, mom, I’m hot to trot!”
Mrs Frobisher smiled at her daughter’s enthusiasm, and nodded to the penis-jutting youth to resume his place of worship. The lad was equally enthusiastic and before the woman could issue instructions, her nephew was licking and kissing away at his cousin’s backside.
As with Lucy, the boy worked away patiently, but steadily, and when he had switched his attentions from the girl’s anus, then deeper down her crotch towards her clitoris, the teenager reached behind her and grabbed his head, forcing it harder against her lovely body.
“Tongue me, slut, tongue me, get your nose in that ass, lick me, bring me off or I’ll get mom to whip you again!” she panted, and the lad slaved away to do her bidding.
As she saw her daughter banging her buttocks back into the lad’s face for more pussy purchase on his mouth and tongue, Mrs Frobisher slipped her by now sodden panties from her pussy. She was most definitely not going to be left out of this little party!
Karla came with a shouted outburst, and while she calmed down, Mrs Frobisher allowed the boy, sporting a massive hard-on, to stand and rest for a moment. When the 18-year-old was back to her senses, the 40-year-old took her place.
Amanda Frobisher thrilled at the first delicate traceries on her buttocks as the boy did his work. Instructions now were no longer necessary, the boy knew his place and knew what he had to do with his tongue and lips and in what order.
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