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A question often asked by those who deal with psychological problems is: What is normal? The answer to that seemingly simple question will probably never be answered.
It is normal for some primitive inhabitants of South American jungles to perform, before the entire village, what Americans would consider depraved acts.
The people within a particular society usually are well-aware of what is considered acceptable behavior for them, and therein lies the problem of the characters of SPANKING MOMMY.
Carla Manners, recently widowed, realizes her love for her son Charlie could lead to something much more—something which is a strict social taboo. She therefore compensates by punishing her son for her own repressed desires and turning her physical needs inward, hoping to satisfy her normal cravings by herself.
Eric Jameson, one of Carla’s thwarted suitors, on the other hand, has long since shed his inhibitions concerning his maturing, desirable young daughter Ellen.
It is when the paths of these two people cross that something has to give—for better or worse.
Through the framework of this story, an important lesson can be learned—that to condemn either ourselves or others for something we consider “abnormal” can produce just the opposite of the desired effect. SPANKING MOMMY—a novel with a lesson for today’s society.
Carla moaned softly. The aluminum cigar tube slid up into her cunt, pressing apart the soft folds of slippery pink flesh. Smaller, colder, and harder than a man’s cock, it still felt fantastic. It felt wonderful to have her cunt filled again, even with such a crude imitation of the real thing. Lying on her back with her legs spread widely, straining the tendons on the insides of her thighs, Carla slid the tube deep into her oozing hole. It pressed the end of her cunt, stretching her. Then, slowly, tantalizingly, she fucked the tube in and out, in and out.
Her nerve fibers squirmed in response to the stimulation. She writhed sensuously on the big bed. Her head was up on a pillow so she could see her reflection in the mirror at the foot of the bed. She tried to ignore the lewd sight of the cigar tube going in and out of her twat, but couldn’t. She couldn’t take her eyes off her naked body. At thirty-five, with a teenage son, she was as youthfully firm as she had been at his age. But her tits had a mature thrust no sixteen-year-old’s ever have. Her nipples, dark and long and erect, were conical, textured buds that had nursed a baby, fed and nurtured a tiny, sucking mouth.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.
Note: This story is the same as catalog number GE-2001 in the original publications (a duplicate).