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“Err, no, Caroline.”She proceeded to manoeuvre me over her lap, ensuring that my penis was ‘trapped’ between her soft, warm nyloned thighs. She then began to gently stroke my buttocks, whilst questioning me:“Are you a naughty boy, Peter?”Oh my, this felt good!“Yes.”“Yes what, Peter?” she prompted.“Yes, Caroline,” I responded.“Really, Peter. Surely you know, its, ‘Yes Mommy,’ don’t you?”“Yes, Mommy,” I squeaked.“Are you a dirty boy, Peter?”“Yes, Mommy.”“Mommy knows you are a naughty, dirty little boy. A little boy who needs a spanking from his lovely mommy. Say it, Peter.” She said while, still stroking and teasing.I repeated, “I’m a naughty, dirty little boy who needs a spanking from his lovely Mommy.”Then it started. Softly at first, she gradually increased both the pace and severity. I was in ecstasy. At each spank, I thrust my now fully hard cock against her thighs.“You dirty, dirty boy, Peter. Rubbing you little pee-pee against Mommy’s stockings. What would our neighbour say?”With. "What's your name?" She inquired."I'm Gohan." Said the boy, "Who are you?" My names Merle." She said looking away a bit."That's a nice name."Is this boy hitting on me she thought as she looked at him eve closer. Merle cleared her throat , "Well Gohan is a nice name too." She then did a back-flip turn-around and dashed out of the house.A while later after Merle was sure Gohan was gone (she saw him fly off and listened to the interior of the house to make sure he wasn't there) she slipped back into the house because she was still a little tired and now even more so from the run-in with Gohan. She considered the time it might take the boy to look for her and get back to the pick house into consideration, she had a while. Her clothes were kind of dirty so she washed them and hung them up to dry inside the house. She slipped upstairs and into a different bedroom than the last time closing the door behind her. She curled up and went to sleep in the comfy bed which felt good against her bare.
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To control her pain the medications had to be strong and it took her away from him. When she would surface from the fog she would feel him there beside her, a strong hand stroking her hair or holding one of hers. When the life that remained finally left he was there beside her, right where he had always been for 48 years. In all those years one had never gone anywhere without the other. This journey of hers would be no different. He had made time to prepare. Papers were on the table and instructions were handwritten next to them. He crawled into bed alongside her and felt the familiar comfort of her form as he molded himself against her. The bitter taste in his mouth tried to be a distraction but he swallowed hard and pushed it out of his mind. He wiped a strand of hair from her face and gave her the final of so many kisses to her forehead. He took her hand in his, just like he had done on the altar so many years past. But the years seemed like just a handful of yesterdays. He could.

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