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This story is a continuation of My Bottom, and takes place several months later. The first story was from the perspective of Vicky, the top. This story is Kimmy’s perspective.
* * *
The party is winding down, at last. The port was opened a while ago, and some of the guests are getting ready to leave. Another half-hour at most, and I’ll have Mummy all to myself — or she’ll have me, either way I can’t wait!
I know these parties are important to Mummy, but they do make me that nervous. I mean, Mummy’s friends and associates are these powerful, clever people — most of them twenty or thirty years older than me.
Mummy, however, moves among them with confidence and ease: they defer to her. (I learnt that word just recently. I pronounced it “deffer,” but my tutor told me the accent goes on the second syllable.) Well, if you met Mummy, you’d defer to her too. She’s a brilliant, assertive, devastatingly handsome, silver-haired woman of a certain age (I got that phrase from a Henry James novel, I don’t remember which one), with a flawless figure. I was in awe of her when I first met her — still am, really. (Sorry, I’m topic-jumping again, like my tutor says I do in my essays.) Anyway, here I am, just a twenty-two year old girl, still in university, trying to mingle with these important people, worried I’ll say something stupid, like “deffer,” and embarrass Mummy. When they talk to me, I mostly smile and nod, and offer them another drink.
Not too long ago, though, I would have been scared shitless by a party like this. I mean, I cringed when people even looked at me: when they did, it was usually to call me an overweight cow, or something equally cruel. (Mummy doesn’t like me to use that word, overweight: she tells me I’m abundantly proportioned; and when she says it, it’s like a lovely compliment, like it’s something especially sexy.) Before I met Mummy, I was in a series of “relationships,” with men and women, that mostly consisted of me giving them head, working dead-end jobs to buy them drugs, getting yelled at and smacked about, and eventually being told to get the fuck out. I thought it was what I deserved.
Mummy saved my life, really. I met her shortly after I started working in purchasing at Weldon-Lewis, my first job with any possibility of advancement. I never dreamt what form that advancement would take. Mummy swept into our office one morning, a corporate goddess descending from on high to clear up some problem in purchasing procedures. She noticed me crying in the loo (my latest girlfriend had kicked me out, I was back living with my sister). Mummy told me she needed my help with a few jobs in her office, right away — never mind about my supervisor, she’d OK the reassignment if Vicky Lapham (that’s Mummy) ordered it. Vicky took me to lunch that day, to cheer me up. I had no idea why she singled me out, why she took me under her wing, but I was in awe of her, I was smitten. She later told me that her heart was drawn to “this adorable young thing” (Mummy thinks I’m adorable!) so obviously in need of a bit of tenderness. Well, Mummy gave me tenderness, and over the next few weeks, she gave me more and more. She gave me love. She brought me home to live with her in this fabulous West-End flat. She got me into my university programme, where I’m learning all these interesting things about literature and history and art. We’ve been together now for nearly two years.
Now, here I am, with a sophisticated hairdo, makeup, matching sapphire necklace and earrings, wearing a *very* expensive frock that shows every abundantly proportioned curve. These curves drive Mummy wild, I know: she loves them. And, perhaps, I’m beginning to as well. When I catch sight of myself in a mirror, I think, Damn I look sexy!
The last guests, Richard and Eva, are getting ready to leave. I get their coats.
“Vicky, it was a delight to see you again in your …” he gestures around him, “your … hative nab … native habitat.”
“Good bye, Vicky and Kim, thanks awfully.” Eva heads out to the cab. “Richard, come along, you’re drunk.”
“Of course I’m drunk. You don’t think they’d put up with me if I were sober, d’you? I’m a pompous bore when I’m sober.” He turns to me. “Ah Kim, our gracious young hostess. Is it true what I heard, that you prepared that magnificent dinner all by yourself?”
“Yes, she did,” Mummy says, slipping her arm round my waist. (Mummy’s not at all closeted about us in front of her friends. That’s one casino siteleri of the many things I love about her. Of course, she’s never been one to worry about what anybody else thinks of her.) “She slaved all day in the kitchen, working miracles with those prawns, and now she needs her rest. So, cheerio, Richard. See you at the squash courts on Wednesday.”
She closes the door behind him and turns back to me. “Well, Richard’s right: it was a delightful party, and you were a *perfect* hostess.” We sink down together in the sofa, her arm still about me. “I know these parties are a bit stressful for you, Pet, but I can’t resist showing you off to my friends. Several of them commented on how you’ve blossomed in the last year.”
“Have I?” I’m blushing fiercely, looking at the floor. Mummy’s pleased with me: Mummy likes showing *me* off to her friends! I float in a bubble of joy.
“Oh yes, Pet. I loved the look on Sir George’s face when you corrected him about Edith Wharton. Quite the scholar, you’ve become.”
“I was afraid I’d been rude.”
Mummy snorts. “Rude? You impressed the hell out of him. Out of all of us.” Well, the mild nervousness I felt during the party now seems like a small price to pay, to bask in Mummy’s approval like this! She nods towards the port, and I pour her a glass. Her hand has been lightly stroking my bare arm and shoulder all the while, and the normal sexual buzz I feel round Mummy is starting to turn into full-blown lust. “I had a hard time keeping my hands off you tonight, Kimmy: you look so adorably squeezable in that frock.” (Apparently, she’s feeling the buzz too!) I lean into her slightly. She pulls me a little closer, and I rest my head on her shoulder, slip my arm round her waist.
“You look pretty stunning yourself, Mummy.” She’s wearing a skimpy black frock with lacy trim, with black silk stockings and a jacket.
She brightens. “D’you think so? I wasn’t sure if I can get away with showing this much leg at my age.”
“Mummy, you have fantastic legs. You know how much I love them.”
“Well, I’m glad you love them anyway, Pet,” she chuckles. With my other hand, I begin stroking her thigh, pushing up the hem of her frock. But she puts her hand over mine to stop me. (I feel a slight ripple of disappointment any time Mummy says no to me sexually. Not the crushing rejection I used to feel; but it always hurts, just a little.)
“Steady on, Pet. I’ve a piece of news for you. This party wasn’t purely a social occasion for me, you know. I had some business to discuss with Stuart Langley.” She pauses to take a sip of port. “Well, he’s buying me out of Weldon-Lewis, at my asking price.” I sit up, sharply. She grins at me. “I’m cashing it in. Your Mummy’s probably the richest old dyke in the UK right now.”
“You’re … leaving W-L? But, what will you do?”
“It’s called early retirement, darling. I thought I’d enjoy spending more time with you. We could go on some long holidays together between your terms. Maybe set up a little art gallery or bookshop together once you finish university. Would you like that, Pet?”
“You know I’d love it Mummy. You know I do. It’s the most wonderful … I … honestly, I don’t know why you’re so good to me.” I’m crying now, overwhelmed at what she’s just told me, at the depth of her commitment to me. (A small part of me still expects her to tire of me at any moment, to throw me back into the gutter where she found me. But instead she’s planning to give up her career for me!) “I just don’t know what you see in me, Mummy.”
“Now, Pet, don’t start that. Don’t start poor-mouthing yourself again, just after I told you how much you’ve blossomed.”
“Sorry, Mummy.” I wipe my eyes and nose with a cocktail serviette, and look up at her, smiling.
“That’s better.” She finishes her port, and stands up. “Well, after a successful party like this, and a very successful business deal, I, for one, am in the mood to celebrate. With you, Pet.” She pulls me to my feet and kisses me, roughly, urgently; her tongue invades my mouth, while her hands squeeze and knead my arse. The buzz of lust between us is now back in full-force. “I’m going to show you what I see in you, you gorgeous, roly-poly sex kitten,” she hisses in my ear. “Now get ready.” As I turn toward the bedroom, she smacks my big bottom, hard, to hurry me on my way. My arse cheek stings, my knickers are soaked.
Five minutes later, we’re in the bedroom, teeth cleaned, bladders emptied, slot oyna faces washed (I actually prefer her face without makeup — I like her looking a little more butch), and naked. I spread two towels on the bed, then sit on the edge of the bed, awaiting Mummy’s pleasure. I cup my heavy tits in my hands, displaying them to her. She studies me for a moment. (I study her too: my eyes are drawn to her small, boyish tits, with those big womanly nipples: I could suck on them for days. Maybe when we go on holiday, I really can do! I’m trying not to look at her beautiful dark-haired cunt, because that’ll just make me crazy for it, and she may not want to give it to me tonight.) Mummy comes over to me, leans me back in the pillows, ties my wrists loosely to the headboard.
Then she’s on top of me, kissing me deeply, bringing my heart up into my lips and taking it, taking my everything, into her, claiming me completely. This is not going to be about tender lovemaking: this is going to be about her possessing me; we both want that.
Her head dips down and she begins kissing and kneading my tits. As her mouth fastens on my nipple, I feel her fingers between my legs, parting the hair, dipping inside me, stroking my wet lips, my clit, then plunging deep in my vagina. She makes me that wet, and she’s spreading my wetness all over me. I can’t see what she’s doing, but I can feel more fingers entering me, I’m starting to come, and then oh God she’s tucking her thumb in too: her whole fist slides into me, knocking the air out of my lungs, making me see stars.
She holds still, deep inside me. I take a huge gasp of air. She lifts her mouth from my nipple. “All right, Kimmy? It’s not too much?”
“Give me … a moment … Mummy.” Her head goes back down, latching onto the other nipple, sucking hard, nibbling. Soon, my vagina’s accommodated itself to her fist (sort of), and I rock my arse gently against it, to let her know I’m ready.
“Mmm, you fit me like a glove, Pet, heh-heh. How does this feel?” She rotates her wrist slightly.
“Oooh, Mummy!” I pant, “you know I love this.”
“I like to hear you say it, Pet.”
“It’s good. It’s so full. Very intense.”
Her fist begins a gentle churning motion within me. “Go on, Pet.”
“Can’t talk. Can’t think. Oh, Mummy!”
She curls her fingers up against my G-spot as she churns. “Are you ready for it, Pet?” I nod my head frantically. I can feel every knuckle against my walls.
“Please … Victoria …”
She lowers her mouth to my hair-trigger clit, sucking it gently, and the fireworks in my body, inside my head, begin to explode. “Ooh, Mummy!” I cry out. They go on exploding. I lose track of time, lose track of everything but the overpowering sensation of her fingers churning in my cunt, her mouth on my clit, Mummy Mummy Mummy, wringing orgasms out of me like juice from a lemon, in powerful squirts, prolonged dribbles, and then more squirts …
Some time later (two minutes, fifteen minutes?), I open my eyes. My hands are free, and the wet towels have been removed from under me. Mummy’s lying beside me, gazing at me, stroking my big tummy. “Wow,” I say hoarsely.
“Wow,” she smirks back. “You come like that for me…” She shakes her head, “And you say you don’t know what I see in you.”
She takes me in her arms and we kiss some more. We’re both sweaty from the fucking she just gave me. I feel her stiff nipples poking me. I take her breasts in my hands, roll her nipples gently between my fingers. I take one in my mouth and begin sucking. She cradles my head in her arms as I suck, stroking my hair softly. I switch to the other nipple. Desire builds in me again, but this time it’s my need for her pleasure. Will she let me, tonight? Oh yes, Mummy lies back and pulls her knees up: that’s what I’ve been waiting for, that’s my cue.
A few paragraphs ago, I described my clit as “hair-trigger.” Mummy’s is the opposite: bigger, but not nearly as sensitive. I can lick, nuzzle and suck at it for ten or twenty minutes before she comes. Once we went for a full hour. And that’s just fine with me. Mummy’s not fast-food. She’s a banquet to be savoured: the longer I’ve got her delicious cunt in my mouth, the happier I am. And now, as I kiss my way down her tummy, lift her arse in my arms, bury my nose in her dark, silky curls, and sweep my tongue from her anus up to her clit, she’s a meal I’m ravenous for.
“I want to tell you a story, Pet. About me.” Reluctantly, I lift my head canlı casino siteleri to listen. “I didn’t tell you to stop licking: keep at it. Ah, that’s it. Well, by the time I was your age, I had formed the impression that the world is a mean place; that people are basically rotten bastards; that the only way to gain satisfaction in life is to become rich and powerful, so you can have the things you want, and make the bastards do what you want. I focussed on my work and my investments, to the exclusion of everything else. I was good at it. I acquired a reputation for ruthlessness. Nobody liked me, but I fought my way up the corporate ladder, with lots of lateral jumps, till I moved to my current position at Weldon-Lewis.” She pauses to put a pillow under her hips, to give me better access.
“But lots of people like you, Mummy.” I flutter my tongue along her labia. “You’re brilliant (flutter), you’re charming (flutter), you’re sexy as hell (flutter-suck) …”
“Um, thank you Pet, but that’s how *you* see me, now. Uh, slow down a bit. Just gentle licks for now, yes … that’s better.”
“But you had other … er … lovers … before me.” (I don’t like to think about them.)
“Well, yes, I had affairs with a few women along the way. You know about Denise, and before her there was Sheila, and Toni. And Barbara. And a handful of one-night-stands as well. I even tried a man once. But … looking back on them, they were all just arrangements of convenience: I got a modicum of companionship and sex out of the relationships; they each got various things from me — business deals, a way of getting back at their boyfriend, perhaps some of them actually enjoyed the sex for its own sake. You’re my only lover, Pet.
“Anyroad, about four years ago, I went into a serious depression. Denise had left me a few months previously, I had no friends, I stopped caring about my work, I couldn’t eat, and I was so lonely, my life felt so dried-up and worthless … I thought seriously about suicide.”
“Mummy … I had no idea.”
“Keep licking pet. Ah, suck me a little. Ahhh! Well, with the help of some counselling and an antidepressant, I was able to pull my life together, after a fashion. I forced myself to start looking for social contact. Umm, up and down, yesss. I joined a book club. I got back in touch with a few old friends from school. With my therapist, I faced up to what a self-centred shit I’d been for the past twenty years. Your lips feel so good, Pet. Go inside me with your tongue, yeah, deep. Mmm.” Her hands are holding my head to her now. Her hips are beginning to wriggle a bit against my face, and her voice is becoming huskier, her accent a bit less posh. I resume my flutter-tonguing technique.
“Aoouh. Yeah. Then one day I met you, Pet. You were so sad and lost — crying your eyes out, you were. I knew how that felt. Oh, Pet, yeah, suck it! I just wanted to take care of you a little at first. Help you get on your feet. Unngh! But you wanted me … I could see that. Aooo, yeah! And I wanted you too. I won’t deny … I was in lust with you at first sight … you know I can’t resist … a soft, curvy woman like you. Oh, Pet, yesss, suck me, oh Pet, and … and you’re so sweet … I’ve fallen in love with you … Oh God, here it comes … I coming Pet, Kimmy love, Kimmmmyyyy …”
Mummy’s holding my head tight now, bucking her hips against my face, and I’m drinking her cream. She’s so beautiful when she comes, it’s like I’m seeing, feeling, tasting a miracle. At last, she goes limp.
I rest my cheek on her mound, hugging her hips tight. My brain is still processing her story. She’s never shown me this kind of vulnerability before. You’d think I’d be overjoyed at Mummy saying straight out that she loves me, that she needs me; and part of me, a big part of me, certainly is. But I feel a sea-change (that’s from Shakespeare’s Tempest, Mummy took me to see it last year) in our relationship: up to now Mummy’s been the strong, confident top, I’ve been the weak one finding reassurance through submission to her. It’s a role I’m suited to, and the thought of our relationship changing to something more equal frankly scares me. But, I decide, Mummy’s love is worth it.
“I love you too, Mummy. You know that. You’re never going to be lonely like that again. I won’t let you.”
“Yes, Pet, I know.” She strokes my hair.
Mummy loves me, like I’ve never been loved before by anyone. For her, I can handle this, I can grow up a bit. Outside the bedroom, I’ll become a little stronger, so Mummy can lean on me if she’s feeling frightened or insecure or whatever. It’s actually a new way of pleasing her, submitting to her. Yes, I can do this. Yes.
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