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. Bitch sex and bone china

Discussion in 'Cuckold Stories' started by Lutheran Maid, May 15, 2018.

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  1. Lutheran Maid

    Lutheran Maid Well-Known Member Author!

    Peter's mother is lovely, a benign smiling blue rinse hair woman of impeccable if conservative dress sense. I'd stopped by to have tea with 'Mama Margaret', dropped off there by Gunther. Riding on the back of Gunther's Harley Davidson I was of course wearing leathers, black skin tight leather jeans and a waspish waist leather jacket that both protected and look very chic indeed. We'd been out to a pub or two, with others in the motorcycle club and we'd lain in the long grass by the river and the others watched Gunther fuck me. I wasn't the only wife who had been seduced away by the thrill of a large motorcycle and the attitude of the rough and ready bikers. But I was the only wife of a vicar and I think that the others in the bike club got a frisson out of that. I was the wicked bitch. I was the slut from the lawn afternoon tea party. Instead of gossiping with the women of the village I was getting my cunt filled down by the river. 'Ride the bitch', 'fuck her to hell', 'make the little slut cream', the other bikers coaxed and jeered. But my leather jeans were off, my toe nails were painted red and my legs were hooked up over Gunther's massive shoulders. There was a tattoo just above the neatly shaped cunt hair, it said 'Bosch bitch'. Peter had never actually seen that. He didn't want to confront things so intimately. So when I got home all smeared and filled with the pleasures of the bike trip out, in the dark, beneath the duvet, Peter would slide down between my legs and lick Gunther's creaminess out of me. I didn't have to tell Peter that he was beaten. I didn't have to warn him that Gunther took me out when he pleased and where he pleased. Peter just licked and swallowed, doing some sort of absolution for my wickedness down there. It was all very selfish. I loved being fucked silly by Gunther and I loved Peter then tonguing me out. I loved the way the he ladled the stuff from my snatch and I would pull his face against my sex. I would smear my wet and eager cunt against his mouth, climaxing, thinking about the control Gunther had over me. What I needed up me was more important than the pretty things, the spiritual things that Peter and I shared.

    Margaret had laid out tea things, scones and a bone china service on a table in the orchard, amidst the apple trees. I found my own way through to the garden via the side gate and met with Margaret as she carried plates and napkins to the table. Margaret wasn't at phased that I dressed like Suzi Quattro. She even knew that I went 'biking' with Gunther and his friends. She had seen me a few times at our place, go out to get on the back of Gunther's bike whilst Peter then busied himself to take her out to some quilting exhibition. She must have seen Gunther kiss me then, that way, but I supposed that she thought the bikes just a hobby. What do nice women think?

    'Shall I be mother?' Margaret asked daintily, pouring the tea already. I watched her, dressed floral in an orchard full of ripening apples and filled with the sound of bee's doing the rounds of the fox gloves. We looked a bit of a contrast to one another!

    When we'd sipped our first tea, nibbled the first scone Margaret was obviously edging towards something...

    'Emily, I wondered, I wondered if I could ask you something, something that seems rather indiscreet?'

    I was intrigued. Margaret only ever seemed to talk about crafts and flowers and the inequities of the council tax. I prompted her to go ahead.

    She blushed a little, it was quite appealing, very feminine in a lace sort of way.

    'Is Gunther fucking you?' She immediately stumbled after the question, searching for nicer words, 'I mean, I mean, are you having a relationship with him?'

    It might surprise you, but it was almost a relief to have the old dear ask the question. This was coming wasn't it? it had to come. Gunther didn't want Peter in my bed, he didn't want him in the way. He was starting to suggest that I should leave my vicar husband. To hell with what the tut tut villagers thought! I gathered my thoughts quickly and opted for the simple response.

    'Yes, Gunther is fucking me' I said. I wondered how to answer her supplementary question and though what the hell. I placed the dainty cup and saucer down stood, unbuttoned my leather jeans, edged them down and showed Mama the tattoo. The old lady had cataracts beginning but she saw it alright. She saw what it said. Maybe she had bad memories from the war, may be something like that, but things were different now. Gunther was Gunther, he had a handsome prick and he used it with style. She saw other stuff too I suppose, the fact that my cunt was wet, and that spunk was matted generously in my pubes.

    'He's much more masculine than Peter isn't it, so much more direct....with you....I imagine' she continued, a tremor in her voice.

    I wasn't about to apologise or to fudge the issue.

    'Yes,' I said, 'He won't let Peter fuck me. Peter licks, he cleans me. We haven't talked about it, formally, is just all that he's allowed to do'. I know my eyes narrowed. They always do when I won't take any claptrap from someone. I expected Margaret to look aghast at what I said. She didn't. She just didn't. Instead she nodded.

    'Peter was never Rambo was he' she said, trying a little joke. She smiled. I smiled. 'You are a beautiful and a strong minded woman, I told him once that you would eventually find someone to be woman and man with. I told him that once you met someone, that he wouldn't be able to compete. Sex would take its healthy part in your life, instead of the sweet things, the tender things, that I imagined that he did.'

    It was a surprising little speech! I smiled and asked,

    'So what did he say?'

    'Oh, he poo pooed it, as though you both lived in a fairy tale bubble. But I saw Peter yesterday, when we went out, and I told him that he should thank Gunther for fucking you. If that was what was happening, what you needed, what you deserved, then he should be polite and thank the man.'

    The old girl surprised me again.

    'Do you think he will?' I wondered. This was hardly a scones and tea discussion.

    'Oh I think he will, now he will Emily' she answered and handed me a folded collection of high end papers. I looked at them. They were the deeds to the cottage that we lived in. They were now made out to me! I was astonished. Margaret seemed delighted with her surprise. Delighted by the idea that she could spring something bold. 'He has to accept Gunther in your bed, and thank him for doing what he should be doing, or he has to leave the cottage. I suppose the church could find him a residence of some kind, but it wouldn't be a manse. They're pretty broke these days and in the meantime the village would know that you kicked him out. You do want to live with Gunther don't you, to have friends around sometimes, a party or something?'

    I blushed. Did she know what we meant by party!?

    'Yes' I admitted.

    'Then you should read Peter his future, that you decide with Gunther. Women have needs, appetites too...does that shock you?' She smiled slyly.

    'No...no' I insisted, but it did, coming from her, it did.

    'Would you like to be Peter's mistress instead, to rule him?'

    I hadn't thought. I was thinking of leaving him!

    'I'd want Gunther to be master in the house, to be the boss' I stammered.

    'Then that is what you must tell Peter. I know my son, he would never fight Gunther, he would lose and he knows it. He would learn to do everything that Gunther tells him. I think that you must live your life boldly, without chores, wildly if you like, you could make Peter do all the chores.'

    Margaret was encouraging me to be a bitch in the biggest sense.

    'You don't want me to kick your son out do you?' I queried, 'you don't want him shamed and sent away.'

    The old lady waited. Then she answered,

    'I think you must kick him out if he fails what you set him. But I hope, I hope, that you and Gunther might teach him what he is.'

    I frowned. Dd she think her son gay or something.

    'A weakling, a boarding school fag who fetches and carries for his betters, a nice man who says nice things in a pulpit but who expresses his humility differently at home.'

    'You think me...how I can say it, a bitch, someone who might rule someone like Peter?' I whispered the words.

    'Yes, yes I do. Right now, you're cheating and that's kind of sexy, I know. But it would sexier still to control a man whilst going with another.'

    I stared afresh at the woman. What kind of life had she led? What on earth did she really know, if this was what topped out on a conversation. My mouth must have been open.

    'I lived with a man, in Paris, when I was a journalist. Then I brought him him and made my husband accept him. It was all before Peter was born. He doesn't know me as anything but 'sweet'.

    'Your husband accepted that?' I murmured.

    'He slept in a bedroom down the corridor' Margaret said flatly, casually. Peter will accept Gunther's rule, if that is what you insist on. He will bend to will.'

    'That's kind of sexy, so sexy' I admitted.

    She smiled. 'Yes, its very sexy. Women enjoy power, they can be ruthless too' she assured me. 'You control the cottage, Gunther controls the bed, the rest you can make Peter learn.'

    It was only then that I saw Peter's ramshackle estate car arrive on the drive. Peter looked flustered at the wheel, he stared for a moment at us seated in the orchard. Margaret smiled again and checked her watch. Peter was on time.

    'Oh, I've told him that I have given the cottage to you. He has to make peace with his lot, to beg you to keep him on in some way.' Margaret waited for that to sink in. Wow! Bitch. She was a bitch. 'Sometimes Emily, cruelty has to figure in a relationship. A woman has to be cruel to establish the rules'. I felt Margaret touch my arm and then take the tea pot away to replenish. She would emerge with it again, after, after Peter and I had talked.

    Peter ambled over the grass to me. He was carrying a bottle of wine, from a parishioner. A gift he explained, to us both. His face was uncertain, his expression anxious. He tried to kiss me on the lips. I presented my cheek instead. There, he did as he was told. It was a thrill inside, a sudden sharp thrill. So much had changed, in an instant! Margaret had pushed us forward.

    'I'm thinking of leaving you for Gunther, ' I said so terribly calmly, it was awful. 'You will have to go, the cottage is ours, Mama has given me the deeds.'

    Life isn't fair, it isn't nice. No, it is horrible and callous. But I winced watching the tears well up in Peter's eyes.

    'You love Gunther, I know you do. It's not just sex, I know that. I know that you must be with him...' Peter blurted. Margaret watched us at a distance, fussing over a replacement tea tray. 'I could tell Gunther that I accepted that. He could take over your bed, in the cottage'.

    Surprising and desperate words. Really surprising words!

    'You don't mean that' I said touching his shaking arm. He really was shaken up.

    'I do, ' he insisted and fixed me with a look, 'I do! I've dreaded this moment, please don't kick me out. I would do what you both say.'

    I couldn't believe him. it was just too stark, too raw!

    'You'd hate me for being a bitch, you would rebel at some point. He would hurt you, he would hurt you badly.' I whispered the words, mama, her hearing, was it that bad at 80?

    Suddenly Peter dropped to his knees in the grass, before me. Margaret glanced up and looked our way through the French doors. It didn't seem to shock her, but there was Peter, in his dog collar, looking as if he was praying. Peter kissed me, he kissed me on the crotch of my leather jeans. I glanced embarrassed down towards the house. But I couldn't embarrass that woman, not now, knowing what I did. She was as hard as steel. So slowly, delicately, I undid the crotch buttons of my jeans once again, I eased them down a little. Peter was staring, staring at my tattoo and the spunky mess on my pubes. I waited for him to submit to me, to worship me in that most elemental, that pagan and instinctive way. Peter started to lick me. He licked me on his knees, in the orchard, pressing his mouth to my exercised sex. I wondered what mama Margaret thought. May be it was about Paris, or afterwards. I imagined her fucking with her lover, her husband kneeling meekly beside the bed. I imagined the lover thrusting her till they both came, hard, their bodies mixing the fluids. Then, afterwards, Margaret standing before the husband, having him worship her filled cunt. Feeling Peter tongue me then, lick up between the swollen lips of my pussy, I thought with an ever faster beating heart that this was what women did. They chose, they decided and they dictated. Margaret had gifted me the cottage, she had given me control of Peter, but much more than that, she had given me her approval. Rule him, please don't abandon him. Peter was licking so nicely, I felt aroused. I felt my sex tingle and gently moved my cunt against his mouth. I saw Margaret nod. My phone rang in the back pocket of my jeans and I checked my Gucci watch. It would be Gunther, arranging a time to pick me up.

    'Hi darling, yes, I've been chatting with Margaret. I need to talk some things over with you...some amazing news I've been given.'

    I ran my fingers through Peter's hair, keeping his mouth pressed to my cunt. talking to Gunther, having Peer lick me was jus so sexy. Margaret watched her son worship me. She watched a man worship a woman, after she has made her choice. She watched a man beg for crumbs beneath the table.

    'No, don't pick me up at the front, come through to the orchard. I mean it, things are fine, Margaret really admires you.' Gunther must have been confused, he must have been. I mean, the old bird was my husband's mother for goodness sake. 'I've seen Peter too, ' I told him, not exactly sharing the details, 'and....and he's asked me to go with you, to have you live as master in the cottage.' I didn't dare hope! I didn't dare guess how he would react. Peter nuzzled, and suckled on my sex, swallowing down the sticky mess from my pubes. 'he can sleep in the snug down stairs, he can sleep wherever you tell him to. Hit him if he causes a fuss, but he won't, I'm sure he won't!' Peter was making me want to buck. Peter was licking me to orgasm. I pulled back Peter's head to look at the smear mess on his lips. Then I pulled his mouth back on to goddess pussy. He suckled immediately. 'Gunth babe, yes, he is such a wimp. I know, I couldn't believe it. But we can keep him, kick him out, I want YOU so much!' Gunther was chuckling, and then growling about rules. Any rules I said, we would dictate them. I told him how Margaret was a canny old bird, she had sucked her husband too. That shocked Peter but he licked on nonetheless. Gunther said that he was coming over then and the call ended.

    I pushed Peter away and he fell back on the grass.

    'Fuck off home' I told him curtly, 'Gunther and I will chat here and decide what's to be done with you.'

    Peter didn't beg, he didn't whimper, he simply nodded and got to his feet. His trousers had grass stains on the knees but his mouth was anointed with cum. I watched him slope away back to the car and then having down up my jeans I walked determinedly over to the kitchen where Margaret waited. I stepped inside through the French doors, and surprisingly, oh so surprisingly Margaret hugged me.

    'You've told him his fortune' she said.

    'Gunther will,' I said, 'I want Gunther to decide whether he's allowed to stay'. My heart was racing. I was feeling so sexed up, so in shock!

    'Of course, 'Margaret said, 'that's how things are isn't it? Did you....did yo enjoy using him?'

    Another bright sharp left field ball.

    'Yes' I admitted.

    Margaret laughed. 'Women use men all the time, but it takes a little nerve to be that direct!'.

    I nodded my hand shaking as I lifted the tray of tea things to take back out to the orchard. I said that Gunther was coming over and she said good, squeezing my arm, she wanted to meet him. Would Margaret talk about her life, after Paris I asked? Of course, she responded, if that helped, of course she would!
     
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