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I promised that 12 would quickly follow and here it is. I loved writing it for you. I’m really back into the swing so 13 shouldn’t be much longer.
If you’ve read the previous parts you’ll know the score, so you can skip the rest of the intro and go straight to the action. If you haven’t read them I’d strongly suggest you do. You see the accounts flow naturally and are intrinsically linked, so they really do need to be read in the sequence I wrote them. And I do keep referring back to earlier events. Still it’s your choice.
Whatever way you do read them, though, enjoy them, leave whatever comments you wish and e-mail me if you’d like to discuss anything.
Part 12. Some mum things and finding out what Jon really wants, any ideas?
My life was going crazy, in fact it was going fucking crazy!
It was exam time at college and I was cramming like hell; the price students pay for not studying earlier.
My recent more liberal attitude towards the poses I’d do for the photographers was resulting in an avalanche of bookings, all over London. For those that haven’t read Part 10 yet, for “more liberal” read, “flashing my cunt!
DD and his wife had parted and he was pressuring me to shack up with him.
Dad was rarely at home preferring to live in one of his Docklands flats when he was in the UK, which wasn’t that often.
Mum was out on some form of razzle a lot of the time, usually it seemed with a group of younger people from her tennis club.
The pair of them, so it seemed, were, emotionally for sure and physically probably, as good as separated.
And I’d got mixed up with an anal obsessed fifty three year old actor who had introduced me to spanking.
See what I mean about fucking crazy, in more than way as well?
On top of all that, mum had decided to have a party at home and had asked me along and suggested I bring some friends. Trouble is I didn’t have that many and I didn’t feel I could bring Jon who was older than both my mum and dad. So I asked DD and Stephanie.
“In what capacity are you asking me?” She’d asked when I called her.
“What do you mean?”
“Well am I a mate, your lover or just a guest? Do I bring a partner or what? A male or female one even? Can an Essex girl party cope with a pair of lessies turning up?”
“Dunno, I hadn’t though that far.”
“OK well let me know when you decide.”
The party was set for three weeks time. It was being held on a Sunday and hopefully, weather permitting, it would be in the grounds. The plan was an all afternoon and evening barbecue round the pool that people would be encouraged to use. It was one of those pools that was half inside and half out, so even if the weather was a bit dodgy some swimming would be possible. I was beginning to dread though the endless possibilities for things to go awry with people changing into and maybe out of the swimming stuff!
In one of her dafter, snobby moments mum had got the gardener to make a croquet lawn. That and the tennis court, together with a badminton net strung between two trees provided some sport for the more energetic, the well-stocked bar some sustenance for the drinkers and the hugely expensive stereo system in the lounge some sounds for the dancers.
In her indomitable style she’d hired caterers and a party organiser to handle everything, hence she’d get the plaudits for a great party and they’d do the work. Still so what? No point having money and not using it is there?
“What’ll dad say when he hears about it?” I’d asked.
Mum looked at me as she climbed out of the pool. She pulled the panties of her bikini up, for, as they do, her’s had slipped a bit, as she’d swum her daily twenty lengths. The top of the crease in her bum was clearly and rather titilatingly on show. Towelling her hair as she stood before me the bra of her swim-suit was stretched tight across her full, luscious breasts. Where the coldish water had stimulated her, her nipples were making large lumps in her bikini. And where she was rubbing the towel over her hair the two mounds of such female flesh jiggled and wobbled so enticingly.
“I don’t like saying this Sam, but quite frankly I don’t give a damn. We have hardly any contact now and I don’t expect that to change much in the future.
Turning away from me, she undid the bra of her bikini. Momentarily I saw her gorgeous breasts fully naked. Immediately my mind went back to that time when I’d seen her kneeling in the gym, her leotard pulled down, her personal trainer’s cock in her hands. That memory and what I was seeing now made me shudder, probably I acknowledged, with lust and desire. It was excruciatingly arousing to watch her lift each mound and dry underneath it and then rub the towel over each breast, inevitably stimulating her nipples that I saw were bigger, rounder and much darker than mine. I felt a little cheated when she then wrapped the towel round her ending the peep show that she just couldn’t realise was so exciting for her daughter.
“Sod it, I forgot my robe, still this’ll do, pour me a glass of wine love please?”
As I got the wine güvenilir bahis from the fridge and poured it, she was wiggling her panties off and drying herself with the large towel. I was in shorts and a tee-shirt; I hadn’t bothered with a bra. She was naked apart from the towel. I didn’t feel comfortable, I felt edgy, a little concerned and more than a little aroused.
“So what’ll happen, do you reckon?” I asked.
“Between dad and me?”
“Not much, I don’t think we’ll divorce, well not yet, but I can’t see things getting better, they’ve gone too far now.”
She got up, walked over to the table and lit a Marlboro.
“You’re smoking again then?”
“Yes too much. You?”
“Not much at all, I can’t afford, I’m a poor student, remember?” I said referring to how dad had almost disinherited me when I dropped out of uni.
She laughed. “Oh yes I forgot that, he was a bit of a sod wasn’t he?”
“Yes a right bastard actually.”
“Still I hear you’re making a few bob with your er, um, other job aren’t you?”
I panicked. What the hell did she mean? What had she heard?
“What do you mean, what have you heard?”
“A friend of mine tells me you’re doing some photographic modelling.”
Oh fuck, I thought, how do I get out of this one?
“Did he? Who’s that I asked?” Playing for time.
“Oh you don’t really know him, but I introduced you to those guests I had at that dinner party a few weeks ago. Well Colin is a photographer, commercial stuff in the main.”
“So what’s he saying about me?”
“Only that he saw your photo in the portfolio of models at the studio he uses in Highgate. He was attracted by the name, Sammi.”
“Nah, couldn’t be, must be loads of Sams?” I blatantly lied, trying to bluff my way out of it.
“I’m afraid it could be for there aren’t that many Sammis are there? Anyway he sent me some photos when I said the same, they’re on my PC. He only sent that along with some others this morning”
“Hmmmmm,” I mewed thinking as quickly as I could. “Bit hard to beat that then isn’t it?”
“Why try, they’re actually lovely photos and you’ve got the most beautiful body.”
Speaking without really thinking I retorted.
“I must have got that from you then.”
Mum didn’t say anything, but merely looked at me from over the rim of the wine glass that I noted was nearly empty; she’d been drinking quite a lot lately I thought.
Smiling as she finished the wine she said.
“If you’re not quite sure it’s you, why not have a peep at the photos?”
I said that I would and she gave me the name of the folders on her PC.
Fortunately they were some of my earlier stuff. Although in a couple I was naked and in one or two I was striking some rather raunchy poses, none were of my more recent open legged stuff.
I was scrolling through them half admiring myself and half worried like hell that my mum had seen them and knew now that I was doing modeling. I know the bit about admiring myself sounds awfully arrogant, but I don’t mean it to be. It’s just that when I see photos of myself it’s as if it’s someone else, honest. I can’t explain it, but that’s how I feel when I look at my breasts, my hardened pink nipples , my bum and my legs. They don’t’ seem to belong to me, but to another person.
As I was fiddling with the PC looking at those photos so, almost without thinking, I clicked on the web browser key and up came mum’s home page, e-bay. I clicked on history and then my computer, nosy little bitch aren’t I? Obviously there was one of those little icons with an “e” on it with the file name Highgate. Under that was another with the name Mands, a term of affection my dad and others use for my mother.
I must have had a conflict with myself for, oh at least a seconds, as to whether I should look or not. When I saw that it was a zip file the curiosity certainly got the better of this cat.
There must have been fifty photos in there, all numbered. With shaking fingers I changed the view format to “thumbnails.”
“Oh shit,” I muttered part in amazement, part in worry and at least a big part in awe. They were all of my mother. They were all of her posing for the camera in various stages of undress, well stripping more like. They were all incredible, very graphic, beautifully lit, focused and taken and stupendously sexy.
Whoever had taken them was clearly a good cameraman. The photos were better than most that were taken of me. And my mother was a fantastic model. She had that ability to at times use her body to look amazingly sexy, perhaps by holding her large breasts up to the camera, whilst her face was gentile and then vice versa; a pouting full on, come and fuck me if you think you’re hard enough look, while showing hardly anything she shouldn’t.
I became aroused, but then when around my mum lately that hasn’t been hard, it’s happened frequently. But now, immediately after seeing her in her bikini, watching her remove that, looking at her just clad in the towel and now ogling at her naked and near naked body on the screen, my feelings of arousal became almost overpowering.
Without türkçe bahis even knowing I was doing it, my hand had slid inside my tee. I was stroking my bare breasts and pinching and pulling my nipples as I flicked through one after another of the hugely raunchy photos of my mother.
Standing, kneeling, sitting and sprawling on a chair, on the floor and on a bed; it wasn’t her bed either and it wasn’t our house. In jeans and a blouse, panties and bra, just panties, just bra and then just fuck all, but holding her panties. All cleverly posed and so, so horny.
One of my hands slid downwards while the other worked the PC.
Loads of her naked. Her back, sides and front, covering her tits, covering her pubes then covering nothing.
They were fun photos, the cameraman and model were enjoying what they were doing, she was often smiling at the camera, but in a sexy way. They were also photos where there was chemistry between the three parties, my mum, the cameraman and the camera. They were photos that screamed out. “After, maybe during, this we’ll fuck.” There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that this Colin guy, who I now remembered quite well, and my mother were lovers. There was equally no doubt that they would have finished the session fucking. That was as clear as day to me, for I’d almost been there so many times now!!!
I could feel the warmth starting to flow from my clit throughout my body. But then, when your fingers are in your panties, when they’ve unfolded those delicious layers of skin and when they’re softly rubbing that stalk of such arousal, that’s bound to happen isn’t it?
I flicked through the photos again, one by one as I now, quite avidly, agitated my clit. I dallied on those I found the most arousing. They were not the more revealing ones, although there wasn’t any of her open pussy, but ones of her face and parts of her body, mainly he full breasts. I was more attracted to those where her facial expressions were saying the most, telling more about how she was feeling, illustrating her emotions, displaying her pleasure, enjoyment, anticipation and desire. Yes the ones that were turning me on the most were the ones where she looked turned on. It was as if I was causing those expressions, as if it was me giving her those feelings and turning her on, just as her images were turning me on. I have warned you about my sexual oddness haven’t I?
My arousal from my masturbating, the clear display of sexual want on my mother’s face in the photos and my latent lesbian desires and needs all combined. They got together to hit me with such a strong surge of sexual feelings that I began to cum.
I had found my favourite shot. She was standing looking at right at the camera. It was a full length shot of her just wearing panties; they were tight across her pubic mound. Her head was slightly tipped forward her chestnut coloured hair was tumbling onto her shoulders with a few strand across her face. She was holding her breasts, more gripping them really, and pushing them together a bit. Her fingers were spread apart so that between them the pinkness and the hardness of her nipples could be seen. Her boobs looked so luscious and large, a little like, but not as big as, Stephanie’s, the first breasts I ever made love to.
I think it was mainly the look of such want and sexual desire in her eyes that made it my favourite and the one I looked at as I built up my climax. Yes it was that I stared at as I fucked myself looking at a photo of the woman I was imagining was fucking me.
I was quickly into that almost hypnotic state of an advanced orgasm. That state and mood where and when nothing else matters. Nothing can matter, for there’s only one purpose at times that like and that’s wringing every last ounce of pleasure from what’s being done to your mind and body.
In the dim and far off distance of reality I may well have heard a door open and close as I fucked myself, but I couldn’t have stopped for any reason.
That spanking Jon gave me as he fought to recover his erection cost me over £300. I had to pull out of two modeling sessions due to the marks on my bum and thighs. That annoyed me a little. In my saner moments it also put me off the idea of doing anything further in that vein.
But after he had aroused me so much by “washing my hair,” all such thoughts were but dim memories. So when he said.
“Sammi, I want to spank you again,” I merely nodded.
That nod, though, said so much; more to me actually than to him. It told me that the need that had lain dormant in me all these years hadn’t been satisfied. That what he’d done to my bottom last time wasn’t a one off. That, although I had felt I might like to stop, there was no way I could. I was intrigued, bemused, excited and scared all at the same time. I was a little disgusted with myself for agreeing so quickly and for clearly wanting more of this practice. Whilst I got so much excitement from what Jon had done to me and although when I thought about being spanked I found myself getting turned on, I did think of it as a rather deviant practice; a little kinky güvenilir bahis siteleri and somewhat of a perversion. But then, hey, it’s just sex isn’t it?
“Is that OK?” He asked the movement under the dressing gown indicating his excitement at the thought.
Still wrapped in just the towel I looked at him smiling and said.
“I put some clothes in the spare bedroom that I’d like you to wear if you would?” He told me. “Would you?”
“What are they?”
“Oh just panties, a top and a skirt, nothing extreme. I bought them especially for this”
I agreed that I’d put them on and that when I was ready I’d walk into the small dining room.
Laid out neatly on the bed was a white blouse, a striped school tie, a short, thin, pleated skirt, knee length white socks, a pair of white pumps with straps and a pair of panties. There was no bra. The panties were pink. I noticed as I picked them up that they were high waisted and full, but cut at an acute angle at the thighs. They were made of net lace so they were totally see-through. To me they weren’t particularly sexy, although a few photographers I modeled for had asked me to wear such full knickers at times, so some men must like them.
I put the knickers on first. The elastic waistband wasn’t quite round my waist but then it also wasn’t at the bikini panty level that had been so popular in the past, it was sort of mid-way, well at the front that is. At the back it was round my waist. Looking over my shoulder at myself in the mirror I could see the cheeks of my bum being clearly dissected by the elastic at the leg holes of the panties. I could also see that they really were transparent and little was hidden. I could see the dark slash of the crease between my cheeks and when I bent forward as I did a couple of times I could see the puffy outlines of the rear of the lips of my pussy. For some reason just looking at myself like that and visualising Jon doing that later turned me on a little.
I slipped into the blouse. It was of fairly low quality cotton, so it was thin and where I stretched it across my breasts as I buttoned it up I could see the darkness of my nipples. As I looked at that and my beneath the waist near nakedness, I could see my nipples hardening and making very obvious indentations in the cotton. I did up all the buttons apart from the top one. I left that undone and then knotted the tie but left that a little loose. It was a short tie and hardly reached my waist even when loose.
Although my waist is only 23 or 24 inches the skirt was tight, but I could handle that. In fact I quite enjoyed the sensation of being restricted, held in and contained. But then I’d always had a yen to wear a corset, especially a lace-up Victorian one with suspenders and stockings. The hem only came to mid thigh so there seemed to be oodles of my tanned, bare legs on show, presumably that’s what he wanted? But then so did all the guys I posed for so what’s different?
The socks were thin, white and also tight and reached to just beneath my knees. They made me look younger than my twenty years, again, probably the idea. I slipped into the pumps, messed around with my make-up and hair and then went into the dining room.
“Oh yes Sammi, oh yes,” he sighed running his gaze up and down my body. “You look fantastic, and thank you for doing your hair.”
I smiled, for as a little afterthought I’d put my hair into pigtails; that seemed a good accompaniment to the schoolgirl uniform!
He was still in the old fashioned, silk dressing gown. It had a tie at the front and had gaped a little at the lapels so his greying hair was on show. He had a stern sort of look on his face as he looked at me and said.
“That was very naughty Sammi.”
“What was?” I replied not yet quite up to speed with what he was on about.
“Oh when you washed my hair?” I asked standing looking at him just a few feet apart.
“Yes, it’s naughty for young girls to get so sexually aroused, you should learn to control yourself.”
I was beginning to see that he was acting, that he was creating a scenario that we were, as I later found out it’s called, role-playing.
In a stern, fairly, deep voice Jon said. “I’m afraid that’s not good enough Sammi.”
Not in any way playing a role but being absolutely myself I said rather chirpily.
“Well that’s too bad isn’t it? I can’t be more than sorry.”
“No that’s true, but you can be punished, and punished you will be.”
“Really and how’s that going to happen?” I asked now finding myself really getting into the role as I saw the shape and size of his erection under the robe and reveled in his gaze roaming over my body.
I don’t often go without a bra, even though my boobs are fairly small. As I stood there before Jon, occasionally moving from foot to foot and as I felt them jiggle and the cotton rub against my frighteningly hard nipples I wondered why I didn’t. It was one hell of a turn on and I knew that if I went around like that and people looked at my breasts bouncing around I’d find that even more of a turn on. To look, particularly, a girl in the eye as her gaze wanders over my chest and her mind records that under that flimsy cotton my tits are bare would be so fucking cool that there and then I decided to “burn my bra” in the future.
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