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Message-ID: <39507asstr$1038586202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Leowulf <leowulf@softhome.nospam.net>
Subject: {ASSM} Story:  Four Vignettes from Bear Valley (Fg Fb, Femdom, inc, mast)
Date: Fri, 29 Nov 2002 11:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Story:  Four Vignettes from Bear Valley (Fg Fb, Femdom, inc, mast)

by Leowulf

Warning:  This story may offend small-minded bigots
Also don't dare repost this without my permission except on usenet.

If you liked this story, e-mail me: leowulf "at" softhome "dot" net.
You may see more stories from Bear Valley. :)

***

After the Spanking

Sandra was still furious.  She breathed deeply, her breasts heaving 
against her thick flannel shirt, as she suppressed her anger.  From the 
corner, seven year old Peter's sobs finally died to whimpers.

"Ok, Peter, you can come out." About 10 minutes early; Sandra felt sorry 
for her baby.

He turned around.  Sandra's heart broak when she saw tears still rolling 
down his flushed cheeks.  Rather than walking, her well-spanked little 
boy toddled painfully.  "I'm sorry, Mother," Peter said evenly.

'Oh great,' thought Sandra.  "Mother" what what her child called her when 
he was angry at her.  

"You're forgiven, my dear."  Sandra wanted to hug her child, wanted to 
make everything right.  But they were like two strangers just then.  They 
had been living in Bear Creek for two days, and it seemed they were more 
strangers than ever.  Why had she let Andrew move them to this place?

"Hey sport, why don't we go finally meet our neighbors?"  Sandra forced a 
little cheer into her voice.  "I need to borrow some flour and we both 
need a 'change of venue,' a change of scenery."

"May," Peter began haltingly.  "Mother, may I have my pants back?"

"You know the rule, little boy."  Sandra suppressed an irritated sigh.  
"You lost your pants for today when you misbehaved.  Peter wears pants 
when Peter obeys Mommy."  She knelt in front of him.  'Let's try to make 
this better,' she thought.  'Matriarchy means caring for your kids, not 
making them miserable.'

She said aloud.  "Besides, people in Bear Valley don't worry about little 
things like who wears pants.  Many boys don't.  Here it's what you are 
like, not what you wear."  She kissed Peter's forehead without thinking, 
and noticed he forgot to pull away.  "You're a good person.  Everybody 
will like you, even if you can't wear pants."

"Mo-Mommy," Peter said, blushing.  "Can I stay here and read?"

"Of course, baby."  Sandra was just glad they could part as friends.  She 
reached out and tousled his curly black hair.  "I'll be back later."

***

After coffee

Sandra felt much better.  She was glad she found a friend, especially one 
that really understood her plight.  "I'm so glad I moved here.  Can we 
talk like this often, sister?"

"Of course, Sandra!  If you don't mind me complaining to you, too."  The 
woman at the kitchen table laughed.  She was friendly and had a frank, 
easy way of talking that made Sandra feel comfortable.  "And please stop 
worrying.  Both Andrew and Pete *want* you to be in charge.  That's what 
Matriarchy is; love them, rule them, enjoy them."

"Now, I hate to be ungracious," said Cynthia, standing.  "But I need to 
bathe my Gregory, find out if there really is a boy under all that mud."

"Ok, Cynthia," Sandra replied.  "I need to check on my little treasure, 
too."

"Gregory, time for your bath!" Cynthia called across the yard.

Cynthia's new neighbot Sandra looked in surprise as the young gentleman, 
a muddy five-year-old in overalls and sneakers, got up from his sandbox, 
leaving trucks and tractors in mid-play, and ran with alacrity to the 
house.

"Wait, young man."  Cynthia stopped the lad with a gentle word.  "We have 
a guest, don't we?"

"Hello, Ma'am."  Gregory stood, but was anything but still.

"This is Miss Sandra," Cynthia put a hand on the boy's shoulder and he 
was a little more still.

"Hello, Gregory."  Sandra was surprised by how the boy became quiet, and 
was respectful gazing at her.

"Hello, Miss Sandra,"  The boy's impatience was starting to show.  "I'm 
glad to meet you I've gotta take a bath now ok?"

"Ok Gregory."

Cynthia removed her hand from the boy's shoulder and he ran noisily up 
the stairs.

"Cynthia, I've never seen a boy who *wanted* to stop playing an take a 
bath."

"Oh, yeah," Cynthia smiled.  "It's the handjob,"

Here it comes, Sandra thought.  still, she had to ask, had to be sure.  
"What do you mean?"  

"Gregory knows, dear Sandra, that if he takes his bath without trouble, 
then I'm going to masturbate him to orgasm while I'm drying him off."

Her new neighbor smirked as Sandra stared speechless.  "Still glad you 
moved here, Sister?" Cynthia suppressed a giggle.

Sandra managed to stammer a reply.  "D-does this really work?"

"Like a charm."  Cynthia put her arm around Sandra's shoulders 
conspiratorially.  "In fact, it'll probably be better for your Pete.  
Seven-year-olds have better memory and better reasoning ability."

She led the impressed lady out the door.  "Give it some thought, Sis.  
I'll call you after I'm done with Gregory's bath."

Sandra walked back next door to her own house.  This town was going to be 
everything her husband had told her it would.  Maybe even better.

***

After the Bath

cynthia's shirt was soaked.  Plastered to her breasts, the thin fabric 
showed her nipples clearly.

Five year old Gregory reached for her breasts as she helped him out of 
the tub.  She wrapped him in a big bath towel and began drying him.  

"It's not fair," groused 7 year old Jenny from the tub.  "Greggy always 
goes first."

"No it's not fair," agreed Cynthia as she finished drying her younger 
child's hair.  She freed his legs and his privates.  Already his penis 
was hard as he turned his head toward her weighty bosom.  "But it's ok 
for a female to be unfair, if she is being wise, and good to her boy." 

She added in a softer, maternal tone as she stared into the excited 
child's big brown eyes. "And girls and Mommies are always good to 
Gregory."

She kissed the tip of her little treasure's nose.  "Want Mommy to make 
you feel good, now?"

"Yes please, Mommy!" came the five year old's eager reply.

Cynthia started slowly, grasping his uncircumsized little member.  'Next 
year this time,' she thought, 'we'll have traded his hood for a crown.'  
She gently stroked him, repeatedly kissing his lips and cheeks and cooing 
to him, enjoying a thrill of satisfaction at his "Mmmm, mmmm!" sounds.  

She cuddled her boy close, letting her breasts graze his cheek as she 
softly fondled his scrotum and gently stroked his penis, Cynthia noticed 
Jenny had forgotten to bathe and was instead watching her masturbate 
Gregory.  She made sure to be as loving and maternal as she could, 
knowing that she was teaching her girl while pleasuring her boy.

Suddenly, Gregory cried out, his body shaking, his little penis throbbing 
with a dry orgasm.  She looked her little boy in the eye, saying as he 
came, "Love you!  Mommy loves her good little boy!"

She carried her baby, still wrapped in the bath towel, and lay him in his 
bed.  He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.  On her way back to 
the bathroom, she heard Jenny rushing through the rest of her washing.  
"Ok," Cynthia asked as she reentered the bathroom, "Who gets to get off 
next?"

***

After Gregory's turn

Cynthia put the little boy down on the floor and picked up her daughter.  
The sun was low in the sky, setting behind the mountains, and sunlight 
made her older child's hair just shine as she lay her head on Cynthia's 
bosom.

"Twice in one day!" the seven year old cooed.

"Yep," Cynthia kissed her daughter's forehead.  "A wise female makes her 
children feel good often"  She started gently stroking her daughter's 
privates, more gently than she did her boy's, accounting for Jenny's 
higher sensitivity in that area.  She added, "especially when they work 
hard for her."

"Mmmm, mmm," purred little Jenny.  "Mommy that's so good!"  

"I'm glad dear."  Cynthia hugged her daughter tighter, kissed her 
forehead again.  Kept her fingers dancing lightly over the child's sex, 
stopping only when the child, shivering in pleasure clasped her legs 
together.

"Don't stop, Mommy," her younger child chimed in.  "She's not done yet."

Cynthia smiled at Gregory, sitting on the floor at her feet, naked from 
the waist down.  He was playing with a stuffed tiger, making it jump at 
the tassles on Jenny's bedspread.  "And when will big sister be done, 
sweetie?"

"When she goes, 'uh-uh-uh!"  the boy chortled mirthfully.

"Ok, more please," Cynthia's older child said, opening her legs again to 
her mother's touch.  Cynthia happily obliged, her fingers renewing their 
delicate dance.

Suddenly Jenny's body stiffened and convulsed rythmically.  "Oh-OH, OH 
Momma!" she cried.  Cynthia hugged the ecstatic girl to her bosom.

"L-love you, Mommy," Jenny panted.

Gregory climbed up on the girl's bed and hugged the two females in his 
life.  "I love you, Mommy," he mimicked.

"And I love you darlings, too," her mother replied.  Then she couldn't 
resist adding, "aren't you two glad you cleaned you room so quickly and 
had time for Mommy to make you feel good."

Both children nodded happily, hugging their mother, grateful to source of 
their pleasure.

"It's not fair," Jenny said.  "Mommy gives us pleasure but she never gets 
any."

"What's pweasure?"  Gregory asked.

"It means 'feeling good,' honey."  Cynthia replied.  "And Daddy makes 
Mommy feel good pretty often too."

"I've got it!" Jenny's face lit up with her idea.  "Let's me and Greggy 
make you feel good, Mommy!"

Before she could reply, Gregory began jumping up and down on the bed, 
happily singing "Make Mommy feel good, make Mommy feel good!"

Cynthia opened her mouth to turn them down gently, but then saw the happy 
expressions, the two loving children so eager to return the pleasure 
she'd been giving them for so long.  "Ok, darlings!" she said.  "Make 
Mommy feel good!"

Accompanied by the cheers of her children, Cynthia stood up and 
unbuttoned her jeans. 

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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