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From: ii361@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Ray N. Velez)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Trilogy: Disrobing Mother by Dafney Dewitt
Date: 29 Mar 1997 02:58:00 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
Lines: 1091
Message-ID: <5hi0fo$8i6@alexander.INS.CWRU.Edu>
Reply-To: ii361@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Ray N. Velez)
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______________________________________________________
The text in this story is not to be published or
distributed in any way, electronically or otherwise,
that would allow access by any person where it is
a violation of county, city, state, national or
international obscenity, indecency or other laws.
This is a work of fiction intended for adults only.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely
coincidental.
______________________________________________________
Author's Note:
This is the story of a boy angry over
the impending divorce of his parents
who plans a clever sexual blackmail
that goes out-of-control, forcing him
into a moral dilemma.
______________________________________________________
Disrobing Mother - A Trilogy (A Nasty Girl Story)
Copyright (c) 1996
By Dafney Cecil Dewitt
Part #1/3
______________________________________________________
"Well, I see you found the Hartford Military Catalog,"
Mary says, approaching her son cautiously.
Tommy looks up from the catalog as his mother, Mary
Elizabeth Drummond steps onto the Persian carpet and
into the library. She is an attractive, tall, redheaded
woman, fond of wearing formal ankle length dresses. She
has the erect posture of an equestrienne. She is thin,
but prominent breasts help round out her figure removing
any doubt that she is female. Her pale white face with
a light scattering of freckles contrasts nicely with her
radiant sunset-red hair. There are a few wrinkles in the
corners of her eyes and mouth but no other signs of her
forty years of age. She is still wearing her wedding
ring. Tommy knows this is for his benefit. The ring will
come off as soon as he has departed for the Hartford-
Abernathy Military Academy.
"What do you think?"
"I like the idea of building for the future," Tommy says,
with a controlled voice, paraphrasing the caption printed
beneath the picture of the academy. By swallowing his
anger, Tommy catches his mother off guard temporarily
surprising her into silence.
Tommy Drummond is angry. He does not want to leave the
twelve room white Georgian house, surrounded by four
acres of wooded pasture, where he grew up. He looks at
the picture of the military academy selected by his mother.
The caption says the Hartford-Abernathy Academy trains
the leaders of tomorrow. Even at the age of 16, Tommy
knows real leaders do not depend on military boarding
schools to insure their success. Real leaders create their
own futures. Tommy knows he needs a plan to deal with
his mother.
Expecting a protest, his mother automatically replies with
a vague rebuttal. "You need the independence and being
around other young men your age will help you develop."
"I just hope I fit in," says Tommy looking up at his
mother with a worried expression to gain sympathy.
"I'm sure you'll do just fine," says his mother patting
the back of his head with her hand.
"You leave tomorrow."
Tommy can almost feel his mother's heart skip with joy at
how easy it is all turning out. He watches her bosom bounce
as she leaves the library. The sharp staccato sound of his
mother's high heeled shoes clicking on the slate covered
foyer punctuate her departure. His mother will have the
house all to herself. After 18 years of marriage, his parents
are divorcing.
Under the divorce property settlement, Mary Drummond will
end up with the house and about four million in stocks.
Her ex-husband, Charles Drummond, will keep his Overseas
Investment Business valued at about seven million and the
condominium in town. Not all of the monetary details have
been resolved and the final papers have not been signed.
Private detectives hired by both Mr. and Mrs. Drummond
failed to find evidence of infidelity that might impact the
division of assets. Even without digging up any family
skeletons, the financial details could drag on for months.
With adversarial divorce lawyers on both sides, Tommy
knows he will be living at the military academy long before
the details are resolved.
Two weeks later, returning from a solitary shopping trip,
Mary Drummond, is surprised to hear her son playing the
piano in the music room. His face reflects defeat and
resignation. He stops playing when she enters the room,
but impolitely continues staring into the sheet music.
"Tommy, why aren't you at the Academy?"
"I can't."
"You can't what?"
"I don't fit in."
"Do you need an increase in your expense account?"
"No, that's not it."
"OK, then tell me the problem," Mary says sitting down beside
her son on the piano bench and putting her arm around him. A
light scent of an unfamiliar perfume fills Tommy's lungs as he
takes a deep breath to tell his story.
"Well, it's like this," explains Tommy. He tells his mother
about an elite group called 'The Officer's Club' that the other
boys have formed. Once accepted into the club, your future at
Hartford-Abernathy Academy is assured. Those not accepted
are shunned with a code of silence. Students outside the clique
are treated as if they did not exist. Not being a member makes
matriculation at the Academy intolerable.
"Surely, there must be something you can do to be accepted,"
his mother interrupts him.
Tommy looks up into his mother's worried green eyes before
answering. "I have been accepted, but first I must pass the
initiation test."
Mary frowns. "Dean Atkinson assured me that there are no hazing
initiations anymore at the Academy. Hazing has been outlawed."
"It's not hazing, Mom."
"Well, then be a man, and explain it to your mother," Mary says,
affectionately patting the back of Tommy's head.
"I need to make a videotape with your camcorder, return to the
Academy with it, and I'll be accepted."
"Well," says Mary standing up with relief, "If there's any way
I can help you, just let me know."
"Actually, you can help," says Tommy.
"How?"
"The videotape is supposed to be about you."
"Me?"
"Yes, the other boys saw the picture of you that I took to the
Academy. They think you're a very pretty woman."
"Well, thank you," says Mary who thinks she is very well preserved.
She has not had any male appreciation of her appearance since the
divorce started. She has been having self-doubts about her ability
to compete with other women. It feels nice to be admired. It feels
even better to be admired by your son's young college prep room-
mates.
"They want me to videotape you..." Tommy pauses nervously
fingering the keys on the piano. "They want a tape of you
undressing," he manages to say with a look of defeat on his face.
"What!"
"I told them I couldn't," says Tommy admitting defeat.
"Why would they want that?"
"Because I don't have a sister."
"So?"
"Well, the other boys have taken videotapes of their sisters."
"Hum, I think I understand. This is sort of a candid camera
thing, catch the girls unaware, like a peeping boy videotape,
am I right?"
"Yes, but I wasn't supposed to tell you."
"What did they expect?"
"I was supposed to hide under your bed or in your closet and
videotape you without your knowing." Tommy hangs his head
down in shame.
Mary pats the back of Tommy's head in consolation. "You did
the right thing. Don't feel ashamed." Tommy raises his head
and stares into his mother's breasts without answering.
Suddenly, Mary stops talking and leaves the room. Tommy is
uncertain how to re-open the conversation. All during dinner,
Mary looks at her son, Tommy, with long curious glances. Her
face is a mystery. Does she pity him? Is she trying to think
up an alternative to his initiation? Will she go along with it?
Mary Drummond's face is congenial and controlled as if her son
Tommy had not made an indecent proposal. She does not seem
offended or worried. It is impossible for Tommy to unmask his
mother's feelings.
After dinner, Mary asks Tommy into the library for a talk. He
notices the furniture is re-arranged. His father's books are gone,
replaced with a collection of handpainted plates, the rosewood
table was moved to the far end of the room to make room for
a group of green leather chairs placed in a semi-circle. The entire
atmosphere of the room has changed. In less then two weeks, it
has become her room. When his mother picks up her wine glass,
Tommy notices the pale white band of bare skin on her wedding
ring finger. Tommy can feel his insides shaking.
Pouring herself another glass of white wine, Mary Elizabeth
Drummond sits in one of the chairs in the small semi-circle
and motions Tommy to sit beside her. Rotating the wine glass
slowly between the fingers of her two hands, Mary starts
speaking.
"If you bring back this videotape, are you certain to be accepted?"
"Yes, absolutely."
"Who will look at the videotape?"
"Just the other boys. Most of the other tapes used for initiation
have already been recorded over with television shows."
"Do you want to do it?"
"I'm not sure," says Tommy playing coy.
"Yes, but what do you want?"
"It's up to you," says Tommy forcing his mother to decide.
As his mother pours herself a third glass of her wine. She licks
her upper lip in thought. Tommy can tell that the idea of disrobing
in front of a video camera excites her. Or maybe it is the thought
of other mother's sons watching her undress. He never considers
the possibility that his mother might be excited by disrobing in front
of her own son. Mary is finishing her fourth glass of wine before
making her decision.
"If your father were here, I would say no." Mary says slowly with
the resolve of making a moral statement. "As the head of the
family, the decision would be his and not mine. You have placed
me in a difficult situation. I want you to be accepted. I want you
to succeed at Hartford-Abernathy Academy. You need to develop
into manhood among other young men. As a single mother, I can
not give you the same type of rearing as a two parent family. It's
not easy for a divorced mother to raise a son." She pauses sipping
more wine, and begins on a new line of rationale as if she has lost
her train of thought. "There's nothing wrong with disrobing. Many
families swim in the nude or use sauna's without bathing suits. In
Europe, there are nude beaches. It's all in the perception. Will you
think any less of me, as a mother, if I do what you ask?"
Sitting in the library, talking with his mother, Tommy feels himself
getting aroused. This is the sexiest thing he has ever done. Still a
child, planning to dominate a grown woman, his own mother.
Watching and listening to her mental struggle to accept his demands
intensifies his pleasure. It feels like a surge of pure energy, pure
power sweeping through his body. He remembers his father talking
about the thrill of power brokering, watching business adversaries
struggle to make their actions justify their vanities. He knows his
mother is vain, spending hours fussing with her hair, applying makeup,
getting pedicures, and facial massages. He has known these things
for years, but he has never tried to use her vanity against her like a
weapon. Reveling in the sensation, it sucks him in, without letting go,
like a whore's mouth.
There is a long, silent pause before Tommy answers his mother's
question.
"I'll always love you as my mother," he answers with a vague
reassurance. Tommy's heart is beating uncontrollably. He can
not believe his plan is working. He is afraid something will go
wrong.
Mary Drummond takes her son, Tommy, by the hand and together
they go upstairs to her bedroom. While she primps in front of
the bathroom mirror, he sets up the camcorder.
Mary Drummond looks stunning. She has applied blue eye shadow
and eyelash liner to accent her green eyes. Her red hair is brushed
out, shining with a burnishing glow that is complemented by her
glossy coral lipstick. She is fully dressed in high-heeled shoes, with
a full length coat covering a black evening dress topped off with a
white mink stole, and hat. She looks like a socialite ready to depart
for a formal concert on a winter's night. With a nod toward Tommy,
she asks, "Are you ready?"
"Ready," says Tommy, lifting the camcorder to his eye.
Mary begins silently as if she were alone. Removing her hat
and coat, she shakes out her hair. She drops the hat and coat
onto the chair. She pulls on one end of the fur stole until it
unwraps, falling free from her neck, and drapes it over the
back of the chair. Turning sideways, her profile facing the
camera, she rests her high-heeled shoe on the seat of the chair.
She slowly unbuckles the tiny black strap crossing her ankle,
letting her dress ride up over her thigh. Bending over facing
the camera, she gives a fleeting glimpse of her breasts beneath
the top of her dress as she removes her shoes.
Standing in her stocking feet, Mary turns until she is looking
straight into the camcorder. Flirting with the camera, she pretends
to be looking at herself in a mirror as she removes her gold hooped
earrings. She tosses her head back, smiling directly into the camera.
She runs the tip of her tongue over her upper lip as if she were tasting
her coral red lipstick. Tommy zooms the camera in on his mother's
face as she pouts her lips into a kiss and says, "Do you want to see
more?"
After a dramatic pause, Mary starts unbuttoning the front of
her dress. She continues until reaching her waist. She stops
and looks up again, directly at the camera, and says "Are you
sure you want to see more?" Her face breaks into a dazzling
smile. With her right hand she loosens the belt around her
waist. She pulls it out of the belt loops with her left hand.
Holding the belt buckle with both hands between her legs like
a golf club, she lets the tongue dangle onto the carpet. Gently
swinging it back and forth, she looks up, and raises her eyebrows
in a mock expression of surprise saying, "It's a long one."
Dropping the belt on the floor, Mary reaches up underneath her
dress, bending over, turning her bottom to the camera pulling
her pantyhose down to her knees. Swiveling around to face the
camera, she raises her right foot directly into the lens giving
a glimpse underneath her dress. Standing on one foot, she works
the pantyhose off her right leg. Switching feet, the camera gets
a brief view of her panties, as she raises her left leg to remove
the pantyhose. Mary bends over to pick the pantyhose off the
floor and lay it over the back of the chair.
Standing up straight, Mary begins working her dress down over
her left shoulder. With one side of her bra exposed, Mary teases
the camera saying "OOPS! I forgot to unbutton my sleeves."
Shrugging her dress back onto her shoulder, she unbuttons both
of the sleeves on her dress. "OK, now we'll try that again," Mary
says slipping her arm out of the dress and pulling it down over her
shoulder. She repeats the process with the other arm until her dress
is hanging from her waist with her bra fully exposed. Hooking her
thumbs under the dress at her waist, Mary starts wiggling back
and forth, seductively, to squirm out of her dress. She suddenly
stops squirming. Pursing her lips together, she gives the camera
a loud smooching kiss. Looking into the camera, she smiles and
says "OOPS! You wouldn't want me to take off my panties too."
Reaching down, she pulls up the edge of her white lace panties
with her fingertips before continuing to pull her dress down over
her hips. She lets the dress fall to the floor. Bending to pick it up,
she bares her rear end to the camera's unblinking eye and the
frame blossoms with a view of her white laced panties.
Walking toward the closet, she opens the door and disappears
briefly before returning with a long single piece silk nightgown.
She holds it up by the shoulder straps, gathers it together to slip
it over her head. Without warning, she stops and lays the silk
nightgown down on the chair. Shaking her red hair back and
forth, she holds her index finger over her lips as if cautioning
someone to be quiet and says, "Oh, you naughty boys. You
want more don't you?" She lowers her finger and hugs herself
with both arms, cradling her breasts together, for maximum
cleavage. "Hum! What do you think I should do?" Mary says
rotating her shoulders back and forth smiling like a woman half
her age.
Tommy is lost. He is transfixed by this striptease. It has gone
far beyond anything he might have imagined. Afraid of thinking
of his mother in sexual terms, he stops thinking. Emotionally, he
is frozen. The camcorder is his savior. It frames the actions,
objectifying them, making them emotionally distant. The lens
sucks in the performance. Tommy activates the zoom instinctively.
The recording is automatic without Tommy's conscious effort. On
a deeper level, he comforts himself with the knowledge that his
mother is playing to the camera, playing to the unknown young
men who she thinks will be admiring her body, and not performing
for him.
Slowly, with a deliberation filled with suspense, Mary uses her
left hand to push her right bra strap off her shoulder. She turns
and loosens her left bra strap. Turning her back to the camera,
she unhooks the back of her bra. Facing back toward the camera,
bra straps dangling, she cups her breasts in the palms of her hands
to keep the brassiere in place.
Tommy does not remember his mother exposing her breasts, or
letting the bra drop to the floor. She wiggles the silken nightgown
down over her head before he regains his sense of time and place.
Tommy is numb.
The next morning, after his mother departs on a shopping trip,
Tommy sets the Sony camcorder on a tripod to tape himself in
her bedroom. With the camcorder on full zoom, he jerks off
until he cums.
In the afternoon, Tommy entices three of his neighborhood
friends to participate in a video project. They sit on his mother's
bed mugging for the camcorder with expressions of surprise,
and enthusiasm. Tommy prompts them on what to say. In return
for refusing to talk about the video taping, they all receive some
first edition comics in mint condition.
The following week, after Tommy has returned to the military
academy, Mary Drummond is puzzled by the sound of young
men's voices coming from the Home Theater Room.
Her first fear is that Tommy has returned. For Mary Drummond,
the reality is much worse. Entering the Video Theater Room, she
is stunned by the picture on the television screen.
She stands frozen in the doorway, watching something that she
knows never happened. Mary watches herself on the 62" inch
screen doing a striptease while her son, Tommy, is sitting in a
corner chair masturbating, and three young boys are lounging on
her bed making encouraging comments.
She turns off the sound, but lets the tape run watching a silent
scene unfold that she knows in her heart is impossible. The film
repeats itself in a loop before Mary realizes it has been cleverly
edited.
Tommy Drummond stands up in his front row seat.
"You bastard!"
Mary Elizabeth Drummond hits the eject button on the VCR.
She throws the cassette to the floor and smashes it with her
high heeled shoe. The black case breaks open with a loud
cracking sound of brittle plastic.
"It's just a copy, Mom"
"There was no initiation, was there?"
"No, Mom."
"You bastard!"
"I know. I've been bad."
"Has your father, Charles, seen this?"
"No."
"Thank God!"
"But he might ..."
"You bastard! The divorce papers haven't been signed yet."
"I know."
"Your father could end up with almost everything."
"I know."
"What do you want?"
Tommy wants to say he will destroy the videotape if his mother
lets him quit the Academy and live at home, but his voice chokes
up with emotion.
"I want you...." Tommy manages to say.
Tommy hangs his head down, his nerve lost, thinking he has failed.
His mother walks over to him and reaches out with one hand.
Tommy thinks she is going to slap him, but she pats him on the
back of his head, and moves away. When he raises his head,
Tommy sees his mother is starting to undress.
_______________________________________________________
______________________________________________________
Author's Note:
This is the story of a boy angry over
the impending divorce of his parents
who plans a clever sexual blackmail
that goes out-of-control, forcing him
into a dilemma.
______________________________________________________
Disrobing Mother - A Trilogy (A Nasty Girl Story)
Copyright (c) 1996
By Dafney Cecil Dewitt
Part #2/3
______________________________________________________
"I want you mother ...." Tommy says firmly leaving no
doubt in Mary's mind that his desire is sexual.
With trembling fingers, Mary Drummond fumbles with the
buttons on her cream colored silk blouse. Undressing is a
small price to pay to keep custody of Tommy and an equal
share of the divorce money. Standing in front of the large
screen television, she glances down as her fingers undo the
buttons on her blouse, revealing the lacy white cups of her bra.
"Only for you Tommy, just for you." Mary tells him with-
out looking up. All pretense of Tommy video taping her for
an initiation is gone. This time, she is disrobing for Tommy,
taking her clothes off for her own son. At the same time, she
knows that nothing she does is for her son. She is doing it all
for herself. Mary will do anything to keep her fair share of the
divorce settlement. As soon as the papers are signed, Tommy's
videotape of her striptease will be worthless. The blackmail
will end when the divorce is final. In the end, Mary will be the
winner.
She tugs the tails of the blouse out her skirt before raising her
head to check on Tommy's excitement.
"No, Mom, no undressing," Tommy says shaking his head slowly
from side to side.
Mary's face burns with embarrassment. "I aah... I don't know
what came over me." Hastily, she re-buttons her blouse ashamed
that greed has so easily compromised her virtue.
"That's OK, Mom, I want you ..." Tommy makes a prolonged
pause "...to come with me."
Tommy walks out of the room unsure of what to do next. His
mother follows. Her face burns with shame. He takes her upstairs
to her bedroom.
"Sit down," Tommy commands. He seems uncertain what to do.
His mother sits down primly, legs together, in a green leather chair
with wide padded arms. Mary relaxes, regaining her lost composure,
she starts talking in a loud confident voice full of parental authority.
"Well, I'm sure we can talk through this problem." Mary gives
Tommy a disarming smile and crosses her legs. Tommy returns
the smile, but not the sentiment. The hissing sound made by her
nylons when her legs cross gives him an idea.
"Spread your legs apart." Tommy tells her.
"Pardon me?" Mary challenges Tommy.
"You heard me, Mom. Spread your legs."
"I don't think that's anyway for you to talk to your mother."
Mary glares at Tommy with matriarchal authority. The tension
is palpable. Uncertain of his power, but afraid to back down
Tommy repeats his demand.
"Just do it," says Tommy returning the glare.
Mary uncrosses her legs, spreading them slightly apart. Tommy
stares back without blinking until Mary breaks away from his
gaze. Moments before, Mary would have undressed in front of
her son, but she has her limits. Tommy is toying with her, testing
her for those limits. Fear and curiosity drive her to obey. Fear
of losing the Drummond family fortune, and curiosity about how
far either Tommy or she will go. Mary enjoys the thrill.
"Is this OK?" Mary asks demurely.
"No, farther."
Mary spreads her legs to the sides of the chair.
"Now lift your legs up over the arms of the chair."
Mary shakes her head in refusal. "Why?"
"Your skirt will cover you.." Tommy evades answering her.
His mother relents. Carefully keeping her skirt pressed down over
her knees, she lifts her legs over the padded arms of the green
leather chair, letting her knees bend over the sides. Her skirt
is stretched tightly between her legs. Tommy points the Camcorder
at his mother, checks the viewfinder, and lowers it from his face.
Underneath Mary's skirt, her sex, pushing against her thin nylon
panties, is vulnerable and exposed, but hidden from Tommy's view.
"OK, Mom, now all you have to do is pretend."
"Pretend what?"
"Pretend to be masturbating."
"Tommy, please don't do this to me."
"You don't even have to take your clothes off."
"But this is sexual."
"Don't you think a striptease is sexual?"
"Yes, but this is different."
Mary starts taking her legs off the arms of the chair.
"Keep your legs spread, Mom, or the videotape of the
striptease goes right to Dad's lawyers." Tommy is
uncertain if his threat will control her. Mary Drummond
has fire in her eyes. She does not like being ordered
around like some cheap tart. She especially does not
llike being commanded to obey by her own son. For
a brief moment, the outcome is in doubt. Mrs. Drummond
looks like she's ready to stand up and give Tommy a hard
slap across his face.
Slowly, Mary relaxes her clinched mouth, her lips part, and
the anger subsides. She reluctantly puts her legs back up
on the arms of the chair. She silently admits to herself that
the position is more humiliating then uncomfortable.
"I don't have to take off my clothes, right?"
"Right, just use your hand and pretend to touch yourself."
Mary mechanically puts her right hand beneath her skirt.
Tommy raises the camcorder to his face. She makes some
exploratory movements with her hand hidden from view.
"OK, Mom, a little action please."
Mary's right hand moves up and down beneath her dress.
She throws her head back and moans.
"Ooh, that feels so good!"
Pouting her lips toward the camcorder, Mary removes her
hand from beneath her skirt. She sucks on the index finger,
running her tongue around it, and moaning softly. After the
finger is wet, she puts it under her skirt again, letting out a
loud sigh as she pretends to finger the hot wet place between
her legs. Mary is warming up, relaxing to this pretense. She
is not touching herself, but enjoying the art of pretending. Her
eyes are closed, she is moaning. She appears to be feverishly
fingering herself beneath her skirt. It will make a good video.
Tommy will be satisfied. Her eyes are closed. She feels safe
and in control. A sudden jerk on her skirt destroys Mary's self-
confidence.
Mary's eyes blink open in shock as she feels her skirt yanked
up over her thighs exposing her panties.
"Keep going Mom," Tommy smiles at her with an innocence
that belies the boldness of his action.
"Tommy, I can't," Mary pleads.
"Why not?"
"My skirt, my panties ... it's indecent," Mary pleads.
"Would you rather I did it?" Tommy leers.
Mary Drummond recoils at the thought of Tommy touching her
sex. Her body involuntarily shudders at the depraved idea of
defilement by her own son. Touching herself is wrong, but not
as wrong as the alternative. Tentatively, as if afraid to touch a
hot plate, Mary's fingers touch the white crouch panel on her
panties.
"Rub harder!" Tommy encourages her.
"Please, no. Let me stop!" Mary begs.
"Do it faster!" Tommy commands.
Mary's fingers obey Tommy's orders, ignoring her own wishes.
Her hand rubs briskly between her legs. Her fingers fly over
the nylon crotch of her panties. Harder, faster, she rubs. She
feels abused, not sexy. The obscene open position of her legs,
the shouted urging from her own son, the red light of the
camcorder recording her debasement, all add to her humiliation.
Mary has not done anything sexual for the past two months.
With the divorce pending, she has renounced her need for sex.
Time and friction accomplish what she denies emotionally.
Despite feeling humiliated, Mary's panties get wet. Her fingertips
feel cool to the touch from the moisture. She hopes Tommy will
not notice. The wet spot on her panties adds to her embarrassment.
Thinking about it makes her even wetter. The word "cock" briefly
invades her thoughts. She feels a sudden jolt. She plays with the
word like she's playing with her sex until she feels another small
electric jolt in her loins. The darkening wet spot on her white
panties expands.
"Your panties are wet, Mom," Tommy observes.
"I know," Mary answers.
"What are you going to do about it?"
Mary has no answer. Tommy is toying with her, teasing
her with his words, forcing her to admit her humiliation.
Videotaping her is not enough. Tommy is tormenting her
with words, twisting them into her body, poking her with
descriptions, tickling her with crude obscenities, trying
to push her beyond her limits. Mary is afraid to answer.
If she ignores him, maybe he will stop asking.
"What are you going to do about your wet panties, Mom?"
"I... I don't know," Mary reluctantly admits.
"I know" says Tommy.
When she fails to respond Tommy repeats "I know what to do".
"What?" Mary asks, fearing the answer.
"Push your panties to one side," Tommy answers coolly.
Tommy's answer is what Mary fears and what she wants.
One part of her, the most urgent part, wants the friction
that only skin-to-skin contact can bring. She wants to
push her fingers deep inside her wet pussy, plunging them
in hard until she cums. She needs to feel her fingers inside
her. The other part of her knows that pushing her wet panties
aside will mean fully exposing herself to her own son. What
began as simulated masturbation is crossing over the line to
real masturbation. Does she have any limits? Is there anything
she will not do? The word "slut mother" flashes through her
mind. The words "cock" and "slut" mix themselves in her mind
until Mary looses herself in a fog of obscenities. Forgetting
Tommy, forgetting the camcorder, she pulls her panties to one
side exposing the brown wrinkled lips of her pussy. She plunges
two fingers into her cunt eager to go all the way, ready to ride
the wave to a climax.
"Stop, Mom!" Tommy commands.
Mary's fingers keep plunging into her sex. Her fingers
glisten with the wetness of her pussy. She can smell
herself. She is hot.
"Stop!"
"No!" Mary pleads. "I have to finish myself off!"
"No, Mom!"
Tommy grabs her right hand. Mary is furious. Her eyes
blaze with anger. "You bastard!" she yells.
"Spread your pussy lips open with your fingers." Tommy
orders.
Mary spreads herself open so Tommy can zoom in with the
camcorder.
"Now suck the pussy juice off your fingers, Mommy."
Mary removes her fingers from her cunt and places them in
her mouth sucking on them impatiently with wet slurpy
noises.
"OK, now finger fuck yourself."
Ignoring Tommy's crude language, Mary plunges her fingers
into her cunt before Tommy changes his mind. She rubs her
clit with her thumb while her fingers plunge deeply into her
love canal. She is lost. Mary's lungs heave, her breath grows
ragged, her stomach muscles tense as she gasps and sputters
trying to reach a climax. Her fingers pumping deeply into her
pussy make a wet sucking sound. Her cunt contracts several
times until sobbing wildly, Mary reaches an orgasm. She
collapses in a state of exhaustion. Mary surrenders to the
sweet warmth of sexual exhaustion. Tommy can fuck her.
Mary is beyond caring.
The next morning, Mary pretends that nothing has happened.
Joining Tommy at the kitchen table, wrapped in a blue
bathrobe, she sits down for breakfast.
"Good morning, Tommy."
"Good morning, Mom."
"Well, what would you like for breakfast?"
"Nothing, Mom, I've already eaten and I fixed yours too."
"Well, thank you."
Tommy goes to the microwave and punches the start button.
In a minute, he brings a hot bowl of oatmeal to the table. For
years, his mother forced him to eat oatmeal for breakfast.
Now Tommy would turn the tables. He hated oatmeal.
"Where's my spoon?" Mary asks.
"You eat without a spoon," Tommy answers pouring a little
milk on top of the oatmeal.
"This is crazy," says Mary
"Do it," Tommy commands.
Mary dips her head down toward the bowl. Tentatively she
flicks her tongue over the milk. She purses her lips as if to
kiss the messy cereal and sucks up some of the milk with a
loud slurping sound. Raising her head, Mary looks at Tommy
for approval. He smiles back at her. Encouraged, Mary dips
her head into the bowl again, but goes a little too far. Some
of the oatmeal sticks to her chin. When she raises her head,
milk and oatmeal slip off falling inside her robe, between her
breasts. Mary can feel it sliding down her chest like a hot slug.
She grabs for a napkin to wipe it off, but Tommy stops her.
"No hands, Mom."
"But it's sliding down my chest."
"Sorry, you'll just have to let it."
"I'm not hungry."
"If you don't lick your bowl clean, you'll be punished."
Uncertain what punishment Tommy might be capable of,
Mary decides to continue eating without a spoon. She dips
her head toward the bowl and takes another big slurp of the
slimy oatmeal. The more she eats, the more difficult it is to
avoid sticking her chin into the bowl. More cereal sticks to
her chin and slides down her chest. When the bowl is empty,
Mary looks up expectantly at Tommy. She is a little messy,
but breakfast is over.
"Undo your robe," Tommy says.
Mary unties her robe, letting it fall open, exposing her
bra.
"See what a mess you've made of yourself?"
Mary looks down at the oatmeal between her breasts and
on her stomach. She knows that it is Tommy's fault, but
somehow she feels sloppy. She feels guilty for making a
mess of herself. None of her feelings make any sense. All
she knows is that all this will end as soon as the divorce
agreement is signed.
"Naughty Mommy," Tommy taunts her.
"I couldn't help it," Mary says in her defense.
"If I let you clean yourself off, will you do something for me?"
"Yes."
"OK, grab a napkin."
Mary takes a napkin. Tommy watches as she wipes the sticky
mess off her chest and stomach. When she is finished, he looks
at her expectantly.
"Take out your left breast," Tommy orders.
Mary removes her breast from the bra cup.
"Now cover yourself with your robe so that only your one
breast shows."
Mary covers herself. Her left breast hangs out over her
blue robe looking curiously out of place. Mary expects
Tommy to grab at her, maybe pull on her nipple, but he
ignores her and rummages through one of the kitchen
drawers. She sees him put something in his shirt pocket
before returning to the kitchen table. Reaching into his
pocket he dumps out a pile of rubber bands.
"Wrap four of these around your breast," Tommy tells her.
"No!" Mary refuses shaking her head.
"But you agreed to do something for me," Tommy protested.
"I won't wrap rubber bands around my breast."
"So, you refuse, is that it?"
"Yes, I refuse," Mary says firmly standing her ground.
Tommy picks up one of the rubber bands, stretches it with
his fingers and shoots it at Mary. It lands harmlessly
on her robe. He picks up another, with more careful aim
and it hits her directly on the nipple. Mary flinches.
"You asshole!" Mary flashes Tommy a look of hatred, but
she makes no attempt to cover her breast. Tommy keeps
shooting rubber bands at her. The sting of the rubber
bands makes her nipple grow red and turgid. Mary is
entranced by her son's control. She is angry, but compliant.
More then blackmail compels her to obey. Tommy's
influence is hypnotic. She no longer feels responsible
for her actions. Her libido has been aroused by flirting
with forbidden desires.
"You're a slut aren't you, Mom?"
"Yes."
"Say I'm a slut mother"
"I am, I'm a slut"
Tommy plays with the words.
"Say it. I'm a mother slut."
"I'm a mother slut."
"Touch your breast," Tommy tells her.
"My breast?"
"Yes, touch it."
Tommy watches as she cups her right hand tenderly around
her breast. She holds her breast in her hand as if weighing it.
"Squeeze it."
Mary squeezes her breast.
"Pull on the nipple."
Mary pulls lightly on her tender nipple inflamed from the sting
of being the target of his rubber bands.
"Your horny, Mom you want to be fucked."
Mary continues twisting her turgid nipple.
" It's what you've always wanted. You want it so badly. "
Mary pulls on her nipple without answering.
"Who do you want, Mom?"
"I want you."
"Do you?
"Yes."
"Are you wet?"
"Yes."
"How wet are you?"
"Real wet."
Tommy twists the words around.
"What do you want, Mom."
"You're humiliating me."
"What do you want?"
"I want you to fuck me."
"You do, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Take off your robe and get on the floor."
Mary removes her robe and sits on the kitchen floor.
"Say I'm a bitch in heat."
"I'm a bitch."
"Take off your panties."
Mary removes her panties.
"Get on you hands and knees. Say, I'm an hot bitch, an animal."
"I'm a hot animal bitch."
"Close your eyes."
"You're humiliating me."
"I haven't even begun."
Mary closes her eyes and listens as Tommy moves behind her.
She waits on her hands and knees, her left breast hanging out
of the bra, in the middle of the kitchen floor. She waits for
his touch, expecting him to mount her from behind. She
remembers masturbating in front of her son, and the feel of hot
oatmeal sliding down her chest. She is on her hands and knees
on the kitchen floor, wanting it, waiting to be mounted like a
dog in heat, panting from wanting it. As the waiting grows, her
doubts grow. Tommy is not going to take her from behind. Her
eyes are still shut tight but tears of shame well up, spilling out,
and dropping onto the floor. The longer she waits, the more her
humiliation grows. Her debasement is complete. It is all over.
She is certain Tommy has left the room, and is not returning.
Mary opens her eyes.
Tommy is standing front of her.
"Let's begin." Tommy tells her.
_______________________________________________________
______________________________________________________
Disrobing Mother - A Trilogy (A Nasty Girl Story)
Copyright (c) 1996
By Dafney Cecil Dewitt
Part #3/3
______________________________________________________
"Unzip me."
Mary stares into the crotch of her son's jeans. Her surprise
at seeing Tommy standing in front of her is so complete, she
is temporarily rendered mute. She is on her hands and knees
on the kitchen floor like a dog. waiting for a bone. Mary is
speechless.
With trembling fingers, Mary Drummond fumbles with the
zipper on Tommy's pants. After pulling it down, she stops.
"Take it out."
"No, I can't."
"Why not?"
"It's wrong."
Mary knows her position is ridiculous. Saying mother-son
incest is wrong while on her hands and knees on the kitchen
floor with one breast hanging out of her bra is strikes her as
absurd. But she knows in her heart that it is wrong. She
wants Tommy to stop pushing her. She wants him to stop
tormenting her. With his pants unzipped, Tommy starts
circling her, like a small dog, undecided about how to mount
a bitch of a larger breed.
"Is it wrong.?"
"Yes, it is." Mary says.
"Then, let's do something right."
"What?"
"Phone Dad. Tell him you need him."
"I can't. We're getting divorced."
"Him or me, mother's choice."
Teetering on the brink of incest, Mary takes much too long to
decide. The pause before answering embarrasses her. It makes
it appear as if she were considering sucking her own son's dick,
and letting him fuck her like a dog on the kitchen floor.
"I'll phone," Mary finally answers.
While she phones, Tommy recites a poem from memory.
"When there's marriage
without love
there will be love
without marriage
So it is better to love
in spite of faults
then
because of virtues."
Charles Drummond hangs up the telephone shaking his head.
His soon-to-be ex-wife, Mary, has just invited him over to talk
about a reconciliation. None of this makes any sense, but his
son, Tommy, had warned him to be expecting something unusual.
Tommy told him that Mary had ridiculed him for being a wimp.
After dinner, and too many glasses of wine, she confessed to
Tommy that she needed a more assertive, less politically correct
man, who took control. She wanted a controller, a boundary
setter, a master of the moment. Charles is none of these things.
Wearing banker's gray pinstriped suits with his styled prematurely
gray hair, at 45 years, Charles looks and acts like a sophisticated
Company Executive Officer incapable of anything except the most
deferentially correct behavior.
Before Charles Drummond arrives, Tommy tells his mother
she will have to seduce her husband. He tells her he will make
an exact measure of the success of her efforts, but she will be
allowed complete privacy. Mary has no idea how Tommy
expects to measure the seduction without being a witness.
She discounts the idea of anyone making an exact measure of
love as being impossibly naive, and unromantic. Charles arrives
before she has time to ponder the possibilities.
"I'm glad you could come." Mary greets her husband, Charles.
"You look wonderful," answers Charles looking over his wife
for the first time in two months. She is dressed in a yellow
floral print spring dress with a low scoop neckline. Her red
hair is brushed back and tied with a white ribbon. The dress
is too short, falling just above the knees which gives her a
little girl look that is accented with bright red coral lipstick
and gold hooped earrings. Both her dress and demeanor
are unlike anything Charles can remember. Has Mary
changed?
"Thank you," gushes Mary giving him a quick wet kiss
directly on the lips.
Remembering Tommy's comments, Charles Drummond
decides this is the only opportunity he will have for testing
Mary's confessed preference for forceful men. He starts
forcefully, but unsure of himself.
"Come with me," Charles boldly grabs his wife by the hand.
He says the words slowly so she can savor the sexual
implications. He leads her upstairs to their bedroom. He is
surprised at the lack of protest from his wife. Maybe, just
maybe, Tommy is right. Inside the bedroom, Mary tries to
kiss him again, but Charles pushes her away.
"On your knees!" Charles commands never expecting to be
obeyed.
Mary sinks to her knees.
"Unzip me!"
Mary unzips him.
"Take it out!"
Mary gently removes his flaccid penis, letting it hang out of
his charcoal gray suit. Power pulses through Charles. It surges
through his body like an electric current. His heart thumps as
if he had just finished running a race. By God! He loves it!
Just thinking about the control is making him hard. He grabs
his rapidly growing penis and rubs it boldly across Mary's lips.
Some of her coral red lipstick smears off onto the side of his
dick. Just when Charles does not think it can get any better,
it does. From her kneeling position, Mary lifts her green eyes
upward and gives him an encouraging smile. Looking up at
her husband's face, Mary smiles thinking how Tommy and
not Charles is forcing her into sex. Mary imagines Tommy
as a cupid of love, and her smile broadens. Emboldened by
this smile, Charles starts talking dirty.
"Suck me, you bitch!"
Mary wraps her coral red lips around his fully hardened dick.
She sucks him with an eager wetness Charles never enjoyed in
their 18 years of marriage. Sucking on his cock like some
whore, Mary is going to make him climax in no time. Realizing
the problem, Charles pushes her down on the bed.
"Spread your legs, you slut!"
Mary eagerly spreads her legs. Charles thrusts his hand under
her dress. She is not wearing any panties. He probes her
with his fingers. She is wet. His fingers make a satisfying
squishing sound as they plunge into her pussy. The feel of his
hard bony fingers plunging into her cunt awakens Mary's lust.
"Fuck me. Please fuck me," she begs him.
"Beg for it, you slut!"
"Please fuck me!"
"You want my cock?"
"Yes, I need your hard hot cock."
"Take your tits out, you whore!"
Mary scoops her breasts out of the top of her dress pushing
them together with her hands. Charles bites the nipples on
her breasts and slams his cock into her at the same time. He
is brutal. Taking only what he wants. He wastes no time
worrying about the pleasures or pains of his wife. Forcing
her to bend her legs in the air, he thrust deeply inside her
until the head of his dick hits her cervix. He pumps into her
without mercy, expending much of the pent-up resentment
from the pending divorce. He uses her. It is not an act of
love, but neither is it rape. It is pure sex for the selfish pleasure
of only one person, Charles Drummond. He fucks his wife
mercilessly. He fucks her like a teenager. His climax is quick,
but long and deep. He floods her cunt with his jissum.
Not bothering to kiss or hug his wife, Charles immediately
withdraws after climaxing. He dresses quickly looking with
satisfaction at the goo oozing from the lips of her pussy. Her
knees still bent, Mary has made no effort to cover herself.
"The divorce is off." Charles tells Mary. "I'll have the
attorneys void the dissolution agreement this afternoon."
Numbed by the assault, Mary parrots his words, "The divorce
is off," she concedes without protest as Charles leaves the
bedroom. She is exhausted. Her knees tremble. She did not
climax, but the emotional tension of surrendering to her husband
has left her drained. Like a cancellation stamp, her sexual
submission has voided the divorce. Mary assembles the pieces
in her mind. Tommy will measure the success of her seduction
by the cancellation of the divorce. Without the divorce, he will
retain his power to blackmail her. The illogical thought flickers
briefly in Mary's mind that her son, Tommy, has fucked her by
not fucking her. He has chosen incest by proxy. Tommy has
fucked his mother through his father. Saving the marriage was
Tommy's goal from the very beginning. Tommy was using sexual
blackmail to play cupid with his parents. All the pieces fit, but
Mary is still immobilized with doubt. She speculates about
Tommy's motives instead of cleaning herself up. She can feel
the cum oozing out of her cunt.
Without knocking, Tommy enters the bedroom. Embarrassed
by her position, Mary drops her knees hoping the short floral
dress will cover the goo between her legs. He is carrying a
tablespoon, tapping it softly against the palm of his hand.
Tommy bends down over Mary's head. She can see her face
reflected on the back of the silver spoon. It looks like he's
going to kiss her in gratitude for cancelling the divorce, but his
lips slide down the side of her face. With his lips so close, she
can feel them against her ear, Tommy whispers, "From your lips
to your lips."
Mary closes her eyes. The whispering sounds poetic. The
words tickle her ear. With her eyes closed, Tommy's words
remind Mary of her wedding vows, "From your hand to my
hand, with this ring I thee wed". She thinks her son is about
to recite a poem until he inserts the cold metal spoon between
her lips. Opening her eyes in horror, Mary knows how Tommy
will make a precise measure of how well she seduced her husband.
"Time for dessert," Tommy whispers.
___________________________________________________
If you liked this story, look for other stories by Dafney Dewitt