Tales of a Fat mom

Tales of a Fat mom
I had intimate relations with him again in the morning. To be precise, I initiated it. When I woke up, he was sleeping peacefully and I managed to get out of bed without disturbing him. I went to the bathroom, did my morning routine, washed my hands, freshened my mouth with Listerine, and returned to bed, already feeling my desire building.

He was so adorable, just like I remembered, except for the noticeable and impressively large erection I saw when I lifted the sheet to have a look.

I teased him gently, relishing the little movements in his hips.

He was still sound asleep when I positioned myself over him, using my hand to guide him, and finally, allowing him to fully enter me.

It took my breath away. I was still moist from the previous night's pleasure, but there it was, that perfect fit that completed me and filled me like no one ever had before, sending electric tingles throughout my body.
My nipples tightened until they ached and my clitoris was so hard it hurt as I slowly moved on him.

As his eyes fluttered open I covered his face with kisses.

"I love you," I said softly, breathing the words into his ear.

"And I love you," he said back, his hands drawing even more little shocks as he found my waist and squeezed. I wasn't ashamed.

"Oh, God," he sort of moaned, "hurry, mom."

And there it was. When he called me "mom" the dam burst. I came, not spraying or squirting but just that delightful flowing he could give me, and felt him joining me.

Our shared climax lasted longer than I used to think of as natural before he giggled, twitched, softened, and slipped out.

"If you don't let me up it's going to get really wet here," he said, patting my ass so I giggled and rolled off of him.

I followed him and then held and aimed him as he peed, not even minding the little spatters on my hand.

"Feed me," he said and I giggled.

It seemed perfectly natural to lead him, hand in hand, to the kitchen, naked, and then make breakfast. I made coffee and then set water to boil to poach a couple of eggs. I fried up some sausage, putting on my apron for that, hot grease pops, poured a cup of coffee and set it before him, then poured another and put it at my place across the table, sliced two English Muffins in half, dropped them in the toaster, buttered them, poached the eggs, got everything on plates, and sat with him to have breakfast.

"You're going to look great on that stage," she said making me giggle, say something like, "you're so silly," and, well, blush.

"Okay," I said, businesslike now, "I have to get moving."

We did the dishes, me washing, him drying and putting away.

Then it was a quick shower, I had slept a little later than usual. I liked that he joined me, and washing each other was fun in a semi-sensual, semi-sexual way.

We washed and dried and then I giggled as he watched, commenting on my choice of clothes.

"A girdle?" he asked as I squeezed myself into my foundation garment.

"Yes," I said, "can't have the boss jiggling all over the place."

He laughed and I laughed with him as I shrugged into my bra, another industrial strength foundation garment, and then stepped into slacks, pulled on a blouse, pulled on my knee-high nylons and my moderate-heeled pumps. I checked myself in the mirror, thought I looked passable, and then threw on a little makeup before giving him a quick kiss and heading out the door.

Work was a drag. I had almost forgotten how much I hated administration and loved nursing and today was an example. I had nothing but administrative stuff, from ordering supplies to budgeting to arguing with the regulators.

Marge, my head nurse, and long-time best friend caught me late in the afternoon.

"Okay, toots," she said, "what's going on?"

"Going on?" I asked, honestly not understanding what she meant.

"You're giggly and happy even as you do shit I know you hate," she said, "so spill. What's going on?"

"Just happy," I said, smiling at her.

"Okay, don't tell me then," she said, leaving the room.

"Don't be mad," I called after her, but not very forcefully. My mind was, well, let's say, elsewhere.

When I got home he was good for his word. David greeted me at the door with a kiss and a screwdriver in his hand. I giggled and stepped inside, hoping no one had seen.

"Thank you, baby," I said smiling.

He took my briefcase and placed it in the closet.

As he took my hand and started leading me to the bedroom I saw the chair he had placed in the middle of the front room and the other half of his threat/promise flashed through my mind. "A screwdriver," he had said, "and then I'm going to turn you over my knee."

There it was, one of those phrases you read and don't really think anything about until it happens.

My knees went weak.

"Come along," he said, and his archaic way of putting it made me giggle a little.

"David," I started but he stopped me with a kiss.

"I told you," he said, "and I always keep my word."

I allowed him to lead me, my mind in kind of a fog.

In the bedroom, he undressed me quickly, almost clinically. He unbuttoned my blouse and took it off of me. Then he dropped to his knees and I had to hold his shoulders for balance while he took my shoes and knee-high nylons off of me.

He undid the button and zipper of my slacks and then slid them past the girdle and I held his shoulders for balance again as I stepped out of them.

We both got the giggles as he struggled with the girdle. It's a chore to get on and off.

I almost fell as he had me hobbled with the damn thing around my knees but he caught me and lowered me gently while we howled with laughter. He got a good grip on it and finally got it past my feet then marched right into the bathroom and threw it into the trash.

I was back on my feet, standing in only my bra when he came back.

Oh, I was aware of every pound and every dimple but the way that he looked at me, well, I wasn't ashamed anymore.

I turned, gladly, and held still while he unhooked my bra. This went into the dirty clothes, not the trash can.

He found one of the oversized T-shirts I wear around the house, slipped it over my head, and then took my hand and led me back to the front room.

It felt like I was in a movie, or maybe an old Twilight Zone episode. If it was on TV, the rest of the room would have been darkened and one spotlight would have been shining on the chair in the middle of the room. It was all I could focus on as I licked suddenly dry lips and worked my tongue trying to generate some saliva to moisten my mouth.

He held my hand, pulling against my moderate level of resistance, and led me to The Chair. That's how I found myself thinking about it, with capital letters like that.

"David, I," but again he cut me off with a kiss.

"Sorry," he said, very softly, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke, "but lessons must be taught and that is why God put so many nerve endings into the human ass."

I giggled and said, "honeyyyyy."

He smiled, a real smile, not a grin, and sat.

He took my hand and the last of my resistance failed as he pulled, not hard, but an inexorable pressure, and when I reached the point of no return I bent at the waist, rather than falling on my face, and there I was, in the classic over-the-knee position for a spanking.

And there was another of those phrases one reads but really doesn't understand until it happens.

The spanking was a life-changing experience.

He started just holding me in that position, his left hand between my shoulder blades, holding me with a light pressure. When I tried to move it was clear that I had absolutely no leverage in this position. I His right hand, meanwhile, was lightly rubbing, almost caressing, the roundness of my ass.

"It's not really a spanking," he was saying, lightly rubbing as he talked, "if it doesn't hurt and you don't cry. Otherwise, it's just some sort of spicy foreplay."

I managed a soft "mmhmmmmm," but I was an emotional mess right then. I was embarrassed and frightened and nervous, but I was also excited and, as he kept rubbing so gently, getting aroused.

When he lifted his hand there was no chance that I would not clench my muscles to protect myself.

Nothing happened.

We held that position for some long time, it felt like hours but, of course, it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, and then I relaxed. The first stroke couldn't even be called a slap. It was more of a pat.

And then he was telling me I was beautiful, that he loved me.

I don't know how long that spanking lasted. He would caress and I would relax then he would lift his hand and I would clench. Eventually, I would relax, and then would come the strike, each one a little harder than the last.

And I had to count.

By 15 the strokes hurt. My ass was stinging and each was a very audible smack.

And all the time he was talking to me. Telling me how beautiful I was. How much he loved me. How important it was that I quit putting myself down.

By 25 I was crying and thanking him and telling him I was beautiful. That I knew, now. And I did.

By 35 each stroke was a separate agony. I was past crying. I was sobbing, wailing, my feet were kicking and my nose was running. I was a mess and I knew it and my ass was on fire.

But it didn't occur to me to try to escape which, leverage or no leverage, I could have done simply by rolling off of his lap. At my size, it's not really a matter of leverage, just simple physics and weight.

At 50 he allowed me to rest.

"R-r-r-r-rest?" I managed around my tears.

"You'll see," he said, caressing now, not putting out, but easing the fire in my ass.

At 62 I came. It was like nothing I had ever experienced. Hell, it was like nothing, I had ever imagined.

It's hard to describe what it was like but I'll try.

My ass was on fire, it felt like I was being flayed and then salted, or maybe treated with raw alcohol. I was breathing in harsh gasps around the tears, the way my throat was constricted, and the way my sinuses were swollen and running. I was forced to breathe through my mouth. Since I was forced to breathe through my mouth, and I couldn't stop crying, I was drooling, and strings of saliva were puddling on the floor under me.

My world was a black hole of suffering in other words.

Then, suddenly, a white blast of the purest pleasure, of the brightest exultation, of absolutely flawless, perfect ecstasy blew the black away. Every cell in my body participated. Every muscle cell contracted suddenly but it wasn't a painful cramp, it was pure involvement in what was happening to my body.

And what was happening was beyond anything that could be called orgasm.

I would have screamed but I couldn't breathe.

From another dimension, hell, from another universe, I heard him saying, "now you'll remember the lesson."

In my dimension, I stayed in Nirvana, in Elysium, in Paradise.

When I finally managed to draw a great whooping breath, he struck again. This time it was "merely" an orgasm. I felt muscles deep in my belly contract and felt my thighs suddenly wet.

I could see Paradise still, but couldn't quite get there.

My body relaxed and SMACK with another swat he had me cumming again.

He took me through a half-dozen of those "mere" orgasms before I was just laying across his knees too exhausted to respond, breathing in gasps, sweating and crying.

"Okay, mom," he said, his voice soft and loving, "lesson complete."

Somehow, the relief of those words was even better than the lack of pain.

"Stand up now," he said, in that same soft voice.

I stood, terribly aware of how I must have looked, my tears running, my nose running, my mouth still drooling.

He smiled and said, "good girl," and something about his words made my knees go a little watery.

"Now go stand in the corner and think about why I had to do this," he said and I goddam near fainted.

"Davey," I said, and I couldn't keep the whine out of my voice.

"And," he said, "hold the T-shirt up to remind you of your lesson."

"Davey," I said again, "please."

"MOVE!" he snapped, and I imagined some instructor in some class in the Air Force where they trained their non-commissioned officers teaching him that tone of voice. It was almost like he was Bene Gesserit trained with The Voice because I found my feet moving before my brain got engaged.

I guess it was the humiliation of standing in that goddam corner that got to me even more than being turned over his knee and spanked.

As I stood there, my hands behind me, holding the goddam T-shirt up, showing my ass to anyone who might walk by, tears and snot and drool running down, wetting the front of the T-shirt I knew I had well and truly crossed my personal Rubicon and there would be no going back.

I realized I was smiling.

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