Six weeks into my fourth attempt at motherhood, things could hardly have gone more smoothly. Yes, I was exhausted. Yes, I was sore, and in places I ha... forgotten could be so sore, but compared with my worst nightmares, being a Mum in my fifties had so far been tolerable. A month premature, Leanne had weighed less than five pounds. Though not ideal, it wasn’t a very worrying weight, but it had made the actual physical process of giving birth that much easier. The much-lamented lack of tightness. Maxwell thrived on inflicting pain and astonishingly, I just loved it. Now being on the dispensing end, however, was exciting me even more.As I got into a steadier tempo, skewering his hole, I anchored myself with my left arm and began to strike his chest with the back of my fist. As horny, approving guttural groans burst from him, I joined in with my own verbal attack as I started slapping his face. I was amazed by how tuned-in we were to one another, and by how aggressive I was becoming. My. More

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