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Introduction:

Back at school from the School Ski Trip we were all stil lusting after Mrs Craig
We’d been back at school for nearly a fortnight after our memorable Austrian ski trip with my camera chock full of the most amazing explicit photographs of Mrs Craig, one of the school PE teachers, being groped and fucked by my friends and myself while she lay blindfolded and bound to her bed.

We told no-one of our experience that night - it was just too dangerous. We could’ve been expelled, or worse, if the word got out – and quite apart from any legal implications, our parents would’ve murdered us! So, we contented ourselves with safely savouring our memories among ourselves, drooling over the images which were still in the camera – as I didn’t dare transfer them to my dad’s new computer in case he found them. Not that this would’ve been very likely anyway, as he was still struggling with email! Importantly, I always remained the camera’s guardian – none of my friends was allowed to borrow it, no matter how briefly.

We still saw Mrs Craig around the school almost on a daily basis. As I mentioned before, she didn’t teach any of the final year students so we had to content ourselves with ogling her from afar. She looked just the same – gorgeous. Her night of being fucked by three teachers – as a willing participant, followed by a virtual gang-rape by us anonymous students, hadn’t seemed to have fazed her at all. She still smiled, laughed and joked as she walked the corridors – my friends and I even made a point of greeting her cheerily any time we encountered her.

I had a part-time job in the big supermarket in our town and I would regularly see her shopping at the weekend – and she would still be dressed sexily, wearing short skirts and stilettos, even as the weather turned colder. Maybe she had been so drunk that she hadn’t really understood what happened? Maybe she thought she’d just gone ‘round two’ with her colleagues? In any case, she wasn’t manifesting any obvious signs of trauma as a result of that evening.

I, on the other hand, was building up a substantial head of erotic steam – and mere masturbation wasn’t reducing the pressure anywhere near adequately. I began to plot – plot outlandishly. You know the way the most outrageous scenarios can seem plausible when you’re in bed alone and driven by desire? It became an obsession – so much so that I didn’t tell my friends, as they might’ve seen it as a sign of weakness. The truth was that Mrs Craig was all I thought about, and I devoted myself to finding out as much about her as I could.

I knew that she and her husband were apart, him having gone off with another woman. Was he mad? She was one of the best looking women in town – and I now knew, one of the most adventurous and uninhibited ones. I got her phone number (she was in the book), and a few times I called from phone boxes just to hear her voice, but never spoke. I kept an eye on her car in the school car park and tried to bump into her at every opportunity – in short, I’d become a sort of demented teenage stalker!

Then, at the end of the last day of term before the Christmas break I saw her standing by her car in the school parking lot, remonstrating with the school caretaker. I veered over, as casually as I could, to see what was going on. Someone had dented her rear wing while she’d been parked – and she wanted to know who’d done it. Unfortunately, the caretaker didn’t know, and as I was passing I heard him admit that the CCTV camera wouldn’t be any help as it had been broken for some time, and still hadn’t been fixed. She nearly blew up at this – but he just shrugged sympathetically and apologised. God, if it had been me I’d have put my arms around her and comforted her – before groping her and fucking her, of course.

That night, I knew what I was going to do – an amalgam of all the mad fantasy plans that I’d had, combined with the serendipity of her misfortune.

The next morning when I was alone at home, I downloaded the camera photographs onto my dad’s computer – I had no other choice, back in those days that was what you had to do to print something out! (Or if there was another option I was unaware of it). I printed copies of the best images – cropping them to ensure that none of them incriminated either me or my friends. All of them had pretty good shots of Mrs Craig though – even her face was easily recognisable in some of them, despite her blindfold.

By the evening I was as tense as a loaded mousetrap. My appetite had gone, and my mum had to urge me to finish my meal – something she never had to do usually. Afterwards, I borrowed my dad’s car and, with a small folder under my arm I left the house.

I drove around by Mrs Craig’s home – yes, she was there, her car parked in her drive. I carried on around the corner before stopping at a bus turning spot beside the local primary school. I took an envelope out of the folder, slipped it in my inside pocket, and walked back in the direction of her house.

She lived in a detached bungalow with another similar on each side. The one on the left was in darkness – obviously no-one at home; the one on the other side had a light on, but I knew it was occupied by an elderly lady who suffered from mobility problems. I was aware, as I hurried into the darkness of her driveway, that I was running an enormous risk. I made no noise as I moved from the tarmac drive at the front to the pathway around the side of the house. Rounding the corner, I pressed my back up against the red brick wall and tried to calm myself, to stop the pounding of my heart. I had to get to a window where I could see in. I’d never taken this risk before, but I needed to make sure she was alone.

And she was alone. From the back garden I could see her finishing her evening meal, sitting at the kitchen table, watching the television. She looked delicious. This was it; I could go ahead with my plan. My confidence rising, quickening my step, I continued around the other side of the house, removing the envelope from my pocket, as I re-entered the darkness of the little side walkway. Then, moving too fast in my urgency, I crashed into her big black wheelie-bin! The noise seemed deafening to me – I panicked, and almost ran – but I’d dropped the damn envelope!

I squeezed against the wall waiting for the sound of a door. If one opened I was just going to have to run for my life – I mustn’t get caught, especially with that envelope lying somewhere on the ground. In the moments I spent crushed against the wall, all sorts of possibilities flashed before my eyes: she’s phoned the police, and they’d be on their way – or she’s about to turn on a battery of floodlights that I’d never noticed before and catch me like a wild animal in headlights – or maybe she’s just crept out stealthily and will creep up and apprehend me at any moment?

Minutes passed, and nothing happened – the noise mustn’t have been as loud as I’d imagined. I dropped to the ground and felt around gingerly for the envelope. At last I found it. With renewed care, I crept around to the front of her car, and slipped the envelope under a windscreen wiper.

I drove my dad’s car to the nearest public phone box – yes, there were still some about in those days. As I dialled her number I could feel my whole body shaking with excitement – I just hoped my voice didn’t crack with the excitement, and give me away. She answered the phone after a half a dozen rings.

I adopted a slightly deeper, and older, tone to my voice, which I combined with a slight Scottish accent – something which was easy for me, as my mum was Scottish.
‘Hello, is this Mrs Craig?’ I asked.
‘Yes, speaking.’ Her voice was relaxed and friendly.
‘My name’s Matt Thompson,’ I lied. ‘A mutual acquaintance asked me to get in touch with you – said I might be able to help you with a bit of bodywork repair.’
All my nerves had gone. Adopting this new persona was like being another person – without any of my own fears or trepidations. I felt empowered.
‘Oh, you mean the damage to my car?’
I concurred, and she went into a bit of a rant about how the damage had occurred without anyone leaving a note.
‘Don’t worry about it, Mrs Craig. It’s not a big job…’
‘You’ve seen it,’ she interrupted, ‘how have you seen it?’ Her tone had sharpened.
‘I saw you park it in the town yesterday, and had a quick look at the damage. As I said, it’s not a big job.’
‘Hmm, how do I know you’ll do a good job?’
‘Oh, don’t worry Mrs Craig; I’ll do a job you’ll be happy with – I’m a bodywork specialist, both down below and upper-body. With you, I think I’ll start with upper-body and then go on to rubbing up down below.’ My voice was steady and matter of fact, from the pause in the conversation I could tell she was confused.
‘What do you mean start with the upper-body – all the damage is down below at the rear?’
‘Oh, don’t worry, Mrs Craig, I’ll get to your rear in time. But when I saw you on the street yesterday with those big breasts jiggling for all to see – despite the cold, I decided I’d have to start by giving them a bit of a going-over first of all!’ I laughed.

She spluttered a bit before bursting out, ‘Thompson, you say your name is! Well, I’m calling the police!’
‘No point in that Mrs Craig, I’m in a public call box, and anyway you wouldn’t want them to see what’s in the envelope tucked under your front wiper. And by the way, call me Matt; we’re going to be such friends!’
‘What are you talking about?’ I could hear the fear in her voice.
‘Just go outside, take the envelope inside and have a look. I’ll hold.’

She dropped the phone and I could hear doors opening and closing – she was quickly back in the room and obviously sitting down at the table where the phone must be lying since I could even hear the tear of the paper. There was a strangled cry, as if she’d stumbled, then I heard her exclaim, ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!’

It was another minute or so before she lifted the handset.
‘Mr Thompson, where did you get these? I have to know!’
‘I told you Mrs Craig, call me Matt!’
‘I’m sorry… Matt. Where did you get these photographs? Have you showed them to others? Who knows about them?’
‘You’ll find all this out in good time. Let’s just say, I have another half a dozen with me at the moment and I’m happy to let you have them.’
‘Thank you, Matt.’ The tension had eased a little in her voice, no doubt she was trying to butter me up. ‘When can I get them?’
‘That’s easy, Mrs Craig, I’ll give them to you tonight.’
‘Thank you, Matt. Will you bring them here and leave them on the windscreen again?’
I laughed. ‘No, Mrs Craig, you’ll have to pay for them.’
‘Ok!’ she replied swiftly. ‘How much do you want? I can go to the cash-point now.’
‘No, Mrs Craig, I don’t want money. I’ve already outlined what I want: I want to start on your lovely big tits and slowly work my way down – after all, judging by those photos, it won’t be anything new to you!’
There was another silence, before she said, ‘And you’ll give me the pictures, and tell me who knows about them, and all that?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK, where and when?’ was all she said.
‘Up by Robinson’s Dam – you know the place?’

She knew it, it was a few miles outside of town and surrounded by forest with a lot of little forest tracks that nightly accommodated cars for romantic and sexual purposes.

‘Just drive up there and pick a spot that suits you. I’ll be driving behind you.’
‘OK, I’ll leave now!’
‘No, no, Mrs Craig! I want you to get yourself dolled up appropriately – the whole works! Stockings, suspenders, that terrific bra you were wearing in the photos. Don’t bother about a dress, skirt, top or anything like that, not even knickers – just slip a long coat on over your underwear. When you get there, take your coat off, leave it in the front and set your interior light to not coming on when you open your door. Then get out of the car so I can have a good look at you before you get into the back.’
‘OK.’
‘I’ll give you about twenty minutes to tart yourself up for me, then leave for the dam. Oh, and one other thing, keep the light off in the car, and don’t be trying to get a look at my face. Just get in the back, close your eyes, open your legs – and leave me to do the rest!’

I followed her car out into the countryside at a sufficient distance to prevent her seeing the car registration. All the way I was surprising myself at my lack of fear – Matt Thompson had taken over. I was no longer a callow schoolboy stalking a teacher, I was now Matt Thompson, a Scottish car repairman with a rampant hard-on who had everything under control, including that tart of a teacher, Mrs Craig.

Headlights dipped to avoid disturbing couples in cars, she drove around the dam until she came to a track without a vehicle in it. I waited till she was fifty yards or so in before I followed. As I drove up behind her, her car was in darkness, but with my sidelights I could see she was still seated in the front so I aligned slightly to the right of her vehicle to ensure a good view of her getting out.

I saw her manoeuvring herself out of her top coat, then a pause, before she opened her door. She stood up straight, turned facing me, rested her right elbow on the roof, her left hand on her hip and with an open-legged stance, and swayed her hips. Boy, she was determined to get what she wanted from Matt Thompson. I pulled the full-beam lever back to get the full view.

She momentarily flinched in the headlight glare. What a sight –a black and white tableau with a gash of red lipstick and red high-heels! She stood for another few moments while I drank in the view, then opened the rear door and slipped in.

I gave her a minute to compose herself, then, in appropriate festive style, donned a Santa Claus moustache, beard, and hat. As promised she was sitting in a relaxed fashion, head resting back, eyes closed, and legs apart. There was a strong smell of whiskey in the car. Yes, I could just see an empty quarter-bottle lying on the dashboard. That was the delay in getting out, she’d obviously been downing some Dutch courage since the phone call, but she looked amazing – this was even better than any of my demented imaginings – for I was totally in control, thanks to Matt Thompson.
‘Keep your eyes closed for the moment, Mrs Craig.’ I ordered, pulling the door behind me before proceeding to stroke the heaving globes of her breasts which were spilling out of the porn film style half-cup bra. Her nipples were already hard – no doubt due to the cold of the evening and her undressed state. As I bent over and sucked the nearest one, I could feel her body react with a start.
‘What’s that!’
‘Relax, Mrs Craig! It’s only my Santa beard. Don’t worry, Santa always brings good girls what they want. Just keep those eyes closed.’

By now I was nuzzling both tits and was feeling around her cunt. trying to get the juices flowing.
‘You’re a bit dry down there, girl,’ I growled.
‘What do you expect in a rape situation?’ Her voice had taken on a bit of an edge.
‘Don’t be cheeky now, girl! From what I heard there was no lack of lubrication streaming from you on the ski-trip in Austria!’
‘Oh no!’ she breathed softly, and in the moonlight I could see a tear trickle from the edge of her eye.
I grabbed her face, turned it towards me, and kissed her deeply through the false beard. As I massaged her breasts she began to cooperate, returning my kisses with, no doubt, faked enthusiasm – as I could still feel wet tears against my cheek.
‘That’s better,’ I said, adding cruelly, ‘Any wetness is a start!’
I unzipped my jeans and struggled to unleash my now rigid cock. I was already wet with pre-cum as I leaned back and pulled her head down onto it.
‘Come on, Mrs Craig, if you’re not wet enough between your legs to make it comfortable for me fucking you – I’m quite happy to compromise and fill your throat first! Now, suck!’

She sucked and licked with what seemed like passion, sucking my balls tenderly before returning to my shaft, wanking me expertly with her mouth. But, despite what I’d said, I had no intention of wasting this – I’d waited too long. I was going to fill her cunt.

I gathered a gob of saliva in my mouth and spat onto my fingers before straightening her up, rubbing it between her vagina lips, and laid her back onto the seat. I was inside her in seconds, my rough jeans rasping between those stockinged thighs, her red high-heels up in the air. On top of her, I had her hair pulled back with my right hand as I pumped into her. Her eyes were open now. I slowed down, determined to savour this as long as possible.
‘How’s that feel, Mrs Craig?’
‘Good,’ she gasped.
‘You’re saying all the right things, girl,’ I said. ‘Till we sort this out you’ll just do as you’re ordered, won’t you?’
She nodded.
‘Parents would be outraged. It would be all over the papers – all your friends and family would know just what a nympho you are – isn’t that right?’
She nodded again.
‘Good, just so that you understand!’ I growled, and re-launched into fucking her.

I didn’t last much longer – even Matt was out of control; indeed, there was enough spunk ejaculating from my balls for two people! I slumped on top of her, spent. As I began to recover, and straightened myself and my false beard up, I still couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her body was perfect and well toned; even her breasts were firm despite their size. She was gathering herself together as well, rearranging her tits into what passed for a bra, and smoothing her stockings along her legs.
‘What about the photographs?’ she asked.
I pointed into the front passenger seat, ‘They’re in that envelope on the seat.’
‘And that’s them all? What about the film? Where on earth could you get something like that developed and printed?’
‘No, girl, that’s not them all.’ She stopped and looked at me. ‘There are a handful more in the envelope – as for the film, well, we’ll have to see how you behave in future.’
Her eyes were wide.
‘But I thought you were giving me everything! You’re cheating me!’
‘Calm down, Mrs Craig. I can only give you what I’ve got. But don’t worry; I’ll get you the rest if you continue to do as you’re told.’
‘She dropped her head into her hands.
‘How many more pictures are there?’
‘Quite a few, I believe. You were a busy girl that night.’
She straightened up, her face tight with anger, in full teacher mode.
‘You’ve cheated me! You won’t get away with this!’ she yelled, and grabbed at my false beard.
But Matt Thompson wasn’t going to let a mere lady teacher away with any nonsense like that. Gripping her left hand I twisted it behind her causing her to twist around from me in the seat. She cried out as I pulled her right had around behind her back as well.
‘Don’t fuck with me, Mrs Craig! You’re playing a very dangerous game as I told you earlier!’
She whimpered as she struggled to ease this discomfort. ‘Kneel up on the seat!’ I ordered.
As I struggled with her I became aware of a rising erection again. I leaned over and wound down the steamed up window on her side – icy air flowed in.
‘OK, get your head and top half out the window.’ I shouted.
‘But what if someone comes along and sees me?’
‘You should’ve thought of that earlier,’ I said, and pushed her so that she was out the window almost to her waist. I released my grip on her as she had to use both hands to support herself on the window rim.

I had my cock out and ready for action again – part of me really felt sorry for her and didn’t want to do this – but the Matt part knew she had to be taught who was in charge. I slipped my hand between her legs and felt my sperm dripping out of her. I scooped a handful and rubbed it in and around her anus. I took another dollop and smeared it over the rock hard top of my cock. I knelt up on the seat behind her, crouching over to position myself properly.

I guided my cock to her soaking hole and pressed against her tight orifice. Nothing happened, apart from my cock slipping sideways as her anus was so tight. I leaned over to the side and grabbed the small empty whiskey bottle from the front, stuck it between her legs, right into her cunt to lubricate it, then eased it into her anus. The effect was electric! She started to squirm and shake her hips as I reamed her asshole to a more suitable dimension. I pulled it out and stuck my cock in its place. Still tight enough to have to push excessively – but once through the opening it just glided in the rest of the way. She went wild – I don’t know what with, but for me it was most definitely raw ecstasy!

Hanging half out the window she was trapped like a heifer in a stall while I hammered into her. As I started to ejaculate my main regret was that I couldn’t get a hold of those big titties, which were bouncing outside, to milk them while I came.

I pulled her back in, and said, in the most menacing tone Matt could summon, ‘OK, cunt, you ever do anything like that again and you won’t get off so easy. Do you hear me?’
She nodded, head down.
‘I have nothing to lose. I’m not in those photos, and it would be hard to identify anyone else in them but you. Do you understand, bitch?’
She nodded again, ‘Yes, I understand. I’ll do anything you say. Just don’t expose me, please!’
‘OK, now tidy yourself up, and drive carefully on the way home – you don’t want to get stopped by the police dressed like that, stinking of booze, and with those photos beside you!’
I bounded out of the back, pulling off my beard and hat as I went, started up my dad’s car and raced back home – glowing with achievement and power.

As I walked in through the front door of our house I heard my dad bellowing from upstairs.
‘John! Is that you? Come up here at once!’
It sounded serious so I rushed upstairs, following the sound of his voice – into the room where the computer was!
The first thing I saw was a full-screen photo of Mrs Craig bending over with a cock in her mouth, on top of what was fortunately an anonymous torso, the cock of which was obviously well impaled between her legs. Matt had suddenly disappeared and I was left to face the music alone.
Beside the keyboard, on the desk, lay a copy of ‘Windows for Dummies’!
‘What the fuck have you been at! Your mother will go ballistic!’
I stared everywhere but at the screen.
‘You’ve been looking at porn on the internet! That’s bad enough – but you’ve also been downloading it! God knows what viruses you’ve infected the computer with! Just wait till your mother finds out!’
‘No, dad – please don’t tell mum! I didn’t download anything from the internet – they’re just photographs from my new digital camera!’
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. My god, the ramifications of what I’ve just said!
‘Photographs?’ He turned to the mouse and started the slide show that my arrival had obviously interrupted. ‘Where did you take these?’
‘On the ski trip. I sneaked a few shots.’
‘You certainly did – quite a few!’ he said, continuing to browse. ‘Is that a hooker?’
I should’ve been ready, and said yes, but I wasn’t. He had me completely off balance.
‘No, it’s not.’
With a smile on his face he said, ‘Well, it certainly doesn’t look like any of the girls I’ve noticed at your school!’
I felt relief – is this male bonding?
He stopped at one of the close-up head, shoulders and tit photos and gasped. ‘Is that the PE teacher from school?’
Feeling a growing man-of-the world confidence I told him it was indeed. As his anger exploded again I realised my confidence was misplaced.
‘Oh, my God! Sexually abusing pupils! I…I...I’m lost for words!’ He put his head in his hands. ‘Your mother’s going to go crazy! We’ll probably end up having to move house! Oh, my God!’

I wondered how my mother had suddenly become the arbiter of sexual behaviour – I was hoping that this was becoming a man thing, something that we could absorb between us with no more than a nudge and a wink.

‘Dad, you can’t tell Mum,’ I said sternly. ‘The teacher didn’t know who was there – she was tied up and blindfolded. She was the one who was taken advantage of.’
‘Christ, that’s worse!’ he said. ‘You’re an accessory to rape!’ He paused for a moment, reflecting, then added, ‘You didn’t … you know… did you?’
‘Fuck her?’ I said helpfully. ‘No, I just watched and took photos,’ I lied.
I quickly gave him a somewhat abridged version of events, explaining that we had witnessed her having sex with three teachers, who left her tied up and blindfolded, and then myself and a couple of unnamed others had entered her room.

He was calming down, and, I felt, looking at me with slightly different eyes.
‘Does she know about the photographs?’
‘Yes, she does, and she wants to destroy them – she thinks they were taken with a regular film camera, so she wants the negatives as well.’
‘So she’s negotiating with you?’
‘No, not me, a third party who you wouldn’t know. I don’t think she has any idea who took the photos or who was involved.’
‘Well, she’s certainly a good looking woman – I’ve seen her about the town often, but I’ve never met her. But I’m not sure I’m happy about a woman like that teaching boys and young men – especially if she’s happy about taking part in an orgy on a school trip.’ He was shaking his head from side to side again. ‘Certainly she’s ultimately responsible for this situation – turning the heads of young boys with her outrageously lewd behaviour. I don’t know how I can keep this from your mother. I’ll have to go now and pick her and some of her friends up, they were having a girls’ night out and she was drinking, so isn’t driving. I’ll think about it on the way. ’

I knew that if my mum was told everything would just blow up, she was such a holy-roller. She’d be wakening the headmaster from his sleep and no-one would get a good night’s sleep for months afterwards. I had no option; I was going to have to stop my dad telling her.

‘Dad, maybe you should talk to Mrs Craig in person. She’s a victim, and not a bad person – just go and hear her point of view.’
‘Me? She doesn’t know me from Adam!’
‘All the better. You can just be an anonymous concerned parent – a go-between who is returning more of the photographs. You can give her a piece of your mind and see what she has to say for herself. After that, you can decide if it’s appropriate to tell Mum or not.’
‘Hmm, not a bad idea. Are you sure you can arrange this without compromising yourself?’
‘Absolutely! I’ll make a call while you’re away picking up Mum and arrange for you to drop by her house at say, eight o’clock, tomorrow night? I’ll make sure I’m in the village about that time and you can tell mum you’d arranged to pick me up – so there’ll be no questions asked.’
OK, sounds good!’ he said, manually flicking though the photos again with undisguised enthusiasm. He dismissed me, ‘Now, off you go. And tip me a wink when I get back to confirm that you were able to arrange it, OK?’

I left the room and went back downstairs, and about five minutes later I heard him leave. I knew what I was going to do, and this time I didn’t have to use a public phone. I dialled Mrs Craig’s number which rang out for some time before she answered.
‘Hello again, Mrs Craig, this is Matt here – am I interrupting something?’
‘No, no,’ she said, breathlessly. ‘I was in the bath, that’s all.’
‘Well, I’m afraid we’ve a bit of a problem…’
‘A problem?’
‘Yes, the pussy, you might say, is almost out of the bag. A parent has seen the photographs, has recognised you, and he’s apoplectic with rage. Threatening to bring the entire house down!’
‘Oh, my God! What are we going to do?’
‘As I told you before, Mrs Craig, it won’t affect me, I’m not in them. But I have an idea, and if you play your part properly, we’ll get pussy back in the bag again.’

I explained that this parent was going to visit her the next evening with another batch of pictures and would be virtually interviewing her. I told her what to say and how to behave. By the time we’d finished the conversation she sounded not only compliant, but grateful.

I heard my dad drive up and park while I was sitting watching television. I was fairly confident he wouldn’t have confided in my mum, but was still bracing myself, just in case. It took them longer than usual to come in – maybe I was wrong and they were having a blazing row outside. Then the front door opened and they came in, my mum walking before him.

She was smiling, and looking a little flushed. I noticed that her lipstick was freshly applied and she was walking with a spring in her step. I knew she was regarded as an attractive woman – according to my school friends, but sons don’t look at their mothers in that light, do they? However, this evening she had dressed up for her night out and was wearing a new dress that enhanced her natural assets – on top of that it was inappropriately short for a middle-aged mother. In short, she looked hot!

My dad, following her, appeared a little bit flustered. He glanced at me and I gave him the signal that all was arranged as planned.
He gave me a thumbs-up in return before saying, ‘We’re a bit tired tonight, so we’re heading straight to bed. Goodnight, John.’
I bade them goodnight, and feeling a bit tired myself, went up to my room about fifteen minutes later.

Now, I had been living with my parents all my life and I had never experienced a night like it before. At first I was concerned by the muffled noises, but then it was obvious what it was – my mum was being fucked and she was making the same sort of wanton sounds that Mrs Craig had been making in Austria. But in Austria there had been a lot of participants – here there was only my dad! Obviously, the homemade pornography that his son had created was a potent aphrodisiac. I tried to ignore the noises, but now that I knew what they were, I couldn’t. They continued at it for at least a couple of hours, and I swear I could hear smacking and him swearing before all went silent.

They were finished, probably already fallen asleep, I thought. My mind kept shuttling between what I’d witnessed in Austria and what I’d just been overhearing. I pictured my mum stripped out of her new dress and spread-eagled on the bed wearing a bra and stockings and suspenders like Mrs Craig had worn. I wondered if Dad had fucked her up the ass; had he ripped her stockings off as he came; had he whipped her ass as he filled her cunt? Good God, I was lying here with a raging hard-on thinking about my Mum being ridden and abused! What was happening to me? I couldn’t even relieve myself – it would’ve felt too much like incest. It was hours before I drifted off to sleep.

The next evening I was concealed out the back of Mrs Craig’s house – of course, I hadn’t told her I’d be there, though I had given her specific instructions on where to receive her visitor – in the kitchen-diner at the rear. She wasn’t to close the blinds, and she had to leave the side window slightly ajar, so I could hear what went on.

As eight o’clock approached I moved down the side nearest to the front entrance and waited. Dead on time he arrived and parked out on the road. I heard his footsteps on the drive, and then the doorbell rang. She answered it moments later.
‘Hello, you’re right on time. Do come in.’ Her voice sounded anxious. ‘You have the packet with you?’
‘I do, Mrs Craig – and I’ve seen the contents.’

Typical dad, I thought, straight for the throat, no messing about. I hoped I hadn’t misjudged things – suddenly Mrs Craig seemed an unknown quantity – maybe she was going to use him to somehow turn the tables. I quickly made my way back to the rear.
I hadn’t seen Mrs Craig so far this evening as she’d obviously been preparing for my dad as I’d suggested – and as they both walked into the kitchen-diner I wasn’t disappointed. She looked stunning. She was wearing a tight red dress that clung to her like a gauze skin. It was so fine you could virtually see through it and consequently I could see that she was wearing no knickers and no bra. Only the faint line of a suspender belt was to be seen, though anyone looking at her from the front wouldn’t have noticed that – they would’ve been too distracted by her fantastic self-supporting breasts that were almost falling out of the almost non-existent dress front. Sheer black stockings led down to the same red killer heels she had been wearing the night before – which again matched the colour of her lipstick.

I could see my father taking her all in – but his expression wasn’t as I’d expected or hoped for. He didn’t look overwhelmed or entranced – he looked annoyed. She smiled at him as he held the thick brown envelope out to her.
‘No wonder that you want to hide these – you’re a disgrace to your profession! What the hell were you up to, behaving like a whore in front of those children? You could have warped their minds for good!’
‘I’m sorry Mr…? Er, what will I call you?’
‘Never mind my name – you’ll know soon enough if this all comes out. If you must address me, just call me “sir”. But I’m not interested in pleasantries – you are obviously nothing but a filthy slut! Look at the way you’re dressed this evening – you wouldn’t look out of place in a high-class whorehouse!’

Oh-oh! This wasn’t at all what I expected – I wasn’t sure Mrs Craig was going to be strong enough to take it. But then her placatory tone changed as she answered him.

‘Well, maybe you’ve more experience of those type of establishments than I have, but this is my house, and in here I can dress however I fucking well like – OK, SIR!’
‘Fine,’ Dad said. Maybe I’m just confused. I was under the impression you had some sort of defence – a point of view that somehow lessened the gravity of what I’ve seen with my own eyes?’
‘I don’t know what you’ve seen – I haven’t even seen what’s in this packet!’

She tore it open and spilled over a dozen glossy prints onto the table – I couldn’t see them from where I was, but I knew them by heart. My father stood behind and above her as they both looked at the display.

‘Oh, my God!’ I could hear her say.
‘Look at that!’ My dad’s voice was raised now. ‘You can’t see the faces – except yours of course, and even it is partially obscured by some boy’s penis halfway down your throat. Sure, you’re wearing a blindfold, but you don’t seem to be bound in any way – and as sure as hell you don’t seem to be fighting them off! How many of them are there in this shot anyway, certainly two – maybe even three?’
‘I don’t know.’ She sounded beaten.
‘Furthermore, I believe earlier that evening you were overheard boasting to your colleagues that you always found it difficult to say no to the tight young body of a boy! Face it, Mrs Craig; you’re a self-confessed sexual predator – only a rung or two above a paedophile!’

Like lightning, she swung around and hit my dad a vicious slap across the face.
‘You fucker!’ he yelled, and grabbed her hand, twisting her wrist and forcing her arm up her back.

She was bent forward over the photo laden table. I had an amazing view of her tits teetering on the verge of falling out of her dress as she struggled against him. With his free hand he was taking his tie off, then, grabbing her free arm he deftly slipped his necktie around her wrists, binding them. Still holding her secure, he slipped off his suit jacket. Leaning back he opened the fridge door and lifted out a plastic squeezy bottle of mayonnaise.
‘Here’s some of your own medicine, you cunt!’ he shouted, dropping his trousers to the floor and squeezing large dollops of mayonnaise onto on of the prints.

This was what I needed, and I had my camera at the ready, the automatic flash turned off, all the settings optimally arranged.

He reached round and pulled her dress front down allowing her breasts to spill out, and by the direction of his gaze he was obviously getting a good mirror-like reflection of them in the kitchen window. Mrs Craig made no sound as he pulled up her dress and bent her over to ninety degrees. I moved to the side to get a better view of her lovely ass and the stockings and suspenders – and, of course, I was clicking away all the time.

My dad’s cock was out now – remarkably similar to mine, I noted – and just as hard as mine was. He grabbed the mayonnaise covered photo, kicked her legs further apart and smeared it between them. He entered her roughly and began to thrust. Suddenly he leaned his upper body back and swung his palm against her buttocks with a resounding crack. He did it again and again, alternating sides. For the first time, she began to make noise, gasping and groaning, letting out little cries at each crack.

She was now bucking against him – I couldn’t believe it, she was enjoying this and I was viciously jealous! Now, he freed her wrists, allowing her to support herself on the table as he slipped his arms under hers and began pulling at her magnificent breasts. He gripped the nipples like cows’ teats and milked her as he pounded her cunt relentlessly. Now, she was calling out filthily – urging him to fuck her harder, fill her cunt. I was enraged! This was all that I had wanted, and never had. She had just gone through the motions with me – she had just pretended. This time she was really enjoying it!

‘OK, cunt!’ he called out. ‘I’ve got to go now.’ He pulled his raging red member from her and spun her round facing him. ‘But before I go, I’m going to come!’ He lifted her until her buttocks were on the table, and stuck the red devil back into her. She was kissing and clawing at him, having orgasm after noisy orgasm – and I could see he was about to shoot as well. Then grabbing a tit and pushing her backwards he pulled out of her, just as streams of semen spurted from the end of his cock onto her belly, her dress, even onto her stockings. He grabbed the hem of her dress and roughly pulled it down to dry off his penis, then casually as if he was applying sun cream smeared the globs of his semen around her dress, belly, and tits. Marking his territory like an animal.

Without speaking, he pulled his trousers up, undid the tie from the wrist it was still attached to, and grabbed his coat.

‘Sir,’ she said, touching him on the shoulder. ‘Are you going to take this any further?’
‘Mrs Craig, I really haven’t decided.’ He spun her round. Her buttocks were still exposed with her dress up around her hips, and he cracked her cruelly with his palm again. ‘I’ll let you know before I make my final decision!’

I couldn’t hang around any longer – I had to go, as I’d arranged to meet him around the corner from her house, to accompany him home and confirm the alibi he’d given mum. I set off at a run – hating him to the depths of my being.

I was at the prearranged spot just before he arrived. I noticed he was wearing his tie again as I jumped into the passenger seat. He roared away without saying anything.
‘How did it go?’ I asked meekly.
‘She didn’t have much to say for herself after all. A bit of a waste of time, you might say.’
‘So, what’s that mean – are you going to tell Mum?’
‘Not for the moment. I’ll think about it, I might go and have another word with her before I make a decision. So, don’t you worry about it for now. I’ll keep you informed.’

When we entered the house my mum was standing in the kitchen looking as if she were about to go out clubbing for the evening! She was dressed in a red low cut top which exposed quite a lot of cleavage and a clinging red miniskirt. She was even wearing black nylons with very high red peep-toe heels! Red was definitely the colour of the evening. I was looking at my mother with new eyes – and squeezing past her as I went to open the fridge door I reckoned I felt the line of a suspender belt holding up stockings. Was it always like this – had the scales just dropped from my eyes? I’d never been aware of my mum as a sexual being before. Now, it was as if she was unconsciously competing with Mrs Craig.

I took a glass of milk and went into the adjoining room and pretended to read coursework, but strained my ears to hear their conversation. As she poured them both a drink I heard my father speaking quietly.
‘You look stunning tonight, darling,’ he said.
‘Thank you, I was hoping that last night had signalled the end of my period of purdah?’ she whispered back. ‘Five years of playing the demure housewife has been a long time. I was beginning to think you had gone off me. As you know, “wham, bam, thank-you, mam,” has never done it for me… and that’s all you’ve been doling out.’
My dad’s tone became stern, ‘Well, you needed to be punished. You know you broke the cardinal rule – and I was sick of that bloody old priest hanging around the house.’

They may as well have been speaking Greek – I was having trouble following their meaning. A priest? Sure, we were a Catholic family, but in name only as none of us ever went to church regularly. Of course, I remembered the elderly parish priest, Father McCurry, who used to call here many years ago. Mum was always very deferential to him, fawned over him with “Yes, Father, No Father”. He even used to take confessions privately for her here at home; he even heard mine once or twice. But that was eons ago.

‘Don’t get cross, Philip.’ She sounded almost pleading. ‘I was hoping we might have a repeat of last night’s excitement. I’ve missed the adventures we used to have so much, and I hoped that knowing a naked, freshly shaven and dripping-for-you cunt is nestling between two firm statuesque pillars sheathed in your favourite colour of stockings might warm you up for a repeat performance.’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; the phrases coming from my mother’s lips were some I’d never imagined she would’ve even known.

My father sounded relaxed again as he whispered back with a chuckle, ‘You always were a dirty slut, that’s one of the things that endeared you to me.’

As they laughed together I moved my position slightly in order to catch their reflection on out big television. Yes, he has his hand up her skirt – obviously checking out her freshly shaven, dripping cunt. It was too much for me, I finished my milk and went into the kitchen just I time to see my mother pull her hand from the front of my dad’s trousers.
‘I’m tired, folks, going to have an early night. See you tomorrow.’

Once in my room I went straight for my dictionary: purdah? What did the word mean, what was she referring to? Then I found it. It was defined as an Eastern religious custom of keeping women in seclusion; shuttering them off. What was that about? A punishment? What for? And now it seems it’s coming to an end.
Anyway, I was too angry with him to be sidetracked for long. What a bastard he was! Not content with abusing and fucking Mrs Craig – my Mrs Craig, now he was going to fuck my mother with the same cock fresh from my woman! I was seething, but I didn’t know what to do. They were almost directly below me, in the new kitchen extension they built five years ago. God knows what he was doing to her? Damn it, I thought, I’m going to find out!

I locked my bedroom door and put on a pair of old trainers. Opening the emergency exit window in my bedroom, I climbed out onto the flat roof of the extension which was the shape of half an octagon. I moved over to the side nearest the two story return which housed a bathroom and the computer room. A substantial iron soil pipe was attached to the wall almost at the meeting of the two structures. I lay on my belly to see if my parents were indeed still there – they were, but they were standing up, embracing.
Now I’d scaled the pipe many times in the past, mainly when I’d forgotten my key – it was easy, but I’d never done it in the dark. I knew I’d need to be extra careful not to make a sound as my mum was one of those people who always had to have a window at least a little bit open – even on the coldest day. Said it was healthier not to be cosseted in central heating all the time. Peeping over, I could see that it was the small middle top window over the sink that was open tonight. I came down the pipe silently.


Turning the corner, I could see them and even hear them perfectly. He had his back to me, his jacket was off, but otherwise he was fully dressed. My mum’s bra was lying discarded on the worktop top but her breasts were still covered by her tight red top.
‘We should go upstairs now,’ she gasped, as he bent over and nuzzled her neck.
‘Fuck it,’ he replied, ‘let’s do it here!’
Without waiting for an answer, he walked over to the door and locked it.
‘You can make all the noise you want to in here – there’s nothing above us. It’ll be safer than last night – you made a lot of noise then!’
She laughed and nodded, ‘You’re right – and I was so wet I soaked the bed. At least I can just mop up down here!’
‘Enough!’ he said. ‘Let’s see this famous shaven, dripping cunt!’ He pulled her miniskirt up to her waist and kicked her legs apart as she braced herself with her arms on the kitchen table and leaned back, arching her face towards the decorative metal pot rack that was attached to the ceiling.

My mum was standing there knickerless! I had never seen a totally naked female pubic area before – Mrs Craig had what they called a “landing –strip”, an inch wide trimmed strip of hair going vertically down to, and to an extent concealing, her labia. This was an astounding sight for me. My mother’s cunt looked amazing, particularly since both lips were decorated with gold stud and ring piercings framing this amazing clitoris that seemed to be as firm and prominent as the top section of my little finger.

‘Let’s get this off now and let them swing free,’ he said pulling her top off. She shook her head to straighten up her hairdo as the top came over off and laughed as her tits bounced out. They looked bigger than Mrs Craig’s, though they didn’t seem to have quite the same firmness – but the most startling sight was that they were crowned by two large gold rings, each at least an inch and a half in diameter and they were pierced through the base of her big long stiff nipples. No wonder she always wore a big heavy bra!

For the second time this evening I watched him slip off his necktie, then jump up onto the kitchen table while ordering my mum not to move. He quickly fastened one end to the sturdy metal rack, leaving the wide end hanging at just about mum’s shoulder height. He opened one of the kitchen cupboards and removed a roll of the plastic kitchen film for sealing things. I could see excitement in mum’s eyes.

‘Hold your wrists out together, you slut.’ His voice was suddenly cold and commanding – just like he was with Mrs Craig.
She held them out – and I noticed they were shaking. He bound them together, then lifted them above her head and tied the necktie to the plastic. My mum was standing, leaning against the table, naked apart from her miniskirt bunched around her waist, her stockings and suspenders, and her high-heeled red shoes. It was beyond my belief and beyond my control – but I had an aching erection again!

Dad still wasn’t finished. From the same cupboard, he produced a roll of shiny metallic kitchen foil, ripped off a couple of feet, and wrapped it firmly around my mum’s head, covering her hair, eyes and nose, leaving only her glistening red lipstick showing. He pulled his slim leather belt from his waistband, and cracked it audibly. My mum winced at the sound.
‘Now, slut, answer my questions,’ he barked. ‘Are you clear on what you did wrong?’
With a flick of his wrist he cracked his belt again.
‘Yes, sir; I got involved, sir.’
An underhand swing sent the tip of the belt smacking between my mum’s cunt lips directly onto her clitoris. She yelped.
‘That’s not all, slut. What else?’
‘Sorry, sir. I invited him home without your knowledge or permission.’ Her voice pleaded, ‘I’m sorry. He’d become a friend of the family – I thought you’d enjoy it!’
Another smack from the belt between her legs – another yelp.
‘I was bored with that old priest,’ my dad sneered. ‘What did he have that turned you on anyway – was it the fact he was clergy? Speak up, cunt!’
‘Yes, yes!’ she cried out. ‘You know the thought of being fucked by a priest turns me on! His age didn’t matter – and he particularly liked to fuck me when he was still in clerical garments! God, even the thought of it now almost brings me to orgasm!’

My dad walked closer to her and started to rub her stiff nipples between his fingers.
‘That’s more like it! You know confession is good for the soul! In fact, I’ll see if I can find another one of them to service you, though it’s difficult these days, they’re less of them.’
My mum’s voice sounded excited as she answered, ‘Will you, will you, please? And then you can punish me for my dirty, sinful ways…’

Though her legs were still apart, I could see her hips sway as she tightened her inner thigh muscles as she rubbed her labia together. She was obviously getting off on all this abuse. I realised that these two people were complete strangers to me – like two aliens having taken over my parents’ shells. Even the voices were different. And, patently, it was entirely my fault! Their lives were transforming before my eyes. Before last night they were living like quiet, normal, middle class parents in a leafy suburb, but since my dad had discovered my photos on the computer he had gone sex-mad. Maybe it’s like what you see in the movies where the recovering alcoholic finds himself under such stress that he takes one drink which propells into full blown alcoholism again?

She was still begging him as he spread her legs and began fingering her.
‘Yes, yes, I’ll see what I can do – let me think about it.’
‘Come on, fuck me, fuck me… and tell me what’s going to happen, please, please, sir!’
He turned her round, her hands still extended above her head. He stepped to another low cupboard and produced an eighteen inch long plastic fly swat and swung at her buttocks.
‘Just a warm up,’ he said, as she gave a little groan. I could see a slight reddening on one cheek.
Another crack, on the other cheek, then another and another. He interspersed the swatting with blows from his open palm and both cheeks were visibly red by now. But I could see she loved it, despite her cries. This was shortly confirmed when in the middle of a succession of smacks her body seemed to go into spasm, and she began yelling that she was coming. Her hips and torso were jerking so much as she yelled that I was afraid she was going to pull down the metal pot rack frame she was bound to!

My dad freed her binding from the tie, allowing her hands to fall to the table. That was when he dropped his trousers, and produced the cock that had been pumping up Mrs Craig so recently. I couldn’t forgive him – I hated him – I was determined to get my own back.

She was so wet there were no preliminaries. As he slipped it into her he began to give her orders.
‘Here’s what will happen, slut – do you hear me?’ he shouted, as he slapped her ass again.
‘Yes, sir! Yes, sir!’
‘Some day you’ll get a phone call from a stranger – but you’ll know it’s the right stranger, when he addresses you as Chrissie! Did you get that, Chrissie?’
He slapped her again as he pumped into her. She assented.
‘I don’t know when it will be, but I’ll try and organise it soon. You mustn’t tell me when you hear from him, play along and just make your arrangements – discreetly, of course, and do what he tells you. You’ll report the whole thing later, and I’ll try to make sure he’s wearing his vestments, if that’s important to you.’
She was fucking harder and harder against him as he spoke to her.
‘Oh, yes, sir!’ she yelled, ‘Thank you, sir! Thank you… Oh I’m coming again!’

The prospect of a clerical fuck seemed to have driven her wild and as he fucked her she continued to cry out for more punishment as she was such a dirty sinful girl.

Who were these people, living in such a mad fantasy world? Why Chrissie – my mum’s name was Eve? They were delusional. At least my desires centred on one of the most beautiful women in the village – one I’d already fucked on two occasions. Then, I remembered my dad had fucked her too – and she’d enjoyed it, and the sour resentment arose again. I was determined to get my own back.

Yes, even though I had the photographs of him screwing her. Yes, they were clear and unambiguous, so I could prevent him from carrying out his threat of telling my mum. But that didn’t seem such a big deal now – it would be the pot calling the kettle black. I could confront her with my knowledge of her screwing old Father McCurry. In fact, all the threats seemed to have been neutered as it was unlikely that the photos of dad and Mrs Craig would disturb mum anyway. Dad was unequivocally her boss.
7 comments

anonymous readerReport

2012-12-09 21:34:03
I'm a horny high schooler with a big cock willing to share
;p I want a sexy kitten or more to chat, show my big thick cock
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anonymous readerReport

2012-03-14 20:49:42
What shall it profit you if u gaine everything and loose your soul

anonymous readerReport

2012-03-05 22:51:43
hope there is more coming to this story........... all women should be treated like the pigs they are

occamReport

2012-03-05 11:26:44
I appreciate your suggestion, but as I am striving to maintain the core of 'truth' to this story, it is, to a certan extent pre-ordained. As you will see, there was an unfortunate core of dysfunction, family break-up, and consequently sadness, to it.
I don't mind elaborating it for effect, but the basic underlying story is true.

anonymous readerReport

2012-03-05 10:52:06
I love this story it has a superb plot, next time make it so that Mrs.Craig knows its him fucking and write about a sexual encounter in school.

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