|
DDM (13/13)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
WARNING!
The following story contains detailed descriptions of sex acts between
family members (incest), and between humans and animals (bestiality).
If you are offended by such material, please stop reading now!
<< Danny Does Mom / Part 10 >>
Chapter 10
Helen had Art to herself that evening. Danny climaxed a restless
afternoon by requesting permission to eat pizza at a place downtown and
see one of the new movies, and she was quite willing to agree. Before
Danny
left, he brought up the subject of the donkey again.
"Don't get mad, Mom, but I was wondering."
"What?"
"Well, most people don't get around donkeys very much. Do you think
dogs would be likely to do that as Smokey was?"
She hesitated. "Probably," she replied at last.
"Mom, was he good?"
She felt a flush rise to her face. "Yes. Very good."
"Hmmmm."
He had been gone only a few minutes when Art got home, and Art had
seen Danny."
"I saw Danny crossing a vacant lot about six blocks from here. Where's
he going?"
She told him.
"Oh." Art's voice sounded lighter. "How come you're all dressed then?"
She sniffed. "Seems to me there was something mentioned about
people being modest." She grinned at his pained expression. "Look, hon,"
she
said. "I had a chance to take a good look at myself while you were with
Van
this afternoon. I decided I'd swung like a pendulum. I was a first class
Victorian - a Grandma Farrell - until I realized I was going to lose you
that
way. So I went to the other extreme - a no-holds-barred nympho. Well, I
think I know what I am now."
"Yeah? Well enough to tell me?"
"I think so. I love sex, honey. I'll do anything or let anything happen
to
me . . . at the right time, with the right person and when I'm in the
right
mood. I'm going to be my own boss about that, and I'm not going to let
Grandma Farrells' ghost scare me out of having fun or let every casual
stimulus stampede me into tearing off my clothes."
Art was studying her with an expression of obvious respect. She
leaned against him and let her love for him show in her smile.
"Of course, darling . . . " she spoke softly. "The strongest stimulus I
know is seeing you want me. And that's never casual."
"If I get a 'let's screw' look in my eye, off come the clothes?" he asked
with a grin.
"If that's what you want. Or on they stay, if you want it that way."
He began to look agitated. "What about guys like Barry?"
"I'm not sure. Barry's good with sex. I don't mind having him make love
to me. But he's not so important to me that I'd let him if you didn't
want me
to. And I'm certainly not interested in trying out anybody else, unless
you
think I ought to." She hesitated, then continued. "If I see a guy who
really
turns me on, I'll tell you about him and We'll decide if I ought to try
him
out."
Art whistled. "Goddamn! That doesn't sound like a woman talking!
Sounds like the way a man would think!"
"There's been some pressure," she said. "It wasn't the kind of pressure
I could have survived with tears of wishful thinking. Maybe it took
survival-type logic" She smiled in an effort to appear disarming. "I guess
that'd men call man-type thinking."
He growled. "Come on, you sexy broad. Let's eat so we'll have some
time for screwing!"
She got supper ready, pausing from time to time to enjoy one of Art's
lewd caresses, and they ate quickly. Art helped her with the dishes, and
while she was polishing the sink and cabinet he began to unbutton her
dress.
She gave herself up to a delicious, all-over tingle and completed her work
with a hasty swipe of the cloth. Hanging it ver the faucet, she turned to
face her husband.
Art pushed her dress off her shoulders and she let it slide to the
floor, remembering how her dressing gown had fallen beside the bathtub.
She watched Art's jaw twitch as he unfastened her bra and pulled it away
from her breasts. And she rested the heels of her hands on the cabinet and
leaned back, the cold edge pressing into the small of her back while Art
closed his lips over one puckered nipple. When he straightened, his hands
already rolling down the top of her panties, he sighed gustily.
"I'm going to like the new Helen best of all," he said.
"Me too!" Helen shivered.
The telephone rang at precisely the moment that Helen drew her foot
out of her panties. She wrinkled her nose.
Art swore. "Oh, shit! Now what?"
"I'll get it, honey."
"Well . . . Okay, but I'll go with you."
When she picked up the receiver, he stood behind her. She leaned
against him and he cupped his hands over her breasts, kneading gently.
"Hello?"
"Hi. This is Van."
"Oh! Hi, Van."
"Helen, Barry and I were wondering if you and Art would like to come
over for some games tonight."
Helen repeated the message to Art. He hesitated.
"I'm not too eager about it right now," he said. "It's up to you,
though."
She spoke into the mouthpiece. "Van, would you be awfully upset if we
took a raincheck?"
"No, I guess not. Say, did Art tell you what happened this afternoon?"
"No."
"One of those pipes in the upstairs bathroom ruptured. The place was
flooded! I had to call a plumber, and there were three of them here all
afternoon running copper tubing. Art and I spent five hours trying to save
everything that was wet. Tell him, 'Thanks again!' "
"I will."
"Oh, another thing. You might want to keep on eye on Danny, too."
"What?"
Van chuckled. "That kid's got enterprise! He was over here about an
hour ago. Talked me into showing him how I trim that special hybrid Winter
Wonder in our lath house. I was so surprised when he started to feel me
up I
didn't stop him. He was damn good at it, and I wanted to see how far he'd
go.
Well, let me tell you, I'll spin on that cock anytime! Honey, he was
magnificent! But is he ever athletic! He had me all over the lath house .
. . in
the leafmold on the benches, against the planters . . . Jesus!
"Good God!" whispered Helen. "Oh, Van! I'm sorry!"
"Helen, don't apologize. But you'd better tell me if you don't want him
making out over here. I like what he's got, and he can play games with me
any day of the week!" Vanessa laughed nervously. "I think he finally hit
on a
way to break the ice with that snotty sister of mine too. Don't ask me
how,
but he must have found out Olga's one human trait is she's an absolute
pushover for animals! Show her a stray cat or a bird with a broken wing
or a
perfectly healthy goat and she adopts the damn thing. So Danny just
happened to ask her - just happened to, mind you - if she'd ever spent
much
time around donkeys. Seems his donkey - Smokey, of course - has had some
problem Danny can't figure out how to solve. He didn't seem willing to
describe what was wrong; said a person would have to see for himself to
appreciate how seriously it distressed the poor creature. And Olga thawed
and had Danny out of here so fast it made our heads swim!"
Helen groaned faintly. "Any other sparkling news?" she asked.
"No. I guess that covers it. I'll phone you to see if we can work out a
good time for another get-together. Okay?"
"Okay."
When Helen hung up, Art swept her into his arms and carried her to
the couch. She was aflame with desire for him as the result of his
unceasing attention to her boobs during the long telephone conversation,
but
he sent her excitement rocketing with the unrestricted handling he gave
her
now. She was so ecstatic over her own response; she soared into three
orgasms before he reached his first, and she began to think there was
nothing he could do that wouldn't drive her to climax.
Vanessa called back an hour later. "Helen I guess Danny scored with
Olga, too. He just brought her back, and she's dragging as if she'd
treated
the Army of the South! I'm afraid they didn't give poor old Smokey much
help." She paused. "What's wrong with the old fellow, anyway?"
"It's like Danny said, Van. You've got to see it to understand what a
problem it is for him."
"I wish I could help. I'd do just about anything for that sweet old
thing."
Helen gasped and grinned with delight. She could think of nothing that
would give her more satisfaction than to see Van's full-curved body under
Smokey, impaled with that majestic cock of his. And, if she worked it
right,
she could use Danny's movie camera to provide something she and Art could
enjoy over and over.
"Van?"
"Huh?"
"You mean that? About helping him, I mean?"
"I certainly do!"
"Maybe if you have time tomorrow morning you could take a look at
him."
"Good heavens, yes! I'll be over as soon as Barry and Olga are out of
the house!"
This time, when Helen turned away from the telephone, she was in an
incredulous daze. She could hardly believe it had been so easy. But Art
looked concerned.
"What's all this about Smokey?" he asked. "Something wrong with him
I didn't know about?"
She stared at her husband for a moment, recalling the way he'd
described what would happen if she gave Smokey a chance to mount her. The
fact that he'd been accurate was of no importance; the loving attention to
detail, though, suggested he might have the same voyeuristic thing about
watching such an act as Danny had shown.
"Well . . . " She felt confused and a little embarrassed. It would be
worth the embarrassment if she could bring him as much pleasure as she
thought she could. "Well, he spends about eighty percent of his time
shuffling around with a hard-on, honey. He's frustrated as hell, and you
know how unlikely we are to find anyone who'll let us breed him to their
mare. He's just too damn little!"
Art nodded. "You can hardly call that a disease, though. What the hell
could anyone do for him?"
She stared into space, pretending to be daydreaming. "I'm not sure. You
remember telling me how wrong I was when I said you made love like an
animal? You talked about Smokey then."
Art frowned, then looked up sharply. "About how Smokey would put it
to a woman?"
"Yes."
"Hell, that was pure fiction. I wanted to shock you."
She smiled shyly. "I know. But I was just wondering. You suppose if he
were coaxed right he might . . . ?"
"Helen!" There was a note of wild, incredulous hope in her husband's
voice. "Helen! You'd be willing to . . . ? You'd try that?!"
"For you, honey. If you thought you'd find it exciting."
"Jesus Christ! Honey, when?"
"When would you like me to try?"
"Baby . . . Don't get mad, but how about now?"
She pretended to hesitate. "All right."
"You going to dress?"
"What for? So I can get undressed down there?"
"Oh, shit! Let's go!"
They ran, hand in hand, to the corral. Smokey was restless, and the
moonlight shone on his great hard-on. Helen was totally confident the
little
donkey had mounted Olga at least once during the evening. He was becoming
accustomed to human mates; he ought to board her for Art without urging.
She climbed over the fence, Art close behind.
"The table?" he asked.
"I don't think so." She pretended to be uncertain and doubtful. "Being
his first time, shouldn't we make it as natural as possible for him?"
"Well, that would be better, of course."
"Maybe if I get in the right position and back under him he'll get the
idea."
"Holy Jesus!" Art breathed hard. "You're right. You've got a hell of a
lot
more guts than I knew!"
Helen dropped to all fours, walking awkwardly on hands and feet, her
legs widely spread. She sidled under the donkey, bending her knees just
enough to maneuver her pussy against the point of Smoke's cock. That hard
head danced over her labia and settled at the rim of her cunt, and she
pushed back upon it. She saw Smokey heave his forefeet into the air and
waited breathlessly until he planted them on her back. To her relief, he
was
perfectly gentle, the touch of his hooves incredibly light. But his
hindquarters made up for that restraint. He hammered his huge cock home in
her with brutal blows, and she sagged with sick desire for his jism.
"Honey? Art! . . . "
"What?"
"Reach under me , honey. Get hold of my breasts. Do you know how to
milk?"
"Hell, yes! But . . . ?
"Just get right in front of me. On your knees. Milk me, baby. Please!
Milk my tits while Smokey fucks me."
"Oh, shit! What a fantastic broad! Okay!"
Art knelt before her. She gulped his cockhead into her mouth and
sucked desperately while he milked her throbbing nipples and Smokey
pumped his donkey-cock into her cunt. A wave of sheer bliss welled in her.
'There's times,' she thought. 'There's times when everything's in the
right
place!'
THE END
|
|
