Hey, he’s the boss. “Do you have any fantasies?” I asked baldly. “Yes. I want to ram this thing so far into you that you speak with an accent,...�� he joked. But was it joking? I joined in, laughing, “My Mum speaks with an accent.” (She’s French.) “You didn’t have anything to do with that, right?” “I wish,” he said under his breath. “What!” I laughed in surprise. “Belinda, this might be hard to hear, but your Mum is smoking hot.” Sigh. I already knew that. Back on topic, though: “Seriously, that’s. Feeling carefree. She remembered it feeling so good. So immensely good. As if she was a little girl still, she remembered wanting to be a little girl badly. She also remembered being horny, being flooded with arousal. Orgasming in her high chair. She felt the need to be humiliated and diapered. She felt the desire to obey. She craved punishment, she needed to get a good spanking. She wanted to be helpless, overpowered and tied down. It was a roller coaster of desires.Her car again. She sat in. Now she could see him fully and her question seemed ridiculous. A huge oaf of a man; his bulk like that of a bear. He swirled around his hand trailing across a table his leather clad body like some crazy medieval armour. She gave out a gargled protest as he pushed a fat foam ball into her mouth. She bit down the sponge seeping with a filthy viscous liquid. She didn't know it but it was horse semen. Her eyes could only plead as her lips foamed with the sponges contents Sandy unable to speak and. And it made sitting in the same room with a television settled on the Lifetime channel all the more tolerable. Hell, it was the only reason I was in the living room in the first place. Most guys my age would think me sick for watching my mother the way I did, but I had an excuse. My mother is drop-dead gorgeous. Fiery hair, full natural breasts, plump ass, and an angelic face that would make the most chastest of men run to the bathroom and rub out a good one. Sure, she'd gained.