Now and Then

"SALIMA"

"I asked him to, I wanted him to..."

"What? You asked him to do what?"

"That, I mean, sorry, what you saw, him... on me, over me, over my face."

"What? Salima, you asked him to, like that?" Her voice had dropped, not quite to the level of a normal conversation, but she wasn't shouting at us anymore. "Demeaning yourself, sex is meant to be nice and pleasurable, not filthy, sordid, your boyfriend wanking, sorry, there's no other word, wanking himself and ejaculating over your face."

There was a pause. I felt my face redden, shame consumed me. My mother wasn't letting me dress, was telling me off, forcing me to stand before her nude, like a little girl, with Paul next to me, both of us naked, his cock clear and visible. I dropped my head, like a schoolgirl being disciplined by a teacher.

"Look at me Salima, why, why would you do this?"

"I don't know, mum, I'm grown up, we were playing that's all, we shouldn't have gone in your room, but I'm nineteen now, I'm not a little girl, if you'd let me move out..."

I let this hang there.

"What? You be letting lots of boys come over your face all the time?"

"NO, of course not."

"Our house Salima, our rules, we know about Paul, we like Paul, but we don't want you fucking him in our bedroom."

My body responded to her choice of word.

"Paul? What do you have to say for yourself?"

I saw her look at him, face him, I saw her look at him up and down, god, she looked straight at Paul's exposed penis, straight at his soft pouch and heavy balls.

"Well?"

"I'm sorry, I really am, we shouldn't have gone in your room."

"I'd say that it the least you should be sorry about."

"I know, I know..."

And it happened, I'm not sure if I saw it first, or sensed it somehow, or why it happened, Paul never managed to explain, was it being naked in front of my mother? Having her look at him? She was a very pretty woman, tall, dark, long hair, beautiful eyes, and commanding, was it being, almost, disciplined? Humiliated? Was he borderline submissive?

""I know I know" is not good enough Paul, look at you, look at me! Do not look away, do not smile like that, this is not funny, you will treat my daughter with more respect, you will not masturbate over her like that, you will not ejaculate all over her face..."

She stopped, my mother stopped. I think I already knew why. I saw her stop, mid-sentence, and look down, to Paul's groin. His cock had moved. Oh god. His penis had jumped outwards. I looked, I more than glanced, I stared. My mother and I stared at Paul's naked cock. It looked longer, when we'd been caught it had shriveled to a state smaller than its usual soft state, my mother must have been very unimpressed with the size of my boyfriend's penis, I had looked and seen the smallest, if cutest little nub of crinkled skin pushing out from his thick nest of pubic hair. We looked again though. It had lengthened, unmistakably so, it was longer, I could see the shape of his glans, I could see his stem. Fuck. Oh fuck. The room was suddenly silent, my mother had stopped, was stopped by the sight of Paul's penis starting to swell.

Of course, as soon as we noticed, whatever effect being looked at like this was amplified, whatever kink of arousal Paul had going on strengthened within him. We saw his cock move again, jump, pulse out. Paul was getting an erection in front of my mother.

Why didn't she tell him to dress? Save all of us the embarrassment? I tell myself she was caught, frozen in the moment, I tell myself this, not that she was enjoying this at all, not that she had deliberately humiliated Paul, and was taking dark pleasure in watching him become aroused.

He was though, he wasn't able to stop it. In my head the moment must have lasted minutes, we stood there for nearly five, watching, it must have been only seconds though. Paul stood, his arms by his side, like a naughty school boy in a story, and felt his cock become hard. It did. Fuck. I saw my mother looking as it changed shape, as it first became straighter, it hung down, lower, emerged from its pubic hiding place and protruded down over his scrotum, only, it wasn't that Paul was relaxing, or, in the way that penises shift, softening, we could see it getting thicker, at first, his stem widened, his small tip swelled and expanded, then it got longer. And then, we both stared, my mother couldn't help but notice, it moved outwards, Paul's cock pulsed away from. Oh god. I couldn't help my own reaction, I was embarrassed, and awkward, I felt so sorry for Paul, but I was also turned on, watching, seeing him become erect in front of my mother, seeing her see this.

My mother was staring down, staring, without hesitation, and my boyfriend's penis, as it stiffened in front of her. I was staring as well, both of us, transfixed by the sight of Paul becoming erect as he stood, as she spoke.

His penis moved out, and up, I could see its still strange, still thrilling journey from soft to stiff, small, to sizable. Paul stood, frozen still, and let his cock jump and dance out from his body, it got longer, again, his stem was fully showing, his foreskin was still half pulled away from his dark tip, which started to show, as, oh god, as it lifted up, as my boyfriend's penis lifted up and pointed straight out, up from his legs, if there was any pretense he was not getting turned on all doubts were now dispelled, he cock was getting hard. I looked up, my mother was staring, her eyes, were her eyes wider? Was her mouth open? Was I imagining this? Then? Now?

She spoke, I know she spoke again.

"Paul, oh good god, you are getting an erection now are you, on top of everything else, is that what is happening?"

My mother drew attention to it, spoke of the thing I thought we'd pretend was not happening. I look again. She does. Paul does. I see him glance quickly down to confirm with his eyes what his body was surely telling him: his penis is getting hard.

Paul's cock pointed out horizontally, was still swelling, still stiffening, uncontrollably, with, I guessed, pleasure that was so exquisite it was surely almost painful, physical sensation feeding in to mental torment, a complete intrusion into his intimate sexual self. My mother and I watched as Paul became fully erect, his penis continued to throb and swell, continued to push up, to get longer, harder, thicker, it grew, rose, dancing in tiny jerks up, like it was climbing, stiffening in front of his girlfriend's mum, his girlfriend's older, fully dressed, beautiful Pakistani mother, she was a doctor, both my parents were, she would have seen, well, would she have seen this before? In medical situations? I didn't know, it didn't matter, my white boyfriend was getting an erection with her able to see, clearly and completely, as his cock jumped up, as he became blatantly aroused, until he was, I knew, it was completely, utterly stiff. Paul's cock pointed up, just away from his body, creating that acute triangle with a thick fuzz of dark hair within the narrow point where his penis had lifted up from his stomach. My boyfriend was facing my mother, and his cock was hard. She could see it, see my boyfriend's erect penis, she could see all of him, she could see the size of it, the shape, how long, how thick, she could, surely, compare, glance at his foreskin, note that my boyfriend's cock was significantly smaller than her husband's. Was I ashamed? Churning with embarrassment? My vagina had moistened again. I could feel my nipples rise to two thick points.

I looked down, across, I could see the tip of Paul's cock peering out from under his half retracted prepuce, his urethra was showing, with a visible pearl of creamy white fluid oozing from it. I saw mother look, I saw her notice, she registered this last drop of cum seeping from Paul's dick, we watched as it grew, as it fattened, like a teardrop, growing heavy, then dripping over his glans, dripping down. Oh god. Paul was naked and erect, his penis was upright and rigid, his large testicles were gripped gently, exposed by the vertical stiffness of his cock, and a thick droplet of semen was being squeezed from the thick tip of his male organ and about to drip onto my parents' living room floor.

My mother finally shook into action.

"Why is your penis erect Paul? Tell me?"

"I don't know, I'm sorry, I really am."

"You're sorry, I don't care if you're sorry, first I catch you masturbating over my daughter and covering her face with your semen, now you are standing in front of me naked, and your penis is completely erect. Why? Tell me why immediately."

"I... I don't know... oh god... just... being naked... I think... in front of you... oh god... you telling me... talking to me like that..."

My vagina was aching again, throbbing, was I enjoying this? Why? Was I getting aroused by seeing Paul so humiliated? Seeing that pale drop of cum seeping from his cock, getting fatter, heavier, dripping down. Oh fuck. Paul was coming, still, the remnants of his orgasm were dripping from his cock, stretching in a creamy cord, his warm spunk holding itself together, like a thin string of elastic.

"This is arousing you? This? Being told off like this, caught, seen, is making your penis stiff?"

I was sure she was doing this on purpose now, deliberately prolonging the moment, his exquisite agony. I realised, the thought was shocking, that mother was enjoying this, was - was she? - herself getting aroused by humiliating Paul like this, making me and him stand naked, then seeing him get an erection. My mother was turned on, she had to be, did she do this with dad? Degrade him, dominate him? I realised, also, that my dark, secret pleasure was in having her see Paul like this, see his penis in all its glory, see him, naked, tall, slim and firm, outrageously erect. I was turned on knowing she was able to see my boyfriend as only I'd seen him, seeing his size, the length of his cock, the thickness of it, the colour, the shape, the slight curve of it, the way his stem stuck out straight, then bent upwards, noticing, surely, how large it was, comparing, was she? Comparing to my father? Her husband's cock was bigger, I knew that, longer, thicker, shorn of foreskin. Was she measuring in her mind? Seeing Paul's tightened shield of skin hiding his swollen tip? Seven, was it? Approaching eight inches?

"Get dressed, both of you, and go somewhere else, I don't want to look at you. Salima..."

She looked at me, pausing, looking at my face, sighing, somehow.

"... Salima, you still have some on you..." she breathed out through her nose. "You have semen on your neck, and in your hair."

My vagina pulsed.

"Let it dry, it will be easier to brush it out. And we are going to talk again later, when your father gets back, he'll be home as well soon."

We turned and picked up our clothes, I remember seeing Paul bending down, grabbing his underwear, his cock poking out, jerking up and down, side to side, I remember seeing him trying to tuck it into his pants, pulling the waist band up to cover the straining tip of his erection.

I fell back into this memory, less than a year old, trying to exorcise the presence of Laila in my head, in my body, I felt myself moisten and masturbated, thinking of Paul, standing, naked and erect, my mother watching. We did leave her, we did nearly run out of the house. I walked with him, both of us silent, I let Paul think I was terribly ashamed of him becoming aroused in front of my mother, standing nude and letting her see his penis getting erect. We walked in silence until we got to a leafy pathway, that I knew we could push through, and find a spot within, surrounded by a small circle of trees that would hide us from the road.

"Come on, follow me."

Paul followed. We scratched our hands on brambles, I felt my bare legs getting scraped. We struggled in, and faced each other, the sound of distant cars echoing through the still air, our breath hanging between us. I reached under my skirt, letting Paul see me, and pulled off my damp panties, slowly, letting my dress stay up, letting his eyes fix on the dark forest of my pubic hair. I dropped them onto the damp floor of the copse.

"... fuck me." The words seemed so loud outside, seemed to shake the cold surrounding us.

I stood, holding my skirt up, letting him see me, wanting him to stare at my pussy, my damp fur and thickened labia. I stepped apart, pushing my feet, spreading my legs.

"Fuck me Paul, take your... " words, what words? Calm, clinical? "... take penis out, take your stiff penis out and put it inside me, push it into my wet vagina."

He faced me and undid his belt, his trousers, his zip. I stood and watched Paul push his jeans apart, down, pushing his underwear off at the same time, letting his engorged penis spring back into view, dance up, straining, pulsing. He looked so good, so beautiful, his legs bare, his balls, his scrotum tight and round, his glorious hard prick. He stepped close to me, letting me look at his cock as it swayed, upright, jerking left and right. I moved.

His cock swelled and rose, I held it, gripped and stroked it, felt it harden in my fingers, I slid his foreskin back and looked down to his sweet shiny tip. Where? How? I glanced around. Fuck. Fuck it. I had never wanted to be fucked so much, so absolutely. I walked to one of the larger trees, twisted my skirt and unzipped it, felt it fall to my ankles, I faced Paul in a thigh length coat, naked from the waist down. I turned, faced the tree, leaned into it, and pushed my bare ass out towards Paul.

I heard him step and crunch across the twigs and fallen leaves, I felt his hands on me, on my skin, my smooth dark arse, touching me, I felt the thick stem of his cock sliding against the tight cleft of my bum, his fingers, stroking, lower, pushing my legs further apart, pushing his hand between my thighs and stroking the soaking wet folds of my tingling pussy. I felt him grip his penis, bend it down to my vagina, and push it inside me.

We both gasped with the extremity of our desire, our lust. He filled me, and fucked me, standing behind, thrusting his rigid cock hard into my hot tight cunt, rough, quick, holding me firm by my hips, I hadn't climaxed before, in the bedroom, I felt myself starting to already, my pleasure building with each smooth, forceful stroke of his penis, stretching me, filling me, his balls slapping against my cheeks, I felt his hand move, just one, lifting to my buttocks, stroking me there, pulling me, pulling one ass cheek away from the other, fuck, oh fuck, looking, exposing my dark hidden place, staring at the dark brown button of my hairy anus, Paul touched me there as he pushed and pulled his penis in and out of my pussy, I felt him touch my anus with his finger, soft, contrasting with the aggressive strokes of his cock, feathering, then harder, stroking my asshole, pushing, oh, oh, pushing inside, pushing a finger inside the tight bud of my anus, fingering me there as his penis slid into my sex.

My orgasm became inevitable, it rose from my feet, into my thighs, up to my face, my breasts, my nipples, down to my cunt, my arse, throbbing along the rail of Paul's prick, spiked by the second act of penetration, pushing back, I pushed myself back, eager for more, more sensation, deeper entry.

"Harder, oh Paul, fuck me harder, push your finger in, oh, oh, push your finger hard inside my arse, fuck my tight cunt hard with your beautiful stiff cock."

I could hear my voice, it sounded so loud, so depraved, little Salima, getting fucked in among the trees, outdoors, in the day, in the cold winter daylight, I could hear our moans, our breathing, my gasps and cries of pleasure, I was making no effort to be quiet, I wanted to be heard, to be seen, for strangers to walk past and listen, to see us, to recognise me, nice, well behaved Salima, look at her, look at her being fucked from behind by her white boyfriend, both of them half naked, her bare ass pushed up, pushed out, his thick cock pounding her tight little cunt, as he fingered her taut asshole, his cock in her vagina, hard, so hard and rough, his finger pushing inside her hot hairy anus.

I wanted to be louder. To be caught again. I felt my climax swelling with each hard thrust of Paul's penis inside me, driving my imagination on, down into the dark dangerous recesses of my mind. I thought of men walking past us, seeing us, hearing us, stepping closer, who? Neighbours? My father? Seeing my naked bum, my legs, seeing the dark mound of my hairy cunt, seeing the slippery damp length of Paul's cock pushing inside me.

"Oh, oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck me hard, hard, oh Paul, oh FUCK... oh harder, fuck me, HARDER..."

He did. I started to come, loud, not just oblivious to who might hear me, crying, moaning, gasping with the shuddering power of my consuming orgasm, relishing their imaginary presence, imagining my father seeing, imagining his penis getting hard, so hard, in his trousers, our neighbour, all of them, all the men in our street seeing me, their cocks stiffening, becoming so stiff they unzipped and pulled them out and started to masturbate, surrounding us. Paul slammed his penis inside me and pushed his finger deep into the moist flesh of my ass, stretching my anus. I shouted with pleasure, shook with overflowing sensation.

"Oh, oh FUCK, OH..."

Had he come? No? Good. I turned, standing, weak with pleasure, looking at his bare legs, his tight pouch, his glistening dick. I dropped to my knees.

"Come over me, wank over me again, please, come into my mouth, come over my filthy slut face."

Paul stepped closer and stroked his wet cock, hard, quicker than before, losing all possible control, needing to come, needing to join me, he masturbated, I knelt and looked, touching my pussy, teasing my climax to further reaches of pleasure, as Paul stroked his cock, bent it, pointed it to my open mouth, I wallow in this moment time and time again, so often, the sight of Paul so clear, so vivid, making other men stand next to him, making them undo their flies, unbutton, pull out their stiff penises, some so long, so thick, some smaller, slimmer, dark, pale, brown, I kneel and stroke myself as first Paul starts to come over me again, I did feel a warm splash of sweet salty fluid hit my tongue, another, up, missing, spurting onto my chin, my nose, my cheek, I fall into depraved degrading fantasy, as man after man masturbates, pointing themselves at me, at my face, my open mouth, coming on me, draping my skin with warm streams of thick cream, sweet, salty, splashing over my lips, against my tongue, over my cheeks, my eyes, my hair.

I licked my lips, I tasted his cum, swallowed as much as I could. I was on my knees, half naked, spunk dripping from my face, again, for the second time in a matter of minutes, almost.

The memory was delicious.

**************************

I didn't cheat, I drifted back to the aftermath, to having to sit down my both my parents, as they tried to explain what nice girls did and didn't do, what constituted respect in a relationship. It was all very sensible, and would have been convincing, if it wasn't for the vivid mental picture of them fucking, my mother talking utter filth to my father, who himself masturbated over her bare body and streaked it with thick ropes of spunk.

I lay on my bed, in one present or other, naked, or nearly so, gently, wonderful wafting touches on my moist sex, as I remembered all of this.

"It was not nice, Salima, what you did, forget that I walked in on you."

I said nothing.

"I don't care if you asked Paul to do that, he should have said no, nice boys do not do that, they do not... " - I knew she was forcing herself to use the words, to be upfront, grown up, adult. She couldn't handle this as if I was only fifteen, under age, I was studying medicine, I was in university, I could live away, and do whatever I wanted - "... they do not masturbate over their girlfriend's faces and ejaculate over them."