“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 without 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 like 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 loses 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 than 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 your hands and knees. Say, I’m a 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.