This is a sequel to my story Mummy’s Good Girl. You should please read that story first, to understand the characters, and the nature of their MDLG relationship. I started this sequel a couple of years ago, but stalled on finishing it till now. As you can tell, it’s set in the early days of the Covid lockdown, while Trump was still in power in the US (shudder). All sexually active characters are well above the age of eighteen.
* * *
Sigh.
Mummy is in her study, on a Zoom call with her sister Ellie.
Ellie is some kind of lobbyist for the shadier end of the US health supplements industry. She lives in Washington DC, having turned her back on socialist shithole Canada a decade ago. Pardon my French. But the thing you need to know about Ellie is that she believes in FITNESS: that’s her religion. That and Trump. I’ll never understand how the same family produced the two of them. Mummy has learned not to talk politics with her sister. But there’s plenty of other topics they can talk about: Ellie’s exciting career and how it’s so much more impressive than being a college professor; Ellie’s two-hour daily workout routine with her personal trainer; Ellie’s real estate investment portfolio and her ever-increasing net worth; the oodles of rich and powerful men who find her irresistible; etc. Oh, they talk about Mummy too: her “weight problem” and what she should do about it. And me. Ellie always acts vaguely surprised to hear that Mummy and I are still together.
If it was up to me, we’d have nothing to do with Ellie. But Mummy, mensch that she is, has a soft spot in her heart for her younger sister, and keeps up the contact. It’s kind of a one-way effort though. We visited her last summer — Ellie claimed to be too busy to come to our wedding, and invited us to come to her instead — but once we got there she gave us very little time. Well, now I know what a Washington summer feels like: stupefying humidity, like living inside a slobbery St. Bernard’s mouth. One good thing about the Covid pandemic: the travel restrictions mean we won’t be visiting her again for the foreseeable future.
But Mummy invariably comes away from these calls with Ellie feeling worse about herself.
I hear Mummy saying goodbye, ending the call. She emerges from her study and heads into the bedroom. I find her standing in front of the mirror on the closet door, appraising herself. This is not a good sign.
“Ellie says they’re about to come out with a new herbal weight-loss pill. It could single-handedly eliminate the obesity epidemic in America, according to her. No dangerous side effects…”
She glances back at me. I give her The Look.
“I know what you’re going to say, Chavaleh. But honestly, wouldn’t you like to see me slim down just a little?”
Mummy is what some people would call fat, and middle-aged. Others these days would call her a mature Big Beautiful Woman, bordering on super-sized. I call her the hottest thing on two legs, sex incarnate wrapped up in a soft butch lesbian zaftig package that makes my heart race. I’ve always had a thing for older women, especially teachers, like Mummy, and so the age gap between us just adds fuel to the fire.
I come up behind her and embrace her, nuzzling the back of her neck.
“Mummy, it’s your body; you make the decisions about it. But you know I absolutely adore you just the way you are. Honestly.” My hands move up to her heavy breasts, appreciatively cupping and squeezing them, then moving one hand down her fleshy belly, gently, reverently fondling it. “I mean, I’d love you no matter what your weight is. For real and for always.” I kiss her ear. “But I wish you could let go of this idea that you’re overweight. It breaks my heart to hear you talking about yourself that Acıbadem Escort way. Your doctor says you’re healthy; you get plenty of exercise with all the gardening and walking you do. And to me, you could not possibly be any lovelier or more desirable than you already are.’ I press my loins against her vast, zaftig bottom, revelling in the softness, the fleshiness, the warmth. “Mummy … I absolutely love your curves; I love having plenty to hang onto. I love you. You’re my Mummy, and I’m your good girl. You’re the hottest Mummy in the universe, and you just keep getting hotter as time goes by. I just wish you could see yourself through my eyes, to know how wonderful you really are. I wish there was something I could do or say, so you’d really believe me.” With a tinge of anger, I add, “I wish you’d give me more credence on this than you give your sister.”
She turns round in my arms, embracing me back.
‘I’m so sorry, sweet girl. You’re a hundred percent right. My very good girl.” She kisses me. “I do believe you. Listening to Ellie … I dunno, she somehow amplifies the self-critical voice inside me, and I lose perspective.”
“Then STOP listening listen to Ellie! She’s full of poopy. You know that.”
“Yes, I know that. But… I can’t just cut her out of my life: she’s family.”
“Am I not family?” I ask, with just a little too much heat in my voice.
Mummy’s face registers pain. Did I go too far? I embrace her again, to soften the sting of my words.
“Of course you are. You’re more than family, sweet girl. You’re my wife. You’re my good girl. You’re the very centre of my life.”
“I know that, Mummy. Sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry, you have every right to be angry. OK… I think we need a new rule, about me having clearer boundaries when I talk to Ellie. Give me a few minutes to formulate it, OK?”
She goes back into her study. I go back to the art history books I’m studying from, preparing for an upcoming midterm. She emerges ten minutes later with a piece of paper in her hand. She hands it to me.
I read: “I Joyce Urquhart will not enter into discussion with Ellie about any of the following topics: my weight and general physical fitness: the comparative prestige of our respective careers; comparisons of our wealth; and any disparagement whatsoever of Chavah or my marriage to her. I will communicate these conditions to Ellie by email. If Ellie nevertheless returns to any of these topics, I will remind her of my conditions. If she still disregards them, I will terminate the conversation immediately.”
“OK,” I nod. “That’s clear. Thank you for hearing me. But what are you gonna talk about with her then?”
“The weather?” Mummy shrugs. “Look, I just want to keep a channel of communication open with my sister. She’s been pursuing this American Liftestyles-of-the-Rich-and-Famous thing of hers for a while now, and it’s turned her into a complete arsehole. But she didn’t use to be this way. I expect it’s all going to fall apart on her sooner or later, and then she’s going to need me. I want to keep that path open to her. But it doesn’t have to be wide-open, with no boundaries. I’m not going to let her fuck with my self-esteem, or my relationship with you. Pardon my French.” She takes me in her arms again. “And Mummy owes her sweet good girl an apology. You’ve shown me so much love, darling, and I’m so grateful that you share your life with me. Just you hugging me like this … I can feel the love and the care … and the desire … coming off you in waves, sweet girl. You do make me feel like the hottest Mummy in the universe, and it feels so good. But when I talk to Ellie, I let her negativity cloud my judgement, and I pay more attention to her opinion than to yours. And that Acıbadem Escort Bayan hurts you, understandably. That’s absolutely wrong of me, and I’m going to make sure it doesn’t happen again. This new rule will help with that. So, do you forgive me?”
I could shrug it off and say there’s nothing to forgive, but we’ve been learning about t’shuvah — that’s the Jewish idea of repentance — and so Mummy and I take apologies very seriously now. So instead I look her in her beautiful hazel eyes and say, “Yes I do.”
“Say it three times?”
“I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, my delicious, sexy, wonderful Mummy.”
“Thank you, my very sweet girl. And is there anything else I can do to make things better between us?”
Again, I could shrug it off. But why miss this opportunity?
“Make-up sex?” I grin hopefully.
She takes me in her arms again, murmuring in my ear, “Confession: the way you were hugging and squeezing me a little while ago … it got me kinda heated up, sweet girl.”
I should be used to this move of hers by now, but it always takes me by surprise: she suddenly sweeps me up off my feet and carries me in her arms, giggling and flailing, into the bedroom.
She plops me down on the bed. We quickly get naked. She goes to the nightstand drawer for Mr. McFeely.
“Mummy, no,” I say firmly.
Ordinarily I’m happy to let her take the lead when we make love. She’s my Mummy, and I let her take care of me the way she wants, in bed and out of bed. That’s the basic groundrule of our relationship, and I’m grateful for it. But one thing I’ve learned from Mummy is not to let a label like “submissive” become a straightjacket. Our MDLG relationship works the way we want it to; there’s no script we have to follow. Right now, I’ve got other priorities than being the ideal subbie.
“Lie down on your tummy for me … please Mummy. I want to show you how much I love this luscious body of yours, how much I love you. Please.”
“Well, how could I resist an offer like that, sweet girl?” she chuckles. She rolls over and lays her head down on her folded arms.
For a moment, I drink in the familiar but still thrilling sight of her prone naked body … so much to love! Those breathtaking, planet-sized curves! Gently, slowly, I lie down on top of her, savouring the full-body skin-to-skin contact. I reach underneath to cup her fat breasts, kissing the side of her neck and her shoulder. She feels so good beneath me. She smells so good. I resume grinding myself against her bum, more wetly this time.
“You take my breath away, Mummy. Every curve, every dimple, every little freckle, every inch of your skin.” I reach down between her legs and run my fingers through her nest of pubic hair.
“I feel the same about you, you know,” she says.
“Hey lady, no changing the subject here: we’re talking about you right now.” I’m playing with her tushy now, squeezing it, palming it, fondling it. “I absolutely love this big luscious bum of yours, Mummy. It makes my queer little heart go pitter-patter.”
I scoot down to survey its rosy-pink, cellulite dimpled loveliness. I begin planting soulful kisses all over the vast terrain of her bottom, nuzzling it. I revel in the softness, the suppleness of the skin of her bum-flesh against my cheeks, my nose, my chin, my lips. I inhale the intoxicating scent of her aroused womanhood, inches from my nostrils. As her pheromones hit my brain, a haze of lust/love descends on my consciousness. Pitter-patter indeed!
“Baby girl,” she murmurs, “that feels so lovely. You’re getting me so wet.”
I can smell her wetness and it’s driving me crazy. I need to taste her … soon. But right now it’s her other orifice that’s on my mouth’s Escort Acıbadem agenda. I nuzzle my face into the deep fur-lined cleft of her tushy, licking hungrily at her beautiful anus, as I slide two fingers into her honeypot, massaging her g-spot, just the way she likes.
“Ayyyyhhh! Ahhhh yes, rim me sweet girl … just like that… oh sweet girl … don’t stop, darling!
No friggin’ chance of me stopping: I’m blissing out on the sensation of my face enveloped by her enormous, soft warm bumcheeks, and the responsiveness of her anus to my lips and tongue. She’s trembling all over now, her tushy and thighs and the rolls of her back rippling and juddering all around me in seismic waves. Meanwhile, I’ve manoeuvred her right ankle between my thighs, and I squeeze my wet crotch against it. Gently, I slide my index finger over her stiff, wet clitty.
“Coming, sweet girl! Unnnghhfff!” she wails. And I can’t hold back any more either: I come along with her.
But I’m far from done. I resume kissing her buttocks all over. And her lower back. And the backs of her thighs. I want her to feel how much I love her. My Mummy: my sexy, tender, delicious, wise, kind, wonderful, adorable, precious Mummy.
“Chavaleh, sweet girl, come up here so I can hold you.”
“Not yet, Mummy. Roll over. I need to worship the lioness first.”
The lioness, in case you haven’t figured it out, is my pet name for Mummy’s magnificent, furry vulva. Which I can never get enough of.
“Oh sweetie, I don’t think I can come again right now … that last one wiped me out. It was soooo good though!”
“I’ll be slow and gentle. Mummy, please? I need this.”
She heaves herself over onto her back, her body quivering like a bouncy castle. She lifts her belly apron out of the way and opens her hefty thighs,, and I nuzzle down between them, planting kisses all over her furry FUPA, gratefully inhaling the delicious scent of her.
“Aaaah,” she sighs. “I take it back, sweet girl. Keep that up and I might come again after all.”
“See, Mummy?” I giggle, “I know what the lioness wants … better than you do.”
She reaches down and spreads her labia for me, laying bare her beautiful clitty-pearl. Slowly, with just the tip of the tip of my tongue, I lick around the hood and along her inner lips. I love the taste of her.
“The lioness,” she purrs, “wants her sweet girl. Always. Aaaaahhh! Oh yessss, just like that. Just like that, darling.”
“I love my lioness,” I murmur between licks. The intoxicating fragrance and taste of her sopping vulva is going to my head.
“The lioness loves you back. Aaah!”
But I need to be even closer to her, I need to be inside her. I lubricate my middle finger in her wetness. Then I put it where my tongue was a minute ago.
“OH FUCK YESSSS!” she keens. (No “pardon my French” this time, heh-heh.)
“Oh yeah, just like that … so fucking good … just like that … oh my sweet girl, OH, FUCK YES!”
She clamps her cushiony thighs tightly round my head. I’m sucking her little pearl between my lips now, vigorously finger-fucking her anus, as she comes. I cling on for dear life as her hips buck beneath me. Then I slurp and lap up her delicious Mummy juice. Savouring my kosher clam.
As she catches her breath, I kiss my way back up her body, pausing to treasure her navel and belly, her nipples, the hollow of her neck. I nuzzle her armpit and she giggles, grabbing me, wrapping me in her tight embrace and then kissing me on the mouth. Our tongues duel for some time.
“So, did you get the message, Mummy?”
“Oh, I think so. You love me.”
“And?”
“And you love my big fat bum, and the lioness.”
“Every inch of you, Mummy. Every precious pound of you. You got that?”
“I got it, sweet girl. No more talk about losing weight, I promise. But now I’ve got a message for you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yup. It’s my turn now, and hoo-boy am I gonna fuck you good and proper, sweet girl.”
She reaches for Mr McFeely. “Pardon my Friench,” she adds.