Subject: Mary (story) johnb
From: johnb@ssec.wisc.edu (John Benson)
Date: 23 Aug 1996 14:21:44 GMT
She burst into the livingroom. Her face was flushed and she was breathing hard. Maybe it was just from hurrying. "Mary," her mother said. "You're late."
"Only ten minutes, Mom." Mary stood there. Long legs beneath white cutoff jeans. Blonde hair in a ponytail. A sweatshirt that ended above her midriff. There was something about the look in her eyes.
"Mary," her mother asked sharply. "Have you let that boy take liberties? 'Cause if you have...."
"Well," Mary started slowly. "His hand did touch my breast. And I, uh, didn't exactly ask him to take it away right away."
Her mother pursed her lips. "Did you like it?" she asked tightly.
"Yes, Mom," Mary confessed. "I liked it."
Mom nodded. "Then get the hairbrush," she said decisively. "I'm not going to let you go to bed tonight thinking about that boy's hand. I'm going to make your ass so sore that you won't be able to think of any such naughtiness."
"Do I have to?" Mary wheedled.
"Right now," her mom said.
Mary turned and left for the bathroom, where the hairbrush lived and performed its other duties. She made sure her mom was out of sight before she let the smile come out onto her face, and she let herself remember. Remember two naked bodies sweating together in the dark as the boy's thickness filled her sweetness, and her heart beat more strongly between her legs than it did within her breast.
Mary picked up the hairbrush. Her ass muscles clenched in anticipation of what was to come. The wages of wickedness. First the crime, then the punishment. The perfect end to the perfect day.