Kathy Andrews - Make room for mother

Laura opened her legs a little more.

The sun coming in through the window was hot on her thighs, on the tight crotch of her bikini panties. The heat was nice; it made her cunt feel very good.

She lay sprawled across her couch, one arm resting lightly on her stomach, the other above her head. Her eyes were closed, and she felt drowsy. The fantasies kept whirling through her mind, becoming more and more erotic, more impossible. It amused her to imagine such crazy things, such painful and absolutely impossible positions her body could be twisted into, all of them lewd, very lewd.

Laura was a lewd person.

Laura was a wanton person.

Laura wanted to fuck.

Laura did fuck, but it was all in her mind. In her mind, using her wicked imagination, everything imaginable was done to her, to her body, and she did everything to her dream partners. In her fantasies, she could hold and stroke and caress a big cock, toy with hot, full balls. She could lick at them, kiss them, taste them. In her mind, she could do anything she wanted to do. No body knew about it but her. And it was so much fun.

The moist heat of her cunt excited her. She loved it when her clit knotted and swelled and pulsated so deliciously. Sometimes she could come in her fantasies, and then come for real.

She liked her fantasies because in them she could do anything she wanted to do, anything at all. She could be depraved, get wild, used and abused and use and abuse. But Laura didn't like those words, used and abused. In her way of thinking, she couldn't be used or abused by a person with a lovely, long, thick, very hard cock. She could only enjoy, enjoy to the fullest.

She didn't understand women that felt abused when a man fucked them. She didn't understand how a woman could feel abused if the man with that hard cock shoved it down her throat, or even into her ass. She didn't find anything abusive about a hard cock penetrating her body, no matter where it penetrated.

To her, that was ecstasy, not abuse.

But Laura was a wanton in her mind only. She had very little experience to go by. She had never been fucked in all those wet, hot places she imagined getting fucked in. Only her cunt, only her pussy, her twat.

Twat such a silly word, she thought, but exciting to whisper or think about.

She wondered where such words came from, especially cunt. She couldn't associate the word cunt with her pussy. Pussy sounded pretty good to her. It reminded her of a kitten, a soft, furry kitten. Her cunt was soft, and it was furry, just like a kitten. Pussy was a very good word for it, but not as exciting as the word cunt.

And cock another stupid word. Cock made her think of a farm, with a strutting rooster in a hen house. Maybe that was it, a cock, a strutting cock, lifted upward, hard, proud. Prick made a little sense to her. Prick her cunt like pricking her flesh with a needle. Still, it wasn't as exciting as cock. Cock and cunt, two very exciting words to her.

Fuck was another word she loved. If it was said in her hearing, there was an immediate response between her thighs. She didn't know why, but if she heard the word fuck, she became wet there, and would tingle nicely.

Asshole she could understand. There was a bole there, right between the cheeks of her ass, so asshole made sense.

But blow-job?

Why was it called a blow-job when no one really blew? Cock-sucking was much more descriptive. After all, a girl sucked the cock, not blew on it.

Tits breasts tits.

Her hand moved up her stomach until she palmed one of her own tits. Her tit was firm, rounded, with a pink nipple that hardened just from the things that went on inside her mind. She fondled her tit through the thin, summer sweater, feeling her nipple pulsate against her hand. She liked to feel her tits, just as she liked to stroke and gently caress her pussy.

As the hot sun increased the sweet heat on the crotch of her panties, she dropped one foot over the edge of the couch and to the floor. The other leg she bent at the knee, letting it rest on the back of the couch. The sun was full on her pussy now, and that felt even better. She lifted her sweater beneath her tits and slipped her hand beneath it, cupping her tit that way.

Laura felt very wicked, playing with herself like this, especially in the living room. She loved to feel wicked.

Laura had grown up in a home filled with no-no's. Her parents had been extremely restrictive, refusing to let her date even in high school. Sex was never mentioned, not under any circumstances. It was nasty, something best never thought about.

She had been caught doing those nasty things to her body, and had been whipped cruelly by her father. How could anything that felt so good be nasty? Ice cream tasted good, but no one called it nasty. Her cunt felt good, but it was nasty. It was all very confusing to her, then. It still was, to some degree.

Then she married after high school, and her body was ready for it.

Her mind was ready for it.

And she didn't get it.

Her husband wasn't interested in her delicious, succulent body. He thought fucking her once a month was enough. But Laura's body, her cunt, cried out for hard cock, demanding to be fucked.

Her husband, like her father before, thought she was nasty. He didn't say nasty, but said she was a nymphomaniac. Laura didn't know what a nymphomaniac was, and looked it up. That puzzled her even more. Her desires didn't fit the criteria of nymphomania. Laura had orgasms, and everything she read about that strange word indicated there was no orgasm involved, but a desperate search for it. Her husband also said she was sex crazy, that she had nothing but sex on her mind.

That much was true; she definitely had sex on her mind, all the time, day and night. But it wasn't nasty. It couldn't be nasty it felt much too good to be nasty.

Now Laura didn't have a husband.

He became tired of living with a woman that made such perverted demands as wanting to be fucked. He left her, with her son, the house, a car, and a comfortable bank account. She didn't know where he was and couldn't care less. He had been no good to her when married to him, and certainly no good now.

Her freedom had given her the excuse to experience those wild things in her mind, but Laura couldn't bring herself to do so. She was shy, very naive, almost afraid of men. They strutted around and fucked everything, she had observed, but if a woman did the same thing, the man quickly discarded her as a slut, a whore, a nasty person.

She giggled.

Her parents had been shocked when her little brother had suddenly arrived about nineteen years ago. They had been finished with having and raising a child. Laura was the only one they planned to have, and then there was Jason, abruptly. Laura giggled as she thought of her restrictive mother and father fucking. She had never been sure they fucked at all, but she and her young brother were evidence that they had fucked at least two times in their miserable lives.

Jason, her brother, was only a year older than her own son, Sammy.

And since her parents lived within walking distance from her house, the two boys had been very good friends from the beginning.

Maybe her parents didn't pay as much attention to Jason as they had her, because Jason had so much more freedom then she had enjoyed. Jason was a nasty boy, too. Laura had heard him using those exciting words with her son. She had said nothing to her brother about it, nor to Sammy. If those words excited her, then they must excite the boys, she felt. She was not going to be like her mother and father. She allowed Sammy to enjoy himself, and if that meant he played with his cock, good for him!