Mothers and Daughters Pt. 07

The truth was, that was the first time in perhaps five years that a man took the time to selflessly satisfy Martha the way Nate did with his massage. What a strange man, she thought – domineering and conniving, yet gentle and kind. Even his unconscious hand felt warm and caring on her tender skin – the same hand that only hours earlier mercilessly scolded her with a spanking on her most vulnerable of feminine places. She did not understand Nate, but she was beginning to understand why Briana trusted him.

At some point Martha fell asleep, because she awoke again. Nate had rolled over, his hand no longer cupping her bare breast. She too had changed positions in her sleep. She found a digital clock beside the bed – it was 5:37. She could see the dawn breaking out the window. Having gone to bed at nine, Martha enjoyed eight hours sleep less the time she spent alternately worrying about Briana and Nate. As carefully and quietly as she could, Martha slipped out of the bed and found her suitcase in the dull morning glow of the window.

She silently pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and slipped out of the loft bedroom without a sound. Martha padded silently down the stairs, and head for the bathroom beside Nate's office. After she finished on the toilet, she washed and dried her hands, and then tiptoed across the hall into Nate's office. She immediately found the safe where she presumed Nate had stowed her purse and money. It had an electronic keypad, and a flashing green light. She wanted to push numbers at random, but she was worried the safe might make beeping noises with the key presses, or worse, sound an alarm with an invalid code.

Instead, Martha settled on the chair behind the desk. It was neat and tidy – nothing out of place. Two laptops rested open, side by side. She tapped the keyboards on both of them, and both were password protected. She had no idea what passwords Nate might use, so that was a dead end. Martha tentatively opened the desk drawers, searching for password clues. The wide, shallow center drawer opened, and she found an assortment of pens, sticky pads, calculators, playing cards, a cell phone, calculator, and other items. There was nothing there that hinted of any passwords. The two vertical banks of drawers on either side of the desk were locked.

She looked around the office. There was a bookshelf on the left wall and a printer and filing cabinet on the right wall. Across from the desk was the door. A planted tree stood in the corner to the right of the door. Like the desk, nothing was out of place ... except a bankers box rested on top of the filing cabinet. She rose from the chair and tested the filing cabinet, expecting it to be locked. She was not disappointed, so next Martha opened the lid of the bankers box. Inside was a strange assortment of hand guns – pistols and revolvers – each one encased in clear bubble wrap. There must have been at least a dozen weapons.

"I would be disappointed if you didn't at least try," Nate called out from the doorway. He was still in his underpants. Martha gasped in fright and dropped the box lid.

"Oh my God you scared me," she wheezed with her hand flattened across her chest.

"You won't find anything useful in there," he assured her, and then he picked up the lid she dropped and fitted it back on the bankers box. "And just so we are clear," Nate admonished her, "you are not to come in this room without my permission."

"I'm sorry," Martha recovered from her startle. "I didn't know."

"That's not altogether accurate," Nate admonished. "You knew better than to come in my office, even though you were not told not to, and you certainly knew better than to snoop around in my private effects."

Martha wanted to protest, but she realized he was right. Worse, she considered denying it might lead to another punishment. "Yes, you're right," she conceded. "I am sorry. It will not happen again."

"Strip!" Nate ordered. Martha winced, hoping she might have evaded a punishment. It took nearly no time to pull down her sweatpants and hoist her T-shirt over her head until she was naked again. "Follow me, and bring your clothes," Nate ordered. He led Martha upstairs to the bedroom, where he told her to kneel on the edge of the bed, facing inward. "Now, bend all the way forward, and reach your hands between your legs, and grab your ankles," he ordered. She did as he commanded, leaving her ass pointed up with her pussy split open. Her pink anus was stretched, but remained tightly closed.

Nate retrieved the enema kit he used on Briana, and proceeded to deliver the same salt water enema to her mother. When he was finished, he pulled the enema probe out of her puckered rosebud, and already the urgency to relieve her bowels grew fiercely intense.

"Come over here," Nate pointed to the middle of the room, "and stand for inspection."

"But ..." Martha desperately needed the bathroom, but she knew Nate realized that. She gritted her teeth, fighting the growing pressure against her rectum, and walked stiffly to the center of the room, squeezing her butt cheeks closed. She raised her hands behind her head, and spread her feet wide.

Nate pulled a pillow with a white case off the bed and tossed it on the floor between her spread-apart feet. "If one drop squeezed out and touches that pillow, yesterday's spanking will seem like a tender caress," Nate warned. Martha clenched her jaw and nodded with knotted muscles in her neck.

"Repeat after me," Nate ordered. "I do not need to be told the difference between right and wrong."

She unclenched her jaw just enough to speak. "I ... do not need ... to be told the difference ... between right ... and wrong," she parsed with a broken cadence.

"Now say 'one' as in the number one," Nate commanded.

"One," she said quickly.

"Good. Now say that sentence ninety nine more times, and say the count after each sentence, like you just did for one." Martha's heart sank. She was certain she could not reach ten, let alone 99. "Say it clearly and slowly, so I can understand each syllable. If you make a mistake, of if you don't enunciate it clearly, or if you lose count, you will start over at one," Nate explained the rules. "You can go to the bathroom after you reach one hundred."

Martha wanted to scream, but she knew that would only make matters worse. She drew in a huge breath. "I do not need to be told the difference between right and wrong, two. I do not need to be told the difference between right and wrong, three. I do not need to be told the difference between right and wrong, four ..."

As desperately as she needed to evacuate her bowels, Martha understood that rushing it would make matters worse, so she carefully, methodically recited her punishment a hundred times, keeping perfect count after each line. Somewhere around 80, she felt a drop squeeze out her anus, and she redoubled her clench on her but cheeks. She looked down, but saw no revealing brown stain on the pillow – thankfully it had run down her leg. Martha made it to 100, and Nate allowed her to use the bathroom. As he did with Briana, Nate went in to the bathroom too, and he washed off the enema kit in the sink while Martha unloaded the mix of salty water and feces into the toilet bowl with a single, loud bark. Nate told her to rinse off in the shower, and come to bed when she was done.

When Martha entered the bedroom, Nate was lying naked on the bed with a fully erect flag pole. Come here, he patted the bed beside him. She sat on the bed beside him. "Get on your knees here," he patted the bed beside his head, "and put your hands behind your back." She kneeled beside his head and locked her fingers together behind her back. "Now keep your hands behind your back and suck me," he ordered.

Martha instinctively knew she would fall forward as she leaned to suck his cock, so she repositioned herself closer to his hips, widened her knees for balance, and bent forward. He balance proved better than she thought, and she easily reached his cock and took Nate into her mouth. With no arms to rest with, it took a great deal of mid-body strength to bob her head up and down over his hardened shaft.

As she began a clumsy blowjob, Nate reached his right hand across his body, and cupped her hanging tits in his palm, squeezing and playing with her undulating nipples. He reached his left hand around her hips, and slid his finger down her ass crack, land marking on her anus, and then continuing to her pussy. Nate gently drove his middle finger up her fuck hole, and began pumping his digit in and out of her pussy. When her vaginal juices started to flow, he pulled his finger out, and this time inserted his second and third fingers together in her naturally lubricated pleasure tunnel, and began finger fucking Martha earnestly as she continued sucking his even harder cock.

Without admitting to being a slut, Martha had sucked enough cocks to know the technique down cold, but never before had she done it with her hands behind her back. Until then she never understood how important it was to rest some of her weight on her arms. Her neck was beginning to ache from the up and down motion, and her back and rib muscles were growing weak from bobbing up and down.

Perhaps sensing her difficulty, Nate told her to stop. He pulled his two fingers out of her pussy, and told her to suck them clean, which she did with gratitude for not being bent forward with her hands behind her back. Nate next told her to get back into the position with her hands grabbing her ankles, and while she rested with her ass in the air, Nate retrieved a butt plug from his side table and lubed it with KY. Then he lubed his right index finger, and brought the slick digit to her pink little rosebud. He easily pushed his finger in, and briefly finger fucked her poop chute until it was well lubricated. He withdrew the finger, and then inserted the large sized butt plug, which slid in effortlessly.

Nate kneeled between her grasped ankles, and guided his hardened missile to Martha's pussy. It slipped in effortlessly, and Nate began fucking Martha while her hands remained grappled on her ankles. He drove hard, mashing her face into the bed on each thrust. Nate pulled out as the tingle in his loins grew into an urging. He grappled the butt plug, and yanked it unceremoniously from Martha's anus, and before her sphincter had a chance to recoil to its closed position, Nate repositioned his rock hard love machine at the small opening, and easily slipped it all the way in.

Martha gasped at the anal intrusion. Unlike her daughter, Martha was not an anal virgin. The gasp was more out of surprise than fear or pain, and her gasp quickly turned into light moans of pleasure. Nate sensed her arousal, and began slamming his hips hard into her ass, driving Martha hard into the mattress on each thrust. He drove her forward so hard that Martha lost her grip on her ankles, and she brought her hands beside her and planted them on the bed for support against Nate's vicious pounding. She involuntarily grunted on each stroke as Nate slammed so hard into her ass it compressed her upper body, crushing the air out her lungs with a low, animalistic grunt.

Martha's tight anal canal did its magic on Nate's throbbing cock, and he quickly felt his balls roiling toward detonation. Martha grunted louder as she felt Nate rising toward climax, and her auditory feedback looped back into the reptilian part of Nate's brain, elevating his climactic arousal even faster. Suddenly his balls burst open, and Nate fired the first of many a jism jets deep into her bowels. He sunk his fingers deep into her hips and rammed his cock in as far as it would go and held it there as his balls pumped jetstream after jetstream of his love nectar into her invaded rectum.

When at last his convulsive fountain subsided, Nate pulled out, and tenderly caressed Martha's right ass cheek with his hand. Kneeling in place, he ordered Martha to suck him clean, and without protest, she rose up to her knees, turned around, and took his still hardened ramrod into her mouth as deep as she could, pursed her lips tightly around his shaft, and gently drew back, wiping the jism, KY, and her own scent clean off his cock into her mouth.

Martha pulled away, releasing his shiny clean cock from her mouth. "You didn't tell me you like anal," Nate offered playfully.

"It's an acquired taste," she said, not realizing the pun she just made. "I hated it at first, but I realized that was more out of shame, because I learned to enjoy the sensation." She paused for a moment. "I do have one request, though." Nate waited. "Never go from anal to pussy."

"No," Nate agreed with a solemn nod, "I would never do that. The last thing I want is to send you home with a nasty infection."

"Wow," Martha mused quietly. "Most men don't know about that."

Nate shrugged, and changed subjects. "It has been too long since I had a good run", he changed subjects. "Do you run?"

"Yes," she nodded, "but probably not as fast as you do."

"Come run with me," he prompted, "if you want to – it's not an order. But you will find it makes the jet lag better."

"I'll slow you down," she cautioned. He said that was okay. "I have to wear jogging clothes," she pointed out, and Nate allowed it. She put on a sports top that doubles as a bra, underpants, and running shorts while Nate pulled on his underwear, shorts, and a T-shirt. They both put on socks and runners.

He led her out the apartment, and was about to cross the street to the park when she stopped to stretch. He waited while she stretched out her legs, hips, torso, arms, and shoulders. When she was ready, they crossed the road and started up the gentle hill of the park, and turned left on a narrow street until they reached Alter Elbpark, which was a much larger park. They jogged into the park and turned north on a footpath and jogged side-by-side. Martha was right – she jogged more slowly than Nate, but he had insisted she join him, so he paced himself to match her speed. When they reached Millerntordamm Road, Nate checked how Martha was doing – she said great, so they crossed the major boulevard together and continued through the next park.

Normally Nate would run 7 kilometers out and 7 kilometers back in the park alone, and sometimes he added more, but he turned around after only 2 kilometers, not wanting to overtax Martha on her first day out. She stopped for a short rest to watch the swans paddle in a lake, and was ready to resume in two minutes. They ran side-by-side on the trip home as Nate led her through the park trails and streets. They arrived back in his apartment 45 minutes after they started – a slow, short run by Nate's account, but he didn't mind.

Nate offered Martha to shower first while he made coffee on the stovetop espresso maker. When she finished, Martha found fresh towels hanging on the bathroom door. She dried herself and brushed her teeth. Martha padded naked to the bedroom and pulled on some fresh underwear before dressing in her blue skirt again, the only skirt she brought. She knew from Briana that Nate didn't permit bras, so she left those in the suitcase, and pulled a silky white camisole over her head, and fitted a lightweight, pale yellow cardigan sweater over that.

When she came downstairs, Nate poured her a cup of espresso, and he went upstairs and started the shower for himself while Martha took her coffee and sat down on the sofa. She wished she had her cell phone – she wanted to check Facebook and her email. She picked up the remote and turned on the TV. Nate subscribed to a satellite news service, and he picked up CNN, BBC, France 24, Al Jazeera, and to her surprise, the Canadian CBC News channel. She watched the news, starting with BBC. The headline was a report of a crash investigation in which a large jet aircraft had caught fire on takeoff at Stanstead Airport two years earlier. The investigation concluded that a faulty part had caused an oil leak in the left engine, which burst into flames at the start of takeoff. The part was analyzed, and the report concluded the manufacturer did not inspect the part properly before shipping it to the airline. No one was killed in the incident, the report noted, but that was only because the part failed on the ground.

On CNN, a mass shooting had taken place the day before in a Philadelphia train station near city hall. Something called the Broad Street Line. Two gunmen opened fire with semi-automatic weapons, seemingly randomly during the crowded afternoon rush hour, amazingly killing only nine people, including one of the gunmen. An off-duty police woman, who was not in uniform, immediately returned fire, killing one of the gunmen, but was herself shot dead by the other assailant. Witnesses reported the lone police officer also fired upon the second shooter, and investigators found blood in the area the where the second shooter was reported to be standing. The second gunman escaped, and a city-wide manhunt was underway for the presumably injured fugitive. The woman police officer was exalted as a national hero.

On France 24, a Paris taxi driver was also being heralded as a hero for deliberately swerving his car into the path of an oncoming motorist who had lost control of her vehicle and was headed straight for a crowd of school children. The woman had evidently passed out at the wheel, and the car continued under its own power. The taxi driver explained he put his arms around his head as he braced for a side impact from the out-of-control car. Police had estimated the woman's car had gone for some time after she lost control, and had slowed down considerably, but was still going fast enough to seriously injure or kill the school children.

The Canadian CBC was reporting on a new study that concluded people who cook with olive oil are no healthier than people who cook with butter. Martha didn't bother with Al Jazeera.

She found a documentary on SeaWorld, describing the changes the park had implemented since the death of a killer whale trainer. Martha had been to SeaWorld twice when Briana was young.

Ten minutes later Nate came downstairs in dark casual pants and a button-up short sleeve blue shirt. His hair was still wet.

"Nate, I really need to use my phone or the Internet," she called to him. "There are people back home who will expect to hear from me."

"Sure," Nate nodded. "Do you have a European roaming plan on your phone?" Martha said no. "You better use my laptop, then, because the data charges will kill you," he offered. "Do you have webmail access?" She nodded. "Come on," he gestured her to follow him into his office.

Nate sat down at his desk, and unlocked the screen on his personal laptop, and brought up the login page. He stood up, and gestured Martha to sit down in his place. Nate pointed out the guest account, and told her the password: 'Tongo25'. He let her log in, and showed her where the Google Chrome internet browser icon was. "You can ask permission to use this any time," he offered. Martha's instinct was to snap back at him sarcastically for treating her like a child, but she bit her tongue and said thanks.

"You hungry?" Nate asked.

"Staving," Martha replied as she navigated the browser to her webmail site.

"Don't even touch this laptop," Nate warned, closing the lid to his work laptop. Nate started for the kitchen to make an omelet, but he turned back at the door, remembering something. He picked up a pen and a sticky note from the desk, and wrote down his cell phone number, including all the prefix dialing codes from North America. "This is my cell number," he pointed to the note. "You can tell people to call my number if they need to reach you."

"Okay, thanks," Martha nodded as she was already reading through her emails.

Nate disappeared through the door and let Martha roam the Internet. The guest account on his personal laptop was severely restricted – Internet browsing the only activity permitted, so Nate was not worried about Martha's prying eyes.