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I brought Sharon breakfast in bed. It was the least I could do, after all I had seduced the lovely, dark-haired bikini model.
As I dipped some little pieces of bread and butter into a soft-boiled egg and fed them to her, I asked: “Tell me about the bikini model scene, do those hunky male models hit on you a lot?”
Sharon, a stunningly-attractive 20-year-old, gobbled down the egg and bread and smiled: “Some of them do, but most of them are so fucking vain about their bodies, and looking ‘cut’ or whatever stupid word it is they use, that they don’t bother me much.
“One calls me the ‘black butch bitch’ because of my rather dark hair – I’m not part-Hawaiian like you, mother was of Italian descent, so that’s where I get my dark looks.”
“The ‘black, butch bitch’? That’s rather nasty,” I murmured, dipping another piece of bread into the egg yolk.
“Water off a duck’s back, Darla,” said my new love. “I simply told him he’s got a dick the size of a flea and that’s why I preferred women, and he’s been quite amiable ever since. The poseur!”
I laughed. “But that’s what he is, isn’t it – a poser? And I must admit some of the little thongs they wear are rather cute.”
“Hey, what about us women?” grinned Sharon. “Honestly, some of the bikini designs they’re coming out with now are so fucking brief, I sometimes think I should be in a porn magazine.
“One outfit I’ve got is so tiny I swear my piss flaps peep out the sides,” she informed me.
“Grrrr,” I said, nuzzling on the closest of her lush 36-inch globes, nibbling the nipple to erection, “I want you to model it for me!”
“Speaking of modelling, are there more pictures of you like that one in the gallery,” said Sharon, running a hand over my large brown breasts.
“There’s one up here, hanging inside the wardrobe,” I told her. “Like to see it?”
Sharon was out of bed in a flash, her tanned nude body gleaming in the sunlight which was pouring through the open curtains. I wanted to drag her back to bed and take her all over again, but I stepped beside her and swung the wardrobe drawer open.
Sharon gasped when she saw the picture. It was a reverse of the one down in the gallery. The same height and width, also on a plain white background, but in this picture I have my bronze back to the artist.
I’m in semi-profile, so you can the side of my face, and the side of my 38-inch left breast, the nipple hard. I’m still holding the flogger, the handle in my left hand, the thongs caressing the small of my back to my right hand, where I’ve bunched them in the same manner as the picture in the gallery.
I’m also wearing the same black leather boots, but in this pose I’m leaning forwards slightly, revealing my fine arse, my anus is dark brown, almost black, and looks shiny, and there’s a glimpse between my legs of my sex lips.
“God, I hope you don’t think I’m anally retentive or anything, Darla,” said Sharon, “but that’s a fantastic fucking arse!”
I laughed. “Thank-you, my dear, at 32 I’ll take all the compliments I can get!”
“Do they have names?” she asked me.
“The picture downstairs is called ‘Submit’, which reminds me, I’ve got to put a ‘Sold’ sticker on it – a wealthy collector who loves the artist’s work has paid $5000 for it.
“So I’m hoping that when I put this one down in the gallery – it’s called ‘Dare You?’ by the way – that he’ll simply have to have it for the set.”
Sharon stepped into my arms and kissed me. “It’s a stunning painting,” she whispered, nibbling at my ear. “He has so captured the haughty, animal you!”
I kissed her back, running one hand over her pert little bottom. “What makes you say ‘he’, darling?” I asked.
“Sorry,” said Sharon, “I’d just automatically assumed the artist was a male. What’s her name?”
“Look at the picture,” I suggested and Sharon bent over, peering at the artist’s signature in the bottom right hand corner of the work – a pose which allowed me to run my fingers over her gorgeous little anus.
“Karla?” she read.
“That’s right,” I said. “The same as Darla, only with a ‘K’. That’s because the artist’s my mom.”
“Oh my god,” said Sharon, “your mother does these incredibly erotic paintings of her own daughter?”
“Why not?” I laughed. “Karla, I hardly ever call her ‘mom’ any more, is still a very lusty, attractive woman who’s got a big sex drive. It was that sex drive which saw me conceived.”
Sharon lay back on the bed and raised her eyebrows.
I explained: “Karla was just a thing of 18 when a fleet from the French navy visited Pearl on some silly he-man exercises, I think. Well, one of the dashing French officers was more interested in some other kind of exercise, if you get my drift.
“Then casino oyna the French fleet fucked off, as French fleets often do, I’m told, and Karla was left, literally holding the baby. That, and the fact that he never got in touch with her ever, was one of the reasons my mother turned to the fairer sex for her sexual kicks.”
Sharon took all this in and smiled: “So your mom explains your stunning Hawaiian dark looks – and your dad?”
“He explains my huge sex drive and my interest in wine and art,” I told her. “And, of course, mom loves painting me because she says I’ve got a figure just like hers.”
Sharon nearly fainted. “Ohmigod,” she breathed, “a figure like yours at 50?”
“Well, I’m 38-26-36 because I work out every day and swim an hour every day, except Saturday. Karla’s almost a replica, although at 50 she’s got a slightly fuller figure – I think she hits the tape at 40-28-38.”
Sharon licked her lips. “Oh Darla, pardon me, but I think I’m going to start drooling,” she said. “You know I fancy older women – well, that’s obvious, but a 50-year-old with a figure like yours? Oh, I think I’m going to come!”
“Yes, darling,” I said pressing my upper body against hers, “I think you are!”
And I went down on her, licking her stunningly sweet-tasting pussy, the aromatic odour filling my nostrils, as she bucked and writhed beneath my mouth in pretend “let me go” play.
It didn’t take long for Sharon to start whimpering, then pleading and begging me for clit attention. Just to be deliberately provocative, I slid my tongue lower to her anus, instead of higher to her clit, and began to taste the musky delights of her there, before rising, across her weeping cunt, along her delightfully full piss flaps until finally, I tongued and kissed and licked her clit.
“Oh lick me, darling, my darling, darling Darla,” she cried, as I brought her to another noisy climax.
Silly, I know, but bringing my new sweetheart to completion was sufficient for me at the moment, and I lay back, luxuriating in the fact that I had just pleasured a randy little 20-year-old screamer to a screaming – oh, very well, shouting – orgasm.
I cuddled her closely as she came back to earth, then planted my pussy-perfumed mouth on hers and deep-tongued her in a slow kiss, until she calmed.
“Now since it’s Sunday, and since that’s the usual day my dear mamma visits I’d better give her a ring and say ‘Not today, darling mummy’,” I laughed, as I reached across Sharon’s oh-so-fuckable body for the phone.
Sharon’s hand slapped against mine, and with a swift smooch on the mouth she gasped: “You’ll do no such thing, my glorious bitch boss. I’m extremely keen to meet your mom, please!”
I looked down into the limpid dark pools of her big brown eyes – and I’m sorry if this is romance novel stuff, but they really were big enough to drown in.
“‘Kay,” I relented, falling back, “but allow me to call her and warn her you’re here and to remind her to bring something mouth-wateringly edible.”
Sharon whooped with laughter: “Her body sounds good enough to eat!”
I gave her a pretend slap across her “whip me” bum and pressed a little love bit on her adorable neck. “Behave, black butch bitch, or you’ll enjoy the caresses of my flogger once more,” I warned.
“Oh no, mistress mine, mercy mistress, not the flogger!” Sharon laughed, bouncing up and down on the bed like a trampolinist, her magnificent boobs flouncing about in erotic display.
Joining in her laughter, I rolled my somewhat larger body on top of hers, our breasts and pussies mingling, and picked up the bedside phone, punching in a number.
Karla answered very quickly with her deep, dark brown voice that I’ve tried for years to imitate, and no, I’ve never achieved it.
“Hi Karla,” I said brightly – I was in a great mood. Isn’t everyone after a brand new seduction?
“I just want to tell you I have a girl friend round who’s seen ‘Submit’ and ‘Dare You?’ and she’s very keen to meet you. And I also want to warn you we’re both fuckin’ hungry, so bring something wonderful that’ll go with a few bottles of fine chardonnay,” I told her.
Mom chuckled and said she’d be here in just over an hour – she lives way up on the North Shore beaches, but drives like a maniac, or as maniacally as you can on the twisting one-lane road that snakes for such a long way down Oahu.
I told Sharon Karla was on her way and would get here in just over an hour, so we did what you’d expect new lovers to do in 60 minutes, until her arrival.
Karla’s noisy old Dodge Charger – she’s a huge fan of the cult movie Vanishing Point – growled into my driveway and Sharon and I, both “dressed” now in our bikinis, stepped onto the veranda slot oyna and greeted her.
“Hi Karla,” I called, as mom, dressed in a tight fitting T-shirt and black leather hot pants, climbed from her white machine with its broad blue speed stripe.
“This is Sharon,” I shouted, “she’s a bikini model.”
Mom looked up at us and beamed one of her broadest, white teeth smiles. “From the view I’m getting she’s going to be a Karla Model very soon,” she rejoined, before bending to pick up a tray from the side seat of her car, displaying very deliberately, I thought, a stunning backside and brown, chocolate-coloured calves and thighs.
Sharon leaned against me, ran a loving caress across my left breast and murmured: “She’s gorgeous, no wonder I love you so much!”
I kissed her gently on the mouth, and whispered: “Make sure you still do, my lovely little black, butch bitch!”
Once inside, Karla placed a large tray holding a sensational-looking quiche – no jokes, please – on the kitchen table, then hugged me in a swift “I’ve not seen you for a week” cuddle. “And this is your bikini model?” Karla smiled, beaming one of her “fuck me” grins and opening her arms. Sharon, the little beast, stepped into her embrace and gave her what I thought was an overly aggressive mouth-to-mouth kiss.
“Hi Karla,” she said, in one of those husky “I can’t wait for you to make love to me” voices, “you’ve just met your No 1 fan!”
“You can’t afford my paintings,” Karla laughed, in one of those “I’m all yours, baby” voices.
“I wasn’t talking about your paintings,” Sharon giggled, and then we all collapsed in laughter.
“Hey,” remarked Karla, when the laughter subsided, “I feel very over-dressed.” And with that, she kicked off her high heels, pulled off her T-shirt and dropped her hot pants, then stepped back into her high heels.
She was wearing a sheer black bra, and through it you could clearly see her large nipples and areolae the size of saucers – well, OK, I’m exaggerating, but half the size of saucers, honest, they’re much bigger than mine!
At her middle, Karla had on a high-hipped sheer black thong, the black patch above her mons clearly visible, then her lush piss flaps, pressed hard against the material. She turned to give us a view of her beautiful bootie as she pushed the quiche into the oven.
“Mother,” I snapped – it’s usually “Karla”, sometimes “Mom” but when I’m really pissed with her it’s “Mother” – “stop trying to pick up my new girl friend.”
Then I put arms protectively around Sharon’s shoulders and pecked her on the cheek. “Don’t worry, baby,” I cooed in baby-talk, “Darla will keep you away from the nasty-wasty big womans!”
“Now,” said Karla, when she had completed her display of her assets, “I’ve got a camera in the car, I’ll pop out and fetch it. Darla, get Sharon here into some slave gear and you put on a domme outfit. I’ve got an idea for a series of paintings of you two.”
And with that she went for her camera, one of those hugely expensive German jobs. I escorted Sharon back into the bedroom and rummaged among my wardrobe, then tossed her a set of red harem pants – totally see-through – and a see-through red satin bra.
As she stripped off her bikini and put on the new outfit, I put on a black leather, quarter cup bra, which does wonders for my tits, and then got into a pair of gleaming black high-heel boots which come to half-way up my thighs. On my head, I planted a black leather military cap, and to complete my ensemble chose a stiff, four-foot long leather crop, with a rubber, golf-grip type handle.
Sharon, in the meantime, was flouncing in front of the mirror, admiring her lovely body, her pussy visible through the harem pants, which came down to her ankles, her nipples also visible in the red bra. When she saw my outfit, she put her feet together, placed her palms against each other and bowed in submission.
“Enough of that, you submissive slut,” I grinned, “let’s go, Karla will be in the studio by now.”
We walked along the veranda quickly – don’t want prying eyes to complain about overt displays of sexuality – and down into the gallery. In back, I’ve got an airy studio, with a large white sheet backdrop, which Karla often uses to take the photos she prepares her paintings from.
She was already set up when we arrived. Spotlights illuminated where Sharon and I would pose, and her camera was on its rostrum.
“Yummy, yummy, I’ve got love in my tummy,” said Karla when she caught her first glimpse of Sharon’s “naughty” bits.
“Mother,” I snarled, in mock anger, but secretly pleased that the sight of Sharon was turning her on, “stop trying to annoy me.”
Then she put us through our paces, in a series of poses. canlı casino siteleri In some, I was leaning an elbow on Sharon’s shoulder, my fist bunched against my cheek, the whip held out from the other side of my body, its tip on the floor.
In some, Karla had Sharon kneeling at my feet, gazing up at my naked pussy.
For the final series of poses, Karla made me turn my back on my lovely little slave girl and stick out my bum, while she made Sharon thrust her face into my backside. It didn’t take any persuasion, as soon as she was in position Sharon’s tongue was flicking over my anus.
“And seeing Sharon’s face in your bootie has made me hungry,” said Karla, packing up her camera. “Come on, that quiche’ll be ready.”
If you’ve ever tried my mom’s quiches, you’ll know what “real men” are missing – they are superb, especially when washed down with a couple of bottles of fine Californian chardonnay. Well, they should have been fine, they cost $45 a pop!
After lunch, I fully expected Karla to hang around – I’d seen the way she stared at Sharon’s wonderful breasts – but she announced suddenly: “Must dash, I’ve got a painting in the boot all wrapped and ready for a collector down in Waikiki.” And after giving me a peck on the cheek, and Sharon one on the mouth – and no, it didn’t escape my notice – she was dressed and gone.
After the noisy old Charger had departed, I took Sharon by the hand and, still dressed in my domme gear, she in her slave outfit, we walked back into the bedroom.
I sat on the bed, and pulled her down onto my lap. Running a hand over her bra, I unclipped it and freed it from her body. The bra’s release resulted in only the slightest dropping of her breasts.
“And now, little Miss Temptress,” I smiled, stroking her nipples to erection, “what happens to naughty little girls who make advances to their domme’s mom?”
Sharon pleaded innocence. “What advances, mistress?” she said, shyly, batting her lovely dark lashes seductively.
“Oh come on,” I laughed, “you know very well – what about ‘your number one fan’ and ‘I wasn’t talking about paintings’?”
Sharon grinned slyly. “Oh, that,” she said in a small voice. “Well, yes, I guess I was kinda naughty.”
“Yes, you were,” I said sternly, “and you know what happens to naughty little girls?”
Sharon sat bolt upright and threw her arms around my shoulders: “They get spanked?”
“You are so right,” I replied. “But don’t think I’m going to get my hands sore working on your tight, taut toned butt, Miss Bikini Model. Fetch me a paddle from the drawer where I keep the flogger!”
Sharon leapt up, stepped out of the harem panties so she was totally nude, then skipped to the bedside drawer and returned with my favourite paddle. OK, it’s my only paddle, but I love it.
The size of a table tennis bat, with a similar handle, the bright red rubber surface was not as rigid as a bat’s, quite pliable and also quite capable of causing a severely reddened bottom!
Sharon handed me the implement, then lay across my lap, feet scrabbling on the floor, fingers touching on the other side. She had spread her feet quite wide, presenting a mouth-watering target. I laid the paddle in the small of her back and traced my fingers along her pussy. It was sopping wet!
Then, I picked up the paddle in my right hand – her head was on the left side of my body – and brought the paddle down crisply across her taut right buttock. It quivered deliciously as the paddle hit home. Sharon also called out “Ouch” deliciously.
I gave her another 11 well-spaced strokes until her bottom showed a distinct red hue, despite the fact that it was delightfully sun-tanned.
“Other way round, pet,” I ordered, and the lovely creature stood, then plonked herself down across my lap in the reverse position. This time I transferred the paddle to my left hand and rained 12 strokes down on her left buttock cheek, pausing with exquisite little teasing intervals between each blow.
Then I ordered her up onto the bed. Sharon lay on it, face up, her head supported by two pillows propped beneath her.
Without bothering to discard my boots, I climbed up onto the bed and straddled her face, feeling her hot breath against my hot pussy.
“And now, Sharon, my pet,” I instructed, “you will thank me.” I felt a tremor of excitement as her young mouth began to work along my pussy lips, before her tongue delved into my cunt. Then she worked further down, laving and licking at my anus.
Then she pulled back and looked up at me and smiled.
“Darla?” she said, in a hushed tone, “is this going to be the way I have to thank you after every paddling I get?”
I resisted the temptation to drag her mouth back onto my pussy and gave her the answer she so obviously wanted: “It sure is, honey, it sure is.”
Sharon giggled. “Then I’m sorry, darling mistress, but I’m going to be very, very naughty indeed!”
To be continued.
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