Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Bit by bit, Mummy has been integrating me into her life. I wish I could reciprocate, but I didn’t really have much of a life before I met her. Well, she’s met my parents, and we attend Shul together now. Anyway, a week ago we had dinner at the house of Mummy’s friend (and now my art teacher) Masha and her husband Diego. A few days ago, she took me to a history department party, where I met a bunch of her colleagues and students. We didn’t stay long: social situations like that, where I meet a whole whack of new people, are stressful for me, so Mummy made sure I didn’t get overwhelmed.
It’s mid-November now, the 16th of Cheshvan in the Hebrew calendar. In fact, tonight is the one-month anniversary of our walk in the park.
‘Sweet girl, I want to take you out to dinner tonight for our month-iversary. I have been such a boring homebody … I’m sorry, I’ve never taken you out for a real date like you deserve.’
At the moment, I’m contentedly lying on the couch with my head in Mummy’s lap. One of her breasts fills my mouth. We’ve been having our regular late-afternoon titty-time. About a week ago, Mummy’s milk came in: all that oral attention I’ve been paying to her breasts has gotten her maternal hormones humming. Now Mummy comes home from school with her breasts full of milk for me. We have titty-time first thing in the morning too, which is just about the nicest way to wake up ever invented.
Reluctantly, I release her nipple from my mouth. ‘It’s OK Mummy, I like being a homebody with you.’
I resume sucking, not because there’s more milk — I’ve pretty much emptied both sides by this point — but just because I love having Mummy’s titty in my mouth.
‘Thank you, sweet girl. Be that as it may … I want to go some place nice tonight … have a really nice meal with you, dress up a bit, show off my beautiful girlfriend a little bit. Would you indulge me, sweet girl?’
‘Of course Mummy. Um, what should I wear?’
‘Let me show you.’
We get up and she leads me to the bedroom. I’ll do anything Mummy asks, of course, and wear anything she wants me to. But I don’t really feel comfortable in grown-up outfits. Or make-up. They make me feel like an imposter, like I’m wearing a disguise but the disguise doesn’t fool anyone. I’ve explained this feeling to Mummy: she calls it ‘little dysphoria’. I don’t own the sort of elegant outfit that goes with the swanky evening Mummy is planning.
‘As it happens,’ she pulls a Hudson’s Bay bag out of the closet, ‘I picked up a new dress for you today, at lunchtime. Let’s see how you like it.’
The dress is green velvet, with long sleeves, a high neckline, and white lace trim: the sort of thing a twelve-year-old girl might wear for a piano recital. When I try it on, I see that the hem only comes down to mid-thigh. And it hugs my petite figure.
‘Oh baby girl … I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off you in that! Please say you like it?’
OK, this is ‘little’ enough for me to feel comfortable in, and sexy enough to turn Mummy on. Which turns me on. Which makes this dress perfect. Even if it weren’t, the hunger in Mummy’s eyes right now would make it totally worth it.
‘I love it Mummy! Thank you.’
She goes into the closet to put on her own dress, and when she reemerges, I nearly have a spontaneous orgasm. The little black dress she’s wearing hugs her figure as well … but Mummy has a whole lot more figure to hug! The satin fabric can barely contain her abundant hips. Her curves could stop traffic. The diaphanous white shawl draped around her shoulders does nothing to hide the prominence of her bust.
‘Talk about not being able to keep my hands off you … oy gevalt, Mummy!’
* * *
We take an Uber into downtown Toronto, to the fancy-shmancy Lebanese restaurant Mummy has chosen, so she can have some wine with dinner and not have to worry about driving afterwards. (I never take more than a sip of wine, but I can’t drive.) I’m not very adventuresome when it comes to trying new foods. But when I was thirteen, I went on a rare vacation with my family to Israel, for my bat mitzvah, so I’m already familiar with felafel, hummus, and other middle-eastern dishes. That’s why Mummy picked this restaurant. She orders the combination kebab platter for two, hold the labneh (that wouldn’t be kosher with the meat). Plus a carafe of their Pinot Grigio.
Our waiter, Marcel, brings one glass. Mummy asks for a second glass, for me. He stiffens.
‘But of course … if I might see some proof of age for … Mademoiselle?’
Clearly he thinks I’m her under-age daughter. At Mummy’s insistence I get out my ID. He examines it carefully, shows it to the maitre d’. They confer. Finally, he brings a second glass.
‘She’s my girlfriend,’ Mummy smiles proudly, refusing to be embarrassed, ‘and I’m the luckiest woman in the world.’
‘Yes Madame,’ Marcel nods, tight-lipped, as he pours the wine.
Well, if Mummy’s not going to be embarrassed, then neither am I. In fact, I’m going to up the ante.
‘She’s wrong, Marcel. I’m the lucky one! But darling … are you sure you should casino oyna be drinking wine? Remember, you are breastfeeding your little one.’
Mummy blushes scarlet. Then she counter-attacks. ‘Oh, I don’t think a little wine in my breastmilk will do you any harm, will it baby girl? Especially if you’re going to have a glass yourself. Thank you Marcel, that will be all for now.’
‘L’chaim,’ Mummy says, and we sip our wine. Yuck. It’s even drier than the kiddush wine at our Shul. Why can’t people just serve sweet Manischewitz like my Bubbe used to do?
Mummy calls him over again. ‘You know what, Marcel, my baby girl doesn’t want her wine after all. Can you please bring her … say, a Shirley Temple instead?’
‘Certainly Madame.’ By now, he is looking at us like we’re from the Addams Family.
‘That was fun!’ Mummy smirks mischievously after Marcel leaves us. ‘I’ll leave him a hefty tip to make up for messing with him.’
‘I haven’t seen this ‘Naughty Mummy’ side of you before. I like it.’
‘Oh yeah? There’s more where that came from, baby girl.’
‘Such as …?’
She thinks for a moment, then her face lights up with a diabolical smile.
‘Go to the women’s room right now. Take off your panties, put them in my purse and bring them back to me. I hope they’re good and wet: I look forward to smelling them when you get back.’
It’s my turn to blush. ‘Mummy, you seriously want me to walk through the restaurant … in this short dress with no panties on, and my kitty all drooly?’
‘Let’s hope you don’t slip and fall on the way back to the table, darling,’ she smirks. ‘I wanted to show you off tonight but not quite to that degree. What colour is the traffic light, sweet girl?’
‘Green!’ I flash a conspiratorial grin at her and head off to the washroom, Mummy’s clutch purse in my hand. I’m Naughty Mummy’s good girl.
* * *
‘What’s wrong, Mummy?’
She’s sitting on the living room couch, looking at email on her phone, biting her lip and frowning.
‘It’s Alasdair. His girlfriend dumped him. He sounds pretty woebegone.’
‘Poor guy. The classic pre-Christmas break-up.’
‘Exactly. Saves her having to buy him a present.’
Mummy looks at me disapprovingly.
‘Pardon my French,’ I add. ‘So what can we do for poor Aly?’
She pauses to think.
‘We could go visit him for the weekend, get his mind off how miserable he is.’
‘I’d come too?’
‘Of course you’d come too. I couldn’t be without my good girl for all that time! And it’s high time my son met you in person.’
‘A road trip with you? I’d love that.’
‘I could bring Aly some of my Nanaimo bars. Those always used to cheer him up.’
‘Hey, you’ve never made me Nanaimo bars.’
‘I haven’t?’ She looks sincerely remorseful. ‘I’m so sorry, baby girl …’
‘Mummy, it’s OK, I’m kidding. I can wait a few days. I assume Aly will share them with me. Y’know, I haven’t been to Montreal since, like, grade five.’
‘Don’t you have an older sister at McGill?’
‘Shoshana. Yeah. In law school.’
‘How come you hardly ever mention her?’
‘We didn’t get along very well when we were younger. She was the perfect daughter and I was the black sheep.’
‘Well, that’s an outdated story, baby girl. Maybe you could try again with her, now that you’re both adults.’
‘You want us to include her in this visit.’
‘Yes, I’d like to meet her.’
‘OK Mummy, I’ll let her know we’re coming.’
* * *
We pack Wednesday night. Thursday, Mummy teaches. When she comes home around four thirty, we take a few minutes for some much-needed titty-time, then load up the car and head east on 401.We get stuck for a while in rush hour around Toronto, but after that it’s clear sailing. We had already decided (well, Mummy decided and I agreed of course … what do I know about driving?) to spend the night in Kingston, rather than go non-stop and arrive in the middle of the night. There’s a nice old-fashioned diner in Kingston Mummy wants to take me to. But when we get there, we find it’s been replaced by a Tim Horton’s. Instead, we have dinner at the Humpty’s that’s right next to our motel.
We check into our room. I have my dessert: more breastmilk from Mummy. But we’re tired and we fall asleep without making love.
I wake up in the wee hours of the morning, under the covers, with my head resting on Mummy’s pillowy abdomen, my torso ensconced between her thighs. I guess I got cold during the night and snuggled down here to get warm. Mummy’s pubic hair is tickling my chin and neck. I scoot down a few inches and nuzzle her furry mound. She giggles sleepily, and begins stroking my hair. I inhale the intoxicating scent of her pussy: she’s getting aroused, and so am I!
‘Go ahead, sweet girl. Eat me.’
I don’t need to be asked twice. I plunge my tongue into her folds, lapping up the Mummy nectar that I find there, sucking on her ripe rubyfruit, loving the smell and taste of her. Mummy Mummy Mummy, I’ve got love in my tummy.
‘Oh sweet girl … that’s so good. Gonna canlı casino come soon …’
I dip my index finger in her honeypot, then trace a wet trail back along her perineum, and further; I sink my finger deep in her tushy. She squeals, her sphincter clenches down on my finger, and her kitty erupts in a spray of nectar, right into my thirsty mouth.
She gets up and goes to the washroom to find her toiletry bag, which has the feeldoe. She comes back to the bedroom wearing it, with a well-lubricated condom rolled onto the business end of it.
‘My turn, Little Anal Annie,’ she growls lustily. ‘Now that we’re both wide awake. Roll over on your tummy, baby girl, it’s past time I introduced Mr McFeely to your sweet bum. What’s the traffic light colour?’
‘Green, Mummy! My tushy belongs to you too.’
‘Damn right she does, pardon my French.’
In the past week, Mummy’s been playing with my tushy a lot, rimming it, fingering it; she hasn’t fucked me in there with the feeldoe yet, but I suspected she was leading up to this. I’ve been hoping for it. I wasn’t expecting it at 3 am in a motel room in Kingston. But as she said, it’s past time.
She settles over me, her thighs straddling mine. I reach back and spread my cheeks for her. She squirts a dollop of lube on my hole and works it in me with her finger. She begins a double-thumb-twiddling massage right on my pucker that opens me right up back there. I groan with pleasure. The head of the feeldoe presses against my ring.
‘Relax, baby girl. Mummy’s got you. I love you.’
‘I know, Mummy. I’m your good girl.’
The head pops inside. There’s a slight burning sensation as my sphincter is stretched tight, like when I’m making a really big firm poo. But going the wrong direction. It’s confusing.
‘I’m not hurting you, sweet girl?’
‘It’s OK Mummy. Keep it in me. Just give me a second.’
‘I’m so proud of you, sweet girl. You are so perfect.’
I breathe deeply; my sphincter isn’t burning anymore now. I squeeze down on the feeldoe head: it feels good.
‘Yes sweet girl?’
I gasp as I feel the shaft sink down into me. Jillions of nerve endings in there are going off, flooding my nervous system with pleasure.
‘That’s it, baby girl. I’m in all the way.’
Then she switches on the vibrator.
Mummy’s lying on top of me now, excitedly kissing my shoulders and neck. Her hands reach underneath me to cup my breasts. She begins moving the buzzing feeldoe in me. I clamp down around it but it keeps easily sliding in and out. My clitty is on fire; I reach down under me and rub it as Mummy pistons Mr McFeely in and out of my back passage.
‘Oh … ohhh FUCK me Mummy!’ I wail.
‘That’s what I’m doing, baby girl,’ she chuckles.
‘Harder please. Oh yesss, oh yesssssss … ‘
Mummy begins grunting as she pounds into me, squeezing my itty-bitty titties. Gevalt, she’s strong as an ox.
‘Unnghh, I’m coming! Come with me, Chavah, sweet girl!’
‘Love you Mummy, love you, love you … ahhhhHHHHHH!’
A wave of warm pleasure blossoms deep in my tushy and spreads out through my body. I feel it enveloping Mummy and her orgasm. Deep happiness in every cell of my body, and every cell of hers. I’m Mummy’s good girl.
* * *
We roll into Montreal just before noon. Aly shares a house with a bunch of other grad students. I’m not sure about my sister’s roommate situation but I don’t want to impose. So we’ve booked an AirBnB. We use the code they sent us to unlock the door, and bring our luggage in. Mummy calls Aly, and we meet near the McGill campus for lunch.
He’s taller than I expected, and lean as a rail, nothing like Mummy’s build. And he’s calm, laid-back; he doesn’t have Mummy’s radiant energy. But he has her colouring, and her eyes and mouth. And a lot of her little mannerisms. It’s odd seeing these beloved traits in someone I don’t know. A man no less.
Alasdair takes us to a Vietnamese restaurant. I feel apprehensive as I look over the menu: I don’t know Vietnamese food; there’s nothing familiar here. But Mummy orders me some grilled chicken skewers with rice. I shift around in my chair: my tushy is nicely sore from last night.
Mummy gets up to use the washroom, leaving me alone with her son. There’s an awkward tension between us.
‘Look,’ I blurt out, ‘I’m younger than you and I’m dating your mum. I know that has to feel weird to you.’
‘Yeah, a bit. ‘OK quite a bit,’ he laughs. ‘But … I have to say: I’ve never seen mum this happy before. And you haven’t rubbed me the wrong way yet … so, yeah, I guess I approve. Welcome to the family, Chavah. Are you a hugger?’
‘Normally no, not with people I’ve just met. But if we’re family now, sure.’
We hug politely.
‘Thanks Aly. I hear, um, you’ve been going through a rough patch lately.’
He shrugs. ‘Yeah, on the relationship front. My research supervisor just landed a huge NSERC though, so my funding is secure till I finish my degree. That helps.’
‘I’m sure a nice woman is going kaçak casino to snap you up very soon.’
‘I wouldn’t say no to a little snapping. But I’m not going to put any energy into looking. Not for a while.’
‘Not looking for what?’ Mummy asks, as she rejoins us.
He repeats himself.
‘Um, by the way, what’s an NSERC?’ I ask.
‘Something an historian never gets,’ Mummy replies. ‘Congratulations, to you and your supervisor.’
My chicken and rice are yummy. Now I know what to order if I’m in a Vietnamese restaurant again.
* * *
After lunch, Alasdair has to TA two sections (whatever that means) back-to-back, so Mummy and I go off and explore the old city and Mont-Royal Park. She buys me a bunnyhug hoodie that says ‘La belle province.’ The atmosphere and scenery are making me feel totally romantic for Mummy. The paddleboat rental shack is closed up for the winter. I pull Mummy behind it and make out with her for a long time.
An old guy in a tuque walks past and mutters something at us in Joual, the impenetrable Montreal dialect of French. Mummy answers him angrily, and he scurries off.
‘What did he say?’
‘Never mind, sweet girl. Let’s just say “pardon my French”.’
‘Ha ha. You actually do speak French. Montreal French no less.’
‘I lived here for four years, sweetie. I did my PhD here.’
We take a bus back to the neighbourhood of our BnB, where the car is parked. We’ve brought three large trays of home-made Nanaimo bars in the car from Guelph. We now drive over to Aly’s house and deliver them to him and his housemates. I have one. They are fantastic, almost better than sex. (I said almost.) I help myself to another one.
‘No more, sweetie, or you’ll spoil your appetite for dinner.’
We’re due at my sister’s place at six for dinner, Alasdair too. It turns out her apartment is in walking distance from Aly’s house.
Shoshana greets me at the door with a squee of welcome and a warm hug. Then she hugs Mummy. She even hugs Alasdair.
‘Hey,’ she says, ‘I’ve seen you around before. Don’t you hang out at that cafe by Beaubien Park? Scribbling genius math stuff on the walls with your buddies, right?’
‘Haven’t been there in a while, but yeah, they have chalkboard walls. Wait … you’re the girl — sorry, woman — with the fedora, right? You sing in a klezmer band?’
‘You, um, you noticed me?’
Shoshana looks a lot like me — it’s immediately obvious that we’re sisters — but she inherited mum’s tits. Of course he noticed her.
‘I couldn’t understand a word of what you were singing about, but it was fun to listen to. And you sang beautifully. Was that Hebrew?’
She’s beaming at him. He’s beaming back at her.
‘So, Shoshana,’ he asks, ‘you study music?’
She shakes her head. ‘Law. I sing purely as an amateur.’
She heads into the kitchen to get dinner ready, and Aly follows closely on her heels, like a happy puppy.
Mummy and I look at each other.
‘They, uh, seem to have hit it off well,’ Mummy says.
‘They barely noticed us. Looks like Aly has been snapped.’
For the rest of the weekend, Aly and Shoshana both want to come along on all our outings — to the Reform Shul on Saturday morning, to museums, to the botanical garden, to meals out and meals at Shoshana’s place. By Sunday, I notice they’re discretely holding hands under the table.
Shoshana does interact with me too. She tells me she’s excited about my art school plans. She tells me she likes Joyce, she’s happy for me. We reminisce about our shared childhoods. All my life I felt I had to compete with her. And fail at it. It’s nice now to be able to just relate to her as a real sister. But mostly she’s preoccupied with getting to know Alasdair.
Well, we came out here to cheer Aly up. Looks like our job is done. We say our goodbyes Sunday night. Shoshana and Aly will both be back in Guelph in a few weeks — arriving together, I expect.
On Monday morning we get in the car and start the six-hour drive home. En route, I get a grateful text from Shoshana, gushing excitement about Aly. Mummy gets a similar email from Aly about Shoshana.
This trip was fun, but I miss our home. I miss my drawing. It’s good to get back. We pull up in front of our house a little after four.
We dump our luggage by the front door and make a beeline for the couch. Mummy unbuttons her blouse and unclips her bra. Her titty fills my grateful mouth, as I begin swallowing her sweet breastmilk.
‘Love you, sweet girl,’ she sighs happily.
‘Mmmm mmm mmmmm,’ I happily reply.
* * *
* * *
Christmas/Chanukkah has come and gone. The Alasdair-Shoshana relationship blossomed as I expected. Shortly after they get back to Montreal, we hear he’s moved in with her. My art classes have started: foundation studio, art history, intro art theory (taught by Masha), plus writing and world history. I associate the campus with visiting Mummy for lunch, so it feels like friendly terrain to me now. Some of the other art students seem competitive, but mostly they’re cool. They’re mostly fresh out of high school. I develop a friendship with another art student in his early twenties named Mitch. The classes keep me busy, especially studio.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32