This story contains descriptions of a sexually explicit nature, consenting mother/son incest and spanking. All participants have at least achieved their 18th birthday. The story line and characters are entirely fictional: any similarities are purely coincidental.
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If you've got this far, I assume such reading material is legal where you are and that you want to read it. This story is a continuation of the series "My Son, the Photographer" which I urge you to read (and submit your votes.) To my regular readers, sorry about the long delay but the muses deserted me and I can't force a story. Enjoy ...
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Andy and I returned to our own chalet and were in bed drifting towards sleep when I heard a car pull up to park just outside. Then there was the clunk of the car door being closed, the beep of a remote locking then the chalet door opening and a strange voice. "What the fuck...? Jesus, Wendy, fucking your own son?" There was a scuffling and then what sounded like a vicious slap and a cry of pain. I nudged Andy to make sure he was awake and he showed he was by tapping my tummy.
We listened in silence as the sounds next door continued, "Dad, stop it. Leave her alone."
The stranger's voice called angrily, "You, you mother-fucking cunt, just shut the fuck up and get to bed – your own bed. And you, bitch, get here."
We heard the sound of more scuffling and a frightened cry of, "No, Tony, please no. Stop it, I can explain ... Arrrgh." That last cry was preceded by the crack of flesh against flesh followed by another and another. On and on the slapping sounds continued, all the time Wendy was screaming and crying out, "No. No more. Please no."
Andy wanted to get up and stop it but I held on to him and whispered, "No. They have to sort out it out themselves."
After what seemed like an age, the sounds of the beating stopped, to be replaced a rhythmic humping interspersed with Wendy's sobs. Wendy was getting fucked savagely by the sounds of it, but her ordeal wasn't to last much longer. With another loud slap we heard the stranger grunting his orgasm then only the sounds of Wendy's muffled sobs dying away. Eventually we again drifted off to sleep with Andy's hand stroking me.
The next morning we woke, went through our morning routine and were enjoying a cup of tea after breakfast. I had the chalet door open, watching for signs of life from next door. Wendy emerged and glanced into our chalet, seeing me but not really seeing, before walking away up the road towards the camp shops, her shoulders hanging dejectedly. Telling Andy to stay, I went after her, soon catching up.
Her eyes were red and swollen and there was a swelling on her left cheekbone which was slightly bruised. She said nothing so I walked beside her: she would speak when she was ready. Still not saying a word she put a few things in her basket as she walked round the camp shop – it seemed like she was on autopilot. She paid for her goods and set off back towards her chalet.
I took her resisting arm and almost pulled her to the café. I made her sit down, noticing she did so very gingerly, while I got two coffees from the counter and returned to the table. Sitting opposite her, I took hold of one of her hands, trying to offer solace in my silence. Eventually she shuddered, took a deep breath then let it out slowly. "Tony arrived last night." I nodded sympathetically. "I wasn't expecting him until this evening at the earliest but apparently he'd sorted out the business problem quickly because he was missing out on our holiday and he just wanted to join us as soon as possible. He caught me and John in bed."
"We heard it all," I said softly. "Oh, you poor dear!" I squeezed her hand.
"He beat me." Tears were now starting to leak from her eyes. I moved to her side of the table and put my arm around her; she buried her head in my shoulder and I just held her as she sobbed herself out. She dabbed away the tears, blew her nose and through the sniffs told me about Tony, her husband. He had never hit her before, she told me, except sometimes she had let him spank her in the bedroom. Nothing like last night, just enough of a spanking to warm her buttocks, she assured me.
"It does nothing for me, I don't really like it but it excites him no end and afterwards the lovemaking just about makes up for the bit of pain." She shrugged. "Last night he just went crazy and wouldn't stop even when I begged him. Then he threw me onto the bed and fucked me from behind. Do you know what's crazy? I had an orgasm even as I was crying in pain." Again she shrugged. "Go figure! But I still hate it!"
My friend said nothing for a couple of minutes, then: "He apologised this morning but he's still not speaking to John. I don't know how it will turn out." Eventually she gave a loud sniff and shrugged her shoulders as if casting off a burden. We finished our coffee and walked back to the chalets with Wendy not back to her bubbly self but certainly more animated.