by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 76
Mother had been sending me to that French artist so he could paint me, but instead he fucked me and I was afraid to tell her because I was afraid she wouldn’t believe me so I let him fuck me, as much as I hated it. Now he was doing the same thing to her.
Having first seen mother get her fucking down by that bridge in Aix en Province I made it my business to stop there every day at two o’clock when father and everyone else were taking their afternoon nap. Invariably I would find mother there. On her way out she would say she was going shopping, always wearing one of her varied French sleeveless buttoned dresses that she cinched at the waist with a wide belt, sort of like movie stars of the time.
But one day she wasn’t there. I waited until siesta was over. She didn’t show up. A week went by and every day I waited, but for naught. Finally I went to the little town and visited all the shops that she shopped, but no one had seen her. As I left town I saw the baker on his bicycle. He waved and said, Je vien de voir votre mere. I ask him where and he said by the stables.
I went there and looked all over, but I still couldn’t find her. I passed the exercise ring and went toward the old house that the Count had lived in, it was the short way home. I was tired and wanted to go to the beach and flop on a blanket. As I rounded the corner I heard a sound, as if someone had jammed their finger and yelled. Then I heard it again. I was sure it was coming from the house.
I listened then I look toward the stables and thought maybe a rider had fallen. I decided to go home and not worry. I walked to the side and around the back when I heard that noise again. It was coming from the ground floor of that house.
I passed each window and listened, but couldn’t find where it was coming. I knew it had to be one of them so I backtracked, careful not to make any noise, and then I heard the yell. It was loud and long and deep. The window was just several feet away. I approached it and carefully angled one eye toward it. And when I saw the woman on the bed I wanted to yell. There she was, ma mere, on a bed face down with her wrists tied to the posts and wearing just panties tugged partly down.
Jean appeared with a leather like belt and hit her hard across her tender tight bottom. Mother threw back her head and hollered. But it wasn’t the kind of hollering that I had originally thought I had heard. This noise was from pleasure and as he tightly smacked her bottom she let out a sound that punched through the quiet summer air. Mother was enjoying this. Worse, so was I. I wanted to be on that bed. I wanted to cry out like her and throw my head back with my big tits exposed and my bottom there for someone else’s pleasure.