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 Plucking Their Little Buds By Pounder
   Story Intro: Mom Glen, a lovely young woman whose sexual inclinations
have been curiously shaped by the events of her early life.  Mom has no
husband, but she has a son, and to her shameful secret concerning him are
added secrets about several other barely mature boys who enter Mom's
unusual flower shop and encounter her unusual appetites.  Mom also has a
younger brother who thinks sex is neat, and an older brother who thinks
it's nasty.  The latter, the Reverend Walnutley Glen, is an adherent of the
old puritan battle cry, "Death Before Dishonor!" (It's Mom's death that he
has in mind, however ...and better late than never.)
   CHAPTER ONE
   Mom's Flower Shop was shaped like a gigantic phallus.  With its fifteen
...story shaft and the two dome shaped greenhouses flanking the entrance,
with the balcony that encircled the top floor like a drawn back foreskin,
it was easily the biggest hard-on in the little city of Danville, if not
the whole state.
   Samantha Glen had noticed this when she first saw the building two years
ago, even though she'd seen only one real prick in her whole life before or
since.  She'd imagined hundreds of them.  Ever since that one time, when
she was fourteen, when she'd not only seen, not only felt, but actually
fucked a genuine, man ...sized, hot, throbbing, thrusting, slime-slick,
cunt-cramming, clitty battering, cum spouting, cervix soaking (and,
unfortunately, baby making) cock, she had formed elaborate and loving
mental pictures of the pricks of every man and boy ...oh, yes; particularly
every boy she'd ever seen.
   She was forming and fondling such a mental picture on this Friday
afternoon, as she watched the boy who stood across the street looking at
the Flower Tower.  How old was he?  Ten?  Maybe eleven?  He probably didn't
even know what his little weenie was for, yet.  He probably thought it was
just a convenience for peeing that God had given men to show they were more
important to Him than women were.  That was what Walnut would say, anyway,
even though it had been Walnut's prick that had introduced Mom to the whole
fascinating, frustrating subject.  She was sure Walnut hadn't used his
prick for anything but peeing ever since, and he was ...  what, now? 
Thirty ...three years old!  Because Mom was twenty ...nine, and Walnut had
been eighteen when ...  God!  She thought.  Twenty ...nine!  It's been more
years since I've seen a real prick than I lived before I saw one!
   The boy's ragged cutoff jeans were tight, and Mom thought she could
actually see the bulge at the apex of the pant legs where that beautiful
little peter would be lying, curled up all soft and silky ...pink, just
waiting for somebody to wake it up, arouse it to quivering stiffness and a
fattened, glowing, jutting sense of purpose.  Ooooh!  She felt her cuntlips
respond to the image with a swelling, moistening surge of heat. ...
   "Come to Mom, little prick," she whispered.  "Come on over here, and
I'll teach you to stand up nice and tall like my flower shop."
   Michael hadn't noticed that the Flower Tower looked like an erect penis.
To him, it was just the place where his stupid sister said he had to get
the stupid flowers for the stupid girl he'd got trapped into taking to the
stupid seventh grade dance.  Erect penises were about as far from Michael's
mind as they were dear to Mom's heart.  His dad and sister kept saying that
now he was twelve, he was going to start getting interested in girls and
dancing and all that stuff, though Michael couldn't imagine why.  He
guessed it had something to do with the little book his dad kept leaving
around and telling him just a bit too casually he could read if he felt
like it ...which he didn't.  Melissa, his sister, had read it, and said it
was a real roar; but she'd said it in that sarcastic way that meant she
thought it was dumb, so he hadn't even picked it up.  But he guessed he was
stuck with going to the stupid dance, and that meant he had to buy the
stinking flowers and wait clear till next month's allowance for a new
softball.
   Scowling, he started across the street.
   He's ...  Yes!  He's coming here!  Mom's hand tightened on the envelopes
the mailman had left.  She'd only glanced at the return addresses as this
new, wonderfully young dong had appeared, and she'd found her mental
picture of it more vivid and more ...  more urgent.  It was almost as if
this time she might ...  She shook her head, but the picture of the cock
didn't go away and neither did the eerie feeling of ...  well, of courage
that had never accompanied her fuck fantasies before.
   Yes.  He was still coming straight toward the door.  She used the
unopened letters to mark her place in the magazine she'd been leafing
through then hurriedly checked her reflection in the side glass of the rose
cooler.  Hair ...  fine.  It was dark red: ...darker than the wine ...hued
nine ...dollar roses.  Face ...  everything in place.  Tits ...  oh, they
were ready!  They strained forward in her flimsy, useless bra like a pair
of fat, blind puppies, eager for a romp.  Through her thin blouse and the
even thinner bra, you could actually see the shape and shadow of those
pushy pink, puppy ...noses, if you looked closely.  Skirt ...  good; her
shortest.  And legs ...  damn!  There was a run in her pantyhose!
   Moving behind the cash register, she hiked up her skirt and skimmed her
sheer white panties and the clingy pantyhose down, slipped out of her shoes
and bent to shuck the flimsy tangle off one foot then the other.  Was there
time to get the panties back on?  No.  He was almost at the door. 
Straightening, she dropped both garments into the waste basket, smoothed
her skirt.  God!  The way I'm juicing up, I may need those panties!
   He walked in, looking a little sullen, and slowly crossed the vast,
circular salesroom toward her, not looking at her or at the flowers that
formed an almost solid border to the room, but down at the dark maroon
carpeting his dirty tennis shoes were scuffing through.  And yes; she could
see the slight but so exciting bulge in the front of his jeans.  Mentally,
she stroked and nudged his tender, tight ...slung little balls and the
plump, pale shoot of gentle gristle that curled to a pretty, uncircumcised
point from the hairless cushion of flesh just above them.  She ...  she
just knew he wasn't circumcised.  Was it all in her mind, or could she
actually see the contour of that delicious little ...He was looking at her!
"Guh ...  Hi!" she choked out, smiling for all she was worth.
   "I'm, uh ...  supposed to get a thing for a girl.  For a dance, I mean.
A wrist corsage?"
   "Oh.  Well, sure.  I've got a few already made up, or you can tell me
what you want and ......" She caught herself.  "But wait.  Just a minute."
Smiling still ...and the smile was getting easier, more natural, softer
...she came from behind the cash register and walked past him toward the
door, to hang up the closed sign.  "Lucky you got here when you did," she
called back.  "I'm just closing up, so ...  so you'll have me all to
yourself."
   She didn't look back as she said that.  She didn't dare.  Was he
watching her?  She hoped so.  But it was crazy, closing more than two hours
early like this!  What was happening to her?
   Still, she hung the sign then turned back toward him, pushing her tits
out just a little bit extra as she did.  Shit!  He was still staring at the
cash register.  But now he turned, and he was almost smiling.  "Oh!  Well,
if you're closed..."
   He started for the door, but she grabbed his arm ...and had a hard time
keeping her hands there, instead of reaching down for that darling,
sleeping little pee ...shooter she'd decided to educate in the finer things
of life.  "Oh, no!" she protested, slipping an arm around his shoulders so
that her tit almost graced his ear.  "I mean, for you, I'm wide open!" And
sopping wet, too, she added mentally.  She was guiding him; ...  pushing
him, actually ...around the cash register and counter toward the little
alcove beside the workroom.  Thank God Eva went home early.' she mused. 
Somehow I don't think I could stop myself from this even if she was hero.
   The boy was scowling, squirming a little.  She had to keep talking. 
"Now, you tell me about your date.  Do you know what color she's going to
be wearing?"
   He shrugged, his shoulder brushing the underside of her breast ever so
lightly.  "Unh ...uh."
   They were in the alcove now, and she sat him down at the little desk
where she did the ordering and bookkeeping.  "Well ...  is she pretty?"
   Michael shrugged again, scowled again.  Why did adults keep nagging at
you with questions there weren't answers to?  "I guess so," he muttered. 
What was with this woman, anyway?  Did she think she was his mother or
something?  The thought made him look up at her.  Huh!  Dad might wish she
was.  His mother had been all fat and sort of grouchy ...looking, even
before she'd got sick and died.  This woman was what his dad would call
"really something," and then blush.
   "Well ...  do you know what color her eyes are?  Is she blonde, or dark:
You see," she went on when he seemed unable to answer, "I can pick out
flowers for her better if I know."
   "Well, she ...  she's got hair sort of like yours, I guess.  I think."
   Want to see all of it?  Mom thought.  Would it turn you on if I just ...
sort of ...  She sat on a corner of the glass ...topped table by the
alcove's entrance, letting her thighs slip apart till she thought he could
get just a peek at her pussy hair.  God!  I must be oozing halfway to my
knees, though!  she realized.  And he wasn't looking anyway.  His eyes were
rambling vaguely over the flowers that filled nearly every inch of space
along the walls of this room too ...though most of men here were in glass
cooler cases.  And his prick ...  his seated position eliminated what
little bulge she'd been able to discern before, but she was sure it hadn't
hardened.  He wasn't looking away, in embarrassment or nervousness; he was
just bored, impatient ...  probably wishing he was out with the other guys,
playing whatever boys played before they learned where the real fun was.
   He started to stand up, and desperation took hold of Mom.  She stepped
into his path and blurted, "Wanna ball?"
   His mouth fell open.  He stood still, staring at her in amazement.  "How
did you know?" he said, really smiling for the first time.  "I lost mine
last week and if I didn't have to buy the dumb corsage, I could ......"
   He caught himself too late.  It wasn't polite to call it dumb to her, he
realized.  She probably thought flowers were the most important thing in
the world.
   Mom wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, wanted someone to take her in hand
and spank her soundly for the evil thing die was trying to do with this
innocent, sweet child.  But most of all she wanted his cock.  Right then
that little pud ...bud in his pants was the most important thing in the
world to her, and if it was the last thing she did on earth....
   And suddenly she knew how!
   She took his shoulders in her hands, gently.  "A baseball, you mean. 
What you really want is a baseball, but your folks say you have to buy a
corsage for this dance, and ......"
   "My dad," he corrected.  "Yeah.  And I guess I've got to."
   "Well, now listen," Mom said softly, looking into his upturned face. 
"What if I gave you a free corsage?  Then you could get the baseball,
couldn't you?"
   He smiled, nodded.  "Softball, though," he said.
   "Softball," Mom murmured.  "Yes.  Of course."
   "But, ma'am, why would you ......"
   She put a trembling finger to his lips.  "I'll tell you why.  I want you
to do me a very big favor, and I want you to promise never ever to tell
anybody about it.  It's ...  it's something fun, and something that won't
hurt anybody.  You can ...we can do it right now, right here, and it'll
just take a little while, and then I'll give you the corsage and you can go
buy that ball."
   He looked ...  not suspicious; just puzzled.  "Is it a deal?" Mom asked,
fighting to keep her eyes on his face and her hands on his shoulders,
instead of letting them all pounce on the little morsel of meat that was
driving her out of her mind with desire.
   Michael gulped.  "Well, gee, I ...  I guess so.  But if it's fun, why
......"
   "It's going to be wonderful fun for me," the woman said, her voice a
little less tense.  "And I think for you.  Anyway, I promise it won't hurt
you ...  or anybody.  But you've got to promise not to tell.  Will you do
that?"
   "Well ...  sure.  Yeah."
   She just stood there, bending toward him, her hands shaking a little on
his shoulders.  As he took a deep breath, he could smell this funny perfume
or something that he hadn't noticed before.  Was it from some kind of
flower, maybe?
   "I promise," he said, since that seemed to be what she was waiting for.
   "Ohh, wonderful!" the woman said with a big gush of breath.  And then
all of a sudden she started kissing him and hugging him and patting him all
over, but mostly the patting was right smack on his crotch.  Somehow she
managed to get him sort of turned around so she was pushing her big, soft
jugs against his back and upper arm while she kept kissing his cheek and
forehead, and one of her hands was squeezing his peter right through his
jeans and underpants till it almost hurt, while the other hand pushed his
zipper down and then popped the snap at the top.
   "Hey!  Ma'am?  What kind of ......"
   "Shhhh," she said, ending it with her lips against his.  His were open,
and hers came open and her tongue went in his mouth for about three swipes
back and forth before she backed off a little ...just her mouth, though
...and whispered, "You'll like it.  I promise."
   She got around in front of him on her knees then, and pulled his pants
and skivvies clear down to his shoes, and he felt this big cloud of hot
breath on his peter as she said, "Ohhhh!  I was right!  And it's ...  it's
beautifuir.
   "What?" he said.  He didn't mean what was beautiful; he just didn't
think he could have heard right, although he knew he had.
   "Your cock," she answered in that same hot ...breathed half ...whisper.
"Ohhh, your marvelous prick!" Her fingers were racing all over it, and
under it, and under his balls, and even pushing back toward his butt hole a
couple times; but mostly she kept stroking his peter and pulling it out
toward her like ...  like she wanted to eat the stupid thing!
   She looked up at him then.  She looked a little crazy, but she sure
looked happy.  "Can you make it stiff for me?" she asked.
   "Make ...  make it stiff?"
   "Yes, darling.  Doesn't it get stiff sometimes when..." She stopped,
beginning to look a little worried.
   Michael shrugged.  "Well, I guess like in the mornings sometimes, when I
have to ...  go to the bathroom.  But I...." This was embarrassing.  And
stupid.  Mainly stupid.
   "Don't you ever ...  play with it?  Jack off?"
   "Jack off?"
   She just stared at him for a minute, her fingers still busily caressing
his peter.  Finally she smiled again.  "Never mind," she said.  "We'll try
something.  You sit down and ...  and sort of play with it like I've been
doing.  Okay?  ... While I get undressed."
   She stood up, letting go of him, and he sort of hobbled backward till he
could sit on the chair again.
   "Kick those off," she said, nodding at his crumpled jeans and skivvies.
"And would you take your T-shirt off too, please?"
   He started to comply then hesitated.  "Ma'am."
   "Miss," she corrected him.  "But no.  Mom.  That's my name: Mom."
   "Hi.  Glad to meet you," he said, his underpants hanging from the toe of
one tennis shoe.  "But ma ...Miss Mom ...  You aren't planning on giving me
a bath, are you?  Because I'll have to take one before the dance anyway ...
... at home, I mean ...... and two in one week ...  I mean ...  Oh, never
mind." Heck, it would be worth it to get the softball right away.
   Mom chuckled.  Her arms were doing something up behind her back, and the
chuckle made her jugs jiggle.  "No," she said, smiling that sort of nutty,
breath holding smile again.  "That's not what I'm planning on."
   Then she seemed to have a thought.  "The toilet's back in the workroom,
on the left," she said, nodding toward it as she slipped her blouse off. 
"If you need to use it, I mean."
   Michael shook his head then let his eyes settle on her jugs.  He guessed
she must not mind, unlike his sister, who was always making a big fuss if
he walked into her room when she just had a bra and underpants on.  These
jugs were a good deal bigger than Melissa's, yet they stood out just as
solidly.  He could see the dark nipple circles through the filmy bra cups
...  And then the bra too slid down her arms and fluttered to the floor,
and he discovered something he hadn't known about: Those nipple circles had
stiff ...looking bumps in the middle, sort of like two little nozzles. 
Huh! "Nozzle" was what Melissa had called his peter when she'd been teasing
him once about missing the toilet bowl, and here it turned out girls had
two nozzles of their own!  Well, women did, anyway.  Maybe ......
   He lost track of the thought as the woman's skirt slid down her legs. 
She wasn't wearing anything under it but a fuzzy triangle thing that was
... hair?  Was that what made that dark patch in the front of Melissa's
underpants the couple times he'd seen her half undressed lately?  Huh! 
He'd learned more in the last minute than he had all year in seventh grade,
it seemed like.
   "Do you like my titties, darling?" the woman was saying, "and my cunt?"
She put her hands on the edge of the table behind her, leaned back a little
and spread her legs apart.  The hair extended back between them in a narrow
line, lighter, and sort of wet ...looking.  She looked ...  swelled ...up
there, too; and all pinkish, between the soft white curves of her inner
thighs.  That was a cunt, huh?  Some of the guys at school talked a lot
about titties and cunts.  Titties were the same as jugs, he knew; but he'd
never been sure about the other word, nor particularly interested.  It was
interesting, though.  Sure different than a boy!
   "Aren't you going to take your shirt off?" the woman prompted, standing
straight again.
   "Oh!  I forgot.  Sorry." He slipped it over his head as she came toward
him.
   "You haven't been playing with yourself, either.  Your prick's still all
limp." She sounded quite disappointed.
   She held her hands out, and when he stood up in response to the gesture,
she knelt in front of him again.  She pulled his hands onto her jugs ...her
titties ...then started rubbing and pulling at his prick, as she called it.
"Play with them," she said.  "Squeeze them and play with the nipples.  And
while you do, I'm going to ..."
   She stopped suddenly, and looked up at his face again.  Her hands were
hot on his little nozzle, and her own, even littler nozzles were hot
against his hesitant palms.  "Darling, what's your name?"
   "Michael," he said.  "Mike."
   She smiled then looked back at his peter.  "Mike," she whispered, "while
you play with my tits, I'm going to kiss your prick.  I'm going to suck it,
too; and I bet I can make it get stiff."
   Aaahggh!  The idea of sucking on somebody's pee ...spout made his nose
rumple up.  But if it was worth a free corsage to her, who was he to
complain?  Gee, maybe he should have used her toilet, though., What if
...come to think of it, he was beginning to get a funny feeling down there.
It wasn't like he had to pee, though; it was a sort of achy, stuffed ...up
feeling back in the root of it and down in his balls, which she kept
rolling around with one hand while she fingered his prick with the other.
It didn't hurt, exactly, but it ...
   Ooooh!  All of a sudden she'd sort of slurped his whole peter right in
through her lips, and her hot, wet, slithering tongue was wallowing all
over the underside of it, and she was sucking ...  scraping her lips
squeezing back along it, and that weird feeling was getting stronger ... 
spreading, pushing out to keep up with her mouth's retreating grip....
   Yes!  Mom thought.  Yes, Mike!  It's working!  She brought her hands
back and closed them over his, encouraging him to press and explore her
tits, rub the taut nipples.  Her cunt was a flaming, itching, writhing pulp
of need, but she sensed that he wasn't ready to face that problem yet.  She
tightened her thighs, twitched her hips and held on with lip pressure and
suction to his thickening dong, feeling the foreskin yield slightly as her
caress reached the base of his prick-head.  Now she pushed forward again,
and the foreskin skidded back a little; her tongue's tip found the glans,
circled it, probing the tiny opening.
   She had to look again.  He was half hard now, and the foreskin had
slackened, and she just had to see the head of his lovely little piston! 
She gripped his hips, pulled and pushed through two more suctioning,
lip-dragging strokes, the final one baring his cockhead entirely of the
crinkling foreskin.  His hands, on their own on her breasts, continued to
knead, each one trapping a nipple between two fingers.  Good.  He was
progressing nicely.
   She let her lips slide free, watched intently as with one hand she
pushed back the foreskin to reveal the rosy, plump knob.  "Oh, Mike!" she
breathed.  "It's such a beautiful cock!"
   He didn't answer immediately, and she didn't wait.  But when her mouth
once more enclosed his hardening member, her tongue massaging the little
tube that bulged along its lower length, he mumbled, "Your ...  your
nozzles are nice, too."
   Mom giggled, and the flutter of breath and palate brought a surge of
response from the boy's prick; its length increased perceptibly.
   "Oh, yes!" she sighed, backing off momentarily.  "You're getting there,
Mike!" She pressed her lips onto the foreskin, moved it back and forth
while teasing the turgid head with her tongue ...tip then looked up at him,
his rigid tool's end resting on her chin.
   "See?" she said.  "See how big?"
   He grinned.  "Yeah.  It feels ...  funny, too."
   "Do you want to fuck me now, Mike?"
   His face went blank.  "Ma'am?  I mean...."
   She thought she felt his prick slip a little, and lowered her head to
suck it in before it could start to shrink.  And as she worked, lips,
tongue and throat coaxing, he began squeezing and stroking her tits again
then cupping and hefting them while his thumbs circled the nipples, pressed
the stiff tips this way and that, punched them back into the crinkled
aureoles, compressing the firm yet yielding mounds of sleek heat ...  , It
was great, but they weren't progressing.  Her cunt still wept and throbbed
with need.  Again, therefore, she took her mouth from his prick, but this
time immediately closed one hand around it, stroking gently but firmly. 
She tickled the fully uncapped head with her tongue, and whispered, "Lie
down, Mike.  It's time you got acquainted with a pussy."
   Guided by her free hand', and kept horn-hard and pulsing by her other,
he lay on his back on the dark red carpet.  Mom positioned him so that at
his head, feet and to one side, glass flower coolers provided reflected
views of their naked bodies.  Then she slicked her lips snugly over his
glans again, while swinging one leg across him so that she knelt astride
his chest, her asshole and seeping dot displayed to his gaze.
   That's a quim, Michael.  A cunt.  Or pussy.  Twat.  Vagina.  Snatch. 
Slit.  Pudendum.  Poontang.  Vulva.  Goody gulch." She separated the terms
with playful stroking licks along the undersurface of his plunger.  "It's
where you're going to put this big, beautiful, hard, hot, creamy, dreamy
cock of yours in a little while, my darling.  You're going to push it in
there, and it's going to feel even better than my mouth does...." She
paused to fasten her lips tightly around his straining pud and scorch them
right down to the base, her tongue going wild, left hand cupping his balls
while her right forefinger probed the tight pucker of his asshole.
   "My cunt's going to hang on tight while you jam your lovely prick in and
out, in and out...." Her hand came up to illustrate the description.  " ...
and We're going to fuck, fuck, fuck till we both can't stand it anymore,
and ...  aaaand...."
   This woman, Michael was thinking, ought to be a teacher.  She sure knew
how to make learning interesting!  As he listened, he watched her cunt, or
quim, or ...  well, anyway, he watched the double rows of thick, pink-lined
lips, the outer set fringed with dark, kinky hairs, twitch and palpitate
beneath their coating of shiny moisture.  Then, as the voice from the
vicinity of his excitingly aching prick tightened, choked to silence, he
watched the cunt lips twitch and writhe as a sudden flood of excess wetness
oozed out to cover them and gather in the hair packed creases at either
side.  In the lower end of the slot, partway into the triangle of thick
hair, a paler pink nubbin had begun to peek out, like the tip of a tiny
tongue.
   "Ohhh, God!" Mom said after a moment.  "I ...  I came, I guess.  It's
been so long, I...." She shook her head.  He couldn't see that, but he
could feel it, because she hadn't entirely removed her mouth from his
cockhead, and the motion sent a new feeling of excitement racing through
it.
   Now, though, she raised her head, and after wrapping a hand around his
swollen, simmering peter, looked back past her shoulder ...  not at him,
but beyond him, at their reflection in a big glass cabinet full of flowers.
"Do you like my cunt, Mike?" she asked.
   "Yeah," he said.  "It's very ...  well, nice." He'd almost said
interesting, but decided that wouldn't sound quite right.  Besides, it was
more than just interest he was feeling.  It was a weird kind of excitement
he hadn't even gotten in science class when they'd seen that terrific film
about the astronauts.  He wouldn't have believed, a half-hour ago that
looking at some lady's butt, shithole and the place between her legs ... 
while she sucked on your peter and told you all kinds of new words, most of
which you couldn't hope to remember could be anything but a great big bore.
   "Would you ...  would you like to kiss it, Mike?"
   "Well, uh...." Somewhere up there, he figured, must be the thing she
peed with.  Then too, if he wasn't careful, he could end up with his nose
in her asshole.  I mean, she's nice, and all that, he thought, but ... 
even for a softball...."I don't know," he said weakly.  "I never liked
kissing much."
   Besides, he knew now where that smell came from, and it wasn't any
flower.  It wasn't exactly a bad smell, but it was going to take some
getting used to before he'd feel like getting much closer.
   She didn't seem awfully disappointed.  In fact, she'd gone back to
sucking his peter before he finished answering.  He did reach up and touch
the wet, warm folds of slippery, puffy flesh with the tips of two fingers,
as a sort of compromise, and from the way she squirmed and moaned and
pushed her butt down toward him, while trying to suck his nozzle right out
of its stupid skin, it seemed like, he figured she liked that.  So he
explored a little more, sliding his middle finger along the hot groove
between the inner lips.
   When he touched the little tongue-thing, she shuddered and clamped down
even harder on his cock, and he pulled his hand back, thinking he'd hurt
her.  But then she raised her head and whispered, "Ohhh, yes, Mike!  Right
there on the clitty!  And fingerfuck me, too.  Push one way up inside a few
times."
   He used one hand on the clitty thing now, and discovered it was sort of
like another little nozzle, only squishier, slipperier.  With the middle
finger of the other hand, he probed straight inward, and after a couple
dead ends, found the passageway mat let it slide in clear past the second
knuckle, to where his other fingers got in the way.  The hole wasn't real
tight, but he could feel her inside skin or whatever you called it all
around the finger, and she sort of wriggled in there, or fluttered, maybe.
Also, she was grinding her butt around real jerkily, and he felt another
flood of goo soak his hands as she gasped out, "Aaaah!  Oohhhh!  Oh, yeee
...esss, Mike!  I ...Uuuunh!  I came again!"
   Whatever that meant, he guessed it was good, so he kept on running the
finger in and out, pushing it as far up the hole as it would go, wiggling
it around a little.  There was no end to the passageway, as far as he could
tell and then dragging it back along the slick, clingy, hot inner lining
... and in again ...  Meanwhile, his other hand tickled and twiddled her
clitty, and the whole business was done to the rhythm she set with the
switching of her hips and the sucking, sliding pressure of her mouth on his
straining, shuddering prick.  After she broke the rhythm with a third
jittering, groaning "cum" spasm, he tried two fingers in the hole, and that
brought on another seizure after just a couple jabs.  But this time her
knees sort of gave way and slid out to the sides, and the thing he hadn't
wanted to kiss just about kissed him.
   She rolled off to the side right away, though, and gasped out, "Oh, I'm
sorry, Michael!  It was ...  just so good, I couldn't ...  help myself."
She was hanging onto his cock with one hand, and he found that when the
hand's motion stopped, his hips went to work to replace it, pushing his
pecker up and down in her grip without any help from his brain.
   She smiled at that.  "Yes!  Good, Mike," she said.  "And now...." She
lay back on the carpet beside him, spreading her legs, taking her hand off
his peter and opening her arms to him as he sat up.  "Now fuck me!" she
whispered urgently.
   He still looked a little lost, so Mom pulled him onto her.  With his
hips in place between her thighs, and that wonderful, fat, surprisingly
long dong twitching an inch from her broiling pussy, his head just came up
between her tits.  She cupped one, thrust the nipple toward his mouth. 
"Suck me while you fuck me, baby," she whispered, smiling.
   He seemed agreeable to that, and as soon as his lips were fastened on
the pulsing bud, she wedged a hand down between their bodies and grasped
the now familiar, always beloved tube of hot gristle that sprouted from his
pelvis.  She steepled her knees then turned to watch the moment of contact
reflected in the cooler to her right.
   Breathlessly, she both felt and saw the head of his rammer touch her
cunt lips.  But then the picture blurred, as her whole body convulsed in an
involuntary grab for more.  The surge of her hips almost bucked him off,
but she grabbed his buttocks, pulling him down and forward, and when her
hips spasmed again, his cock plunged halfway in.
   "Aaaaahh!  Ohhhh!  God, Michael!  Yesss!" She was feeling it with every
atom of her being and consciousness, swollen and surging there in the
hugging, heated embrace of her twat.  At last, after fifteen empty, longing
years, she had a cock inside her again!
   Michael felt it too.  His head was dizzy, but his butt didn't need any
instructions; it kept jerking forward, trying to drive his tingling prick
deeper, and if he could just get his knees and tennis shoe toes planted
right on the damn rag ...  or maybe get hold of her shoulders and pull....
   Mom felt the hot breath from his nostrils vibrate her titty flesh, felt
his suction and tongue-pressure on the nipple, felt his thighs buffet hers
as he scrambled for leverage ...  most of all, she felt the twitching,
turgid throb of his cock, and the kneading response of her inner tissues as
they clutched and clung and caressed, palpitating wildly, thrilled yet
unsatisfied, overflowing with sensation, yet wanting ...
   "Oooooh!  M ...mmore!  Ahhhggh!  Yes!  Now ...Uunheee ...aaah!!  "
   With three battering thrusts, he'd driven it all the way in, slamming
his pelvis onto her yammering clit and sending a new firestorm of orgasm
through her devastated body.  It was long seconds before she could focus
her consciousness again on the actual location ...the depth ...of his
penetrating prong.  By then he'd begun to fuck in earnest, jerking out half
its length then jolting it in again, deep, massive ...  she knew there was
room there for more of both length and girth, but this was enough; it was
cock, and it was in her to its hilt, probing and bullying her weeping,
wallowing fun tunnel, building Another towering overabundance of joy in her
jittering nerve ends, so that any second now, any ditty ...crushing
stroke....
   "Yes; Mike!  Ball me!  Hard!  It's ...  it's wonderful!  Ohhh, yes! 
Fuck!  Harder ...  faster ...  ohhh, I'm going to ...  I'm clo ...oa
...ose...."
   The words weren't words any more, for Michael.  They were just another
surging, urging, hot ...and ...heaving, pulling ...and ...squeezing part of
the swarm of soft strong muscle skin mother hug crazy everything that made
him mad and sad and happy and silly and scared and brave, needing
...fighting ...fucking to make something happen that he didn't even know
what it was but he had to ram and jam and slam and cram, harder, faster,
fuller, deeper, arm ...aching, knee ...scraping, jaw ...clamping, peter
...burning....
   He was biting on her nipple now, and the good pain pushed Mom even
closer to the top of a trajectory that had already soared far beyond the
ecstatic intensity of her earlier orgasms.  And when suddenly he snapped
his head up and stared at her with eye ...glazed, chin ...quivering, neck
...straining, white ...faced panic ...pleasure, the pain stayed, and the
pulverizing hammer of his cock strokes doubled speed and force, and she
felt a molten jet of....
   "AAAA ...AAAAAA ...aagggh!"
   "Uunh ...uunh ...uunh ...uunh ...uh!  Ulinggg ...gg."
   Mel They lay there exhausted and out of breath.  He was fully sated and
she was fucked out by this young boy.
   She laughed wryly, thinking of the twelve ...year ...old boy who had
left the Flower Shop not five minutes before, his knees a little wobbly,
his prick small and limp again, its head covered once more by the pointy
foreskin, his hands clutching the boxed wrist corsage his first date would
wear at his first dance.  She thought too of her sixteen-year-old brother
Mel, whose "Christian example" had recently included putting his underpants
in the laundry hamper with lipstick smears on the fly.  She almost giggled
as she envisioned Mel's cock plugged into the mouth of some eager little
high school girl ...probably that pretty, blonde Melissa Mason.  Why, they
hadn't even kissed the lipstick off before they got down to business!
   Dear Mom: her father's letter began.  The convent at Sand Creek has
closed, quite suddenly, and since I cannot see to your sister's proper
upbringing without curtailing my work in the mission, I have decided, after
prayerful contemplation, to send her to Danville, where she will have not
only your care but her brothers' companionship and Christian example.  I
know you will welcome her, and will raise her just as your beloved mother
would have, taking all due precautions to protect her innocence and
preserve the purity of her mind and soul through the crucial teenage years.
   Your own youthful slip into the pit of sin has, I am certain, forewarned
and strengthened you in the ways of righteousness; I would never have sent
the boys to live with you, otherwise.  And your letters assure me the
problem that occasioned your leaving missionary work is a problem no more,
so lam confident Iris could not be placed in more responsible hands.
   She will arrive on a flight from Chicago at 5:50 p.m.  Sunday, God
willing.  I wish it had been possible to give you more notice, but....
   The rest was the usual chatter about the clinic, the chapel, the
converts her father was making among the reservation Indians.  Sighing, she
dropped the letter on the counter.  So now Iris was hers to raise, along
with Birch and Elm, who had come to Danville soon after her mother's death
a year before.  And her pious, Bible ...blinded father trusted that Mom
would preserve the twelve ...year ...old girl's innocence and purity, did
he?
   But now Mom gritted her teeth, fought back a shudder and got down to
business herself ...the grim business of Walnut's letter.  It would be
another threat, she knew.  She didn't understand why she forced herself to
read each one.  They had arrived monthly, as regular as her periods, ever
since she'd tome to Danville.  They were another kind of "curse," she
mused: another way of paying for the sin of being female.
   But this letter was different.  It was a single paragraph instead, of
the usual two-page tirade.  And the difference frightened her even before
she began to read:
   Samantha: God has told me that what I have known must be done, must be
done NOW.  Therefore, I am bringing my Crusade to Danville next week.  Due
to the blindness or outright Godlessness of the city officials, the revival
can run but a single night; however, I WILL NOT LEAVE until I have sent you
on your depraved way to your home in Hell, and have rescued my son from the
Satanic power that gave him birth into bastardy, and sullied my soul with
the stain of foulest carnal iniquity.  PREPARE TO DIE, Samantha, and to
join the evil master of your vile body in the eternal fires!
   Mom shut her eyes, fighting panic.  He means it, she thought.  She had
always managed to tell herself the letters were empty threats; but now ...
and what did he mean about Birch?  There'd been no mention in the other
letters of "rescuing" their son.  Was it Walnut's way of saying he planned
to kill Birch too?
   Trembling, she sat on the stool behind the cash register, gripped the
counter's edge.  God!  All this in one day!  First her mad, compulsive
decision to seduce little Michael and her fantastic success ...a real,
live, blood-engorged, cum-spouting cock in her cunt, after fifteen years of
fantasy, finger-solitaire and frustration!  And then the news about Iris.
   Little Iris, utterly innocent, fresh from a year in the very convent
where Mom had been locked away for eight years because of lost innocence
... Iris, who must know even less about the body's more pleasurable uses
than Michael had when he entered the Flower Shop, was to be Mom's
responsibility from now until ...  when?  Till she got knocked up by one of
Mel's friends, probably.  Or worse ...following the pattern Mom and Walnut
had set ...by Mel himself!  And now, topping it off, the terrifying
revelation that Walnut was coming.  The Reverend Walnutley Glen ...a
demented evangelist who stormed about the country branding women the
willing consorts of the devil, haranguing his audiences into taking vows of
lifelong chastity ...apparently meant to climax two years of wrathful
letters by murdering his sister, and quite possibly the child he'd fathered
by her too.
   It had been Walnut's letters more than anything else, Mom ...realized
that had finally driven her to act out the seduction he had for so long
accused her of ...to actualize with Michael the obsessive fantasy Walnut
had planted in her mind on that day fifteen years ago, just as surely as
he'd planted Birch in her womb.  In truth, Walnut had seduced Mom, if
virtual rape could be called seduction merely because she'd experienced
physical pleasure before he finished.  But he had lied and lied until he
convinced even himself that it had been her fault ...all her doing, in
league with the devil.
   She was kept in a convent and forced to listen to fanatical ramblings by
the staff and her father's letters.
   Finally with her bewildered parents' blessing, she had ridden to
Danville with a group of ladies driving east on vacation.  She took up
residence in her late uncle's mansion, recently inherited and never seen by
her father, and established the flower shop.  It was a low ...customer
...volume business, so she could live a somewhat normal life, having found
that tranquilizers helped her resist the desire to strip when she
absolutely had to go out and face groups of strangers.  Most such
necessities, however, could be handled by Eva, the Negro girl who worked
with Mom in the shop every day but Sunday, or by Chief Flaming Arrow, the
Cherokee gardener, handyman and general caretaker who had worked for the
shop's original owner Arid stayed on after his death, saying that the age
he'd claimed when Mom arrived was, "too old for make change."
   This thought made her look around.  Flaming Arrow had a habit of
standing in doorways or dark corners just watching her or Eva, silent and
motionless.  Once, Mom had let him do so for more than an hour before
indicating that she knew he was there; then he'd come forward to report on
a leaky sprinkler pipe he'd repaired.  How long he may have watched before
she spotted him that time, how much longer he would have if she hadn't
finally turned and smiled at him, and how long he had watched on how many
other occasions, she could only guess.  He did his work well, and she was
sure he wasn't dangerous, but she suspected the watching had a sexual
element to it; she sensed that he was imagining her naked mentally ogling
her tits and cunt, just as she couldn't look at any man or boy ...not even
old Flaming Arrow himself ...without envisioning his cock.
   She wondered sometimes if he ever went to her bedroom during the day and
watched the panel of monitor screens linked to the closed ...circuit TV
cameras and microphones that covered every in ...use area of the tower. 
Flaming Arrow had helped to install this system for her late uncle, and
since there was even a camera in the little bathroom she and Eva used while
the shop was open ...  Oh, God!  He could have been watching today, and
seen her with Michael in the alcove!
   Well, if so, good for Flaming Arrow!  If an interest in sex was what had
kept him alive for 109 years, Mom should live to a ripe age herself, she
guessed.
   She wondered, now, why she'd never used the closed-circuit system
herself ...to peep at Birch, or Mel, or Flaming Arrow.  She'd thought of it
now and then, but somehow ...until Michael, today, she'd always assumed
that reality would be disappointing alongside her mental images.  At least
that applied to her son, her young brother and the ancient Indian.  It
hadn't applied, she realized, to magazine models.  But the really appealing
things were the photographs: an average of two hefty, limp ...but
...lengthy, thick ...veined, thrilling pricks per picture.
   On an impulse, she dropped the magazine into the waste-basket, atop her
white panties and sheer pantyhose.  "Goodbye, paper dolls," she murmured.
"Mom's a big girl now.  She latched onto a real cock today, and there just
may be a lot more to come!"
   There will be, she amended silently, unless Walnut has his way.
   To be continued Chapter 2 to follow:
   To my readers: I would appreciate some feedback on this story.  With all
of the characters I am finding it difficult to keep the names straight.  P 
  
Plucking Little Buds Ch 01