Date: Tue, 19 Feb 2019 20:30:39 +0000
From: Michele Nylons <michelenylons@msn.com>
Subject: Bisexual Authoritarian Story - Seven - Day 1: Sloth

Seven
by Michele Nylons

Day 1: Sloth

The first day of Michele's terrible ordeal was triggered by the simple fact
that she forgot her son's fifteenth birthday. Her son Mike was used to
being neglected; he was born to his mother in her twenty-fifth year,
fathered by a stranger, and totally unwanted. Michele would have aborted
him if she could; but she had grudgingly given birth to her son and kept
the baby only because of family pressure on her not to adopt him out.

Michele predominantly ignored Mike from the moment he was born; she
tolerated his presence like someone might tolerate a pet they no longer
loved but didn't have the heart to put down. She fed and clothed him, paid
his school fees and gave him pocket money but that was the full extent of
her nurturing.

As a baby Mike had a succession of nannies, they were really just local
women who worked cheap; drunks and deserted wives with kids of their
own. He received no loving there either. Once Mike entered school he was
pretty much left to himself. He made his own way to and from school, made
his own breakfast and lunch; and often his own dinner. After school and on
weekends he was left to his own devices; his mother had no interest in how
Mike progressed at school; she did not attend parent teacher meetings or
school functions and she counted the days until Mike would finish his
education, get a job, and move out.

In his early his teens Mike bought a dog which he named Sultan. The dog
loved him and showed him the devotion that was lacking from his
mother. Mike tried to love Sultan in return; but as he had no real concept
of what love was; Mike treated Sultan the same way that he was treated by
his mother. He fed the dog and bathed him when he needed it but other than
the odd pat on the head the dog was neglected.

Michele grudgingly took her son along on the few family gatherings that she
bothered to attend; Mike would mostly just sit quietly and obediently;
smiling occasionally when spoken to. Everyone thought him well mannered and
well behaved. Mike received a few Christmas presents every year and he
would open them sitting under the tree on his own whilst his mother sat on
the lounge drinking coffee laced with rum.

His birthdays were different; every birthday until his fifteenth, Michele
had made the effort to buy him a cake and place the requisite amount of
candles on it. She would light the candles and he would blow them out and
she would give him a hug and a kiss and hand him a little present.

Mike could give a fuck about the present; he craved the hug and the
kiss. It was the only time his mother ever showed him affection. Mike knew
that it was phoney affection but he loved being held against his mother's
soft warm body, her breasts like pillows against his chest, enveloped in
her perfume, the lingering taste of her lipstick from the single kiss she
planted on his lips. He craved his annual allowance of affection and this
year the bitch had forgot his birthday!!!

Michele worked as a legal secretary at Dewey, Cheatem and Howe; a medium
sized law firm in the city. Just the wrong side of forty; Michele realised
that she had reached the pinnacle of her career supervising three other
legal secretaries preparing legal briefs for the lawyers; her hopes of
climbing the corporate ladder long gone. When she first joined the firm she
had dreams of continuing her law studies at night school and eventually
getting a law degree. She watched the young, thin, female attorneys with
envy; clattering around the office in their high-heels, elegantly dressed
in business suits, sheer hosiery, perfect makeup and coiffured hair.

Michele never actually signed up for any legal courses; she spent most of
her evenings and weekends with a succession of bad boyfriends or married
men who promised to leave their wives, but never did. The men always
promised her that they would help her career and ease her journey up the
corporate ladder but their promises proved empty.

She modelled her appearance on the young attorneys; pencils skirts and
jackets, pumps, hosiery, hair and makeup; but she didn't quite get it
right. Her skirts were too short and too tight fitting and their
kick-pleats showed too much thigh. Her jackets were also too tight and her
blouses revealed too much cleavage. Her makeup was just a little too heavy,
her lipstick and nailpolish too red; her heels and her hair too high. She
wore too much perfume.

The other secretaries and female lawyers laughed at her behind her back
because they knew she was trying to dress like a lawyer but she looked like
a hooker. The men at the firm also laughed at her behind her back but; they
lusted after her because of her looks and the way she dressed.

A lot of the firm's lawyers and business associates preyed on her, using
her expectations of promotion and her naïveté to bed her and then
drop her like a hot rock. She was sometimes passed around from man to man;
always expecting to be treated better than the last time, to be loved and
respected, but she received neither love nor respect. After nearly twenty
years at the firm she had become a joke.

She still dressed the same; but her age was catching up with her. Her face,
still attractive, was showing signs of wrinkles that no amount of Botox or
makeup could hide. She found it difficult to stick to a regimen of exercise
and strict diet and her buttocks had spread a little; she had become wider
in the hips, and her once perky breasts now sagged. She still had great
legs and a pretty face and the older lawyers occasionally asked her out;
but the lavish champagne dinners at popular restaurants were a memory. Her
dates now took her to dark dingy bars where they would not be seen by
anyone they knew; and then on to a cheap hotel.

Michele was angry at the world and took her revenge where she could. She
didn't really hate the men who used her; she was naïve, but not stupid,
she knew what they wanted from her before she went out with them. She did
however hate the female lawyers and legal secretaries who she knew laughed
at her behind her back and ridiculed her; so she took out her vengeance on
them. Her subordinates were treated with distain and were overly
supervised; chastised for minor errors or omittances in their work and
given little leniency or flexibility in their hours and routines.

Some of the female lawyers found subtle errors in briefs prepared by
Michele's legal team; errors that could severely embarrass them in
court. They could never directly attribute these errors to Michele; she
proffered perfectly good excuses or blamed her subordinates for the
errors. She was protected from retribution by the men in the firm whom she
ensured received impeccable briefs and manuscript from her team; it also
helped that most of the men had either fucked her or wanted to fuck her.

She also took out her frustrations on her son Mike. She blamed him for
having to work to support him so she couldn't go to university full time to
finish her degree. She blamed him for the men who used her but were not
interested in a permanent relationship with a single mother. She blamed him
for her perceived failure as a good daughter in the eyes of her mother and
father because she had borne a bastard child. Michele blamed her son for
everything in her life that she hated about herself.

She never beat him; she never berated him; she never neglected his health;
she never deprived him of money. She just ignored him. Michele only spoke
to him when necessary and Michele and Mike could go for weeks saying only a
few words to each other. Most nights and weekends she left her son to his
own devices whilst she pursued her own dreams and desires. Michele was
grateful that Mike was well behaved and that he was very capable of looking
after himself.

Michele blamed her son for her shitty life but she didn't hate him; she
felt nothing for him; with the single exception of his birthday. For some
reason she couldn't fathom; on his birthday she felt a bond with her
son. She remembered the day he was born and she held him in her arms; his
blue eyes staring lovingly up at his mother. It wasn't love that she felt
for him on his birthday; it was sentimentality. It was the one day of the
year that she could bear physical contact with her son. She hugged him;
kissed him; smiled at him and gave him a present. And then the coldness
returned.

Mike had grown up cold and alone; deprived of love and happiness he had
learned to look after himself at a very young age and to love no one in
return. He was intelligent and mature and adept at keeping up the
appearance of normality. He lied to his teachers and his few friends and
told them that his mother was a highly placed lawyer in a prestigious legal
firm and was far too busy to come to school functions or community events.

He could forge her signature perfectly and he signed his own report cards
and permission slips. He was a straight-A student and was probably the most
well behaved boy in school so there was never any reason to summon his
mother down to the school. Mike wrote his own notes explaining why his
mother couldn't attend parent teacher meetings and signed them with his
mother's signature. The teachers had enough on their plates without chasing
up the mother of a well behaved proven academic; whatever the lawyer woman
was doing at home it was working they thought. Besides she got to see his
report cards and commendations so why bother a busy woman?

Mike was content with his life; he knew no other. He knew that his
relationship his mother was the antithesis of the relationships that other
kids had with their mother's, but he was resigned to live the life that
providence had designed for him. In his own way, he thought, he had
privileges that none of the other kids had.

He came and went as he pleased; did whatever liked, whenever he wanted to;
he managed his own allowances; bought his own clothes; ate what he
liked. So long as he stayed out of trouble his mother could care less what
he did and when.

Mike was a good looking lad and was often approached by pretty young girls
at his school; but their advances were politely but firmly turned
down. Mike was in the throes of puberty and it was not that he was
disinterested in sex or that he was gay. Far from it; Mike's hormones were
raging and he thought constantly about sex. But not sex with young pretty
cheerleaders or even with the young women who graced the pages of the sex
magazines that his friends had stolen from their father's stash.

Mike could sit in class surrounded by young nymphettes showing off their
legs, breasts and arses and not become aroused. His economics teacher, the
youngest female teacher at the school, whose tight young body and pretty
face provided most of his male classmate's with masturbatory fantasies,
held little interest for him. One day she gave a whole lesson sitting
perched on the edge of her desk unwittingly showing the V of her pretty
pink panties between her sightly opened legs and every boy in the class had
left the room with a boner. Every boy except Mike!

But Mike had the hots severely for his English teacher Ms Jones. Ms Jones
was close to fifty but still attractive and she usually wore tight-fitting
navy-blue or black skirts and suits, satin blouses, heavy makeup, hosiery
and high heels. She had an hourglass figure but her buttocks were generous
and her breasts large and soft. She had only to bend down to pick something
up or to stretch up at the whiteboard causing the kick-pleat of her skirt
to open and display a glimpse of silky slip or sheer-hosed thigh and Mike
was instantly hard. Whenever Ms Jones came to his desk and looked over his
shoulder at his work, her proximity and the smell of her perfume would
produce in him an erection so hard that he would have to leave the class
holding a book over his crotch to hide the bulge and wet spot at the front
his pants.

At home, alone in his bedroom, Mike searched the internet for pornography,
as did all boys his age; but Mike didn't search for naked nubile young
girls being taken by young studs. His tastes were very specific; he
searched for pictures of middle-aged women dressed in business clothes,
uniforms or smart work attire. He didn't even like the stunning MILFs with
their tanned and sculptured bodies; he wanted mature and attractive women
who looked their age; a little worn, bodies starting to spread and sag with
age; but dressed sophisticatedly.

Mike first started to enter puberty when he was about thirteen and it was
then that he discovered the delights of the bathroom laundry basket. He
would remove his mother's soiled clothing which had been infused with the
odours of her body and traces of her perfume and, robbed of her touch and
affection; he would hold her clothes against his body and inhale her scent
and imagine his mother hugging him.

One evening, home alone and locked in the bathroom, he held one his
mother's satin slips against his naked body and found that he had developed
an erection. The slinky feel of the slip gliding softly over his erection
and the scent of his mother's perfume invoked an involuntary but violent
orgasm. After that he took to sneaking items of his mother's soiled
clothing into his bed, masturbating into her lingerie whilst inhaling the
aroma of her panties; sometimes he would even wear her lingerie while he
sniffed and licked at the crotch of her soiled panties.

Mike developed his fetish over the years, surfing the internet and visiting
online chatrooms where others shared his penchant for mature woman and
obsession with their intimate clothing. Whenever his mother went away and
left him alone for the weekend, which was quite often, he indulged in a
special treat.

Mike would raid the laundry basket and return to his bedroom with his
treasures and lock himself in. He would take a pair of mother's
sheer-to-the waist pantyhose and stuff the legs with foam rubber or tissue
paper to fill them out. Then he would then stuff a pillow into the top of
the pantyhose so that they filled out to resemble the bottom of a human
torso. He would then slide a pair of his mother's nylon or satin panties up
the legs of the torso and adjust them over the panty part of the pantyhose
and then dress the torso in one of him mother's slips and sometimes a
skirt.

Mike would arrange images of mature women dressed in business suits and
elegant and sophisticated clothing, posing provocatively or engaging in
sex, along the wall at the top his bed. He would lie the torso down on the
bed, propping it up with more pillows, and then hump away at the torso
whilst looking at the pictures until he reached climax. By turning the
torso over after each emission he could fuck the mannequin repeatedly over
the course of the weekend.

Mike was careful to make sure that he washed his mother's clothing after he
had used it for his masturbatory fantasies. His mother was a sloth and he
was expected to take care of most of the chores around the house anyway and
this included doing the washing.

When his mother was away from home Mike also explored his mother's lingerie
drawers and her walk-in wardrobe and was excited to find some fetish
clothing. He had never found any of this in the washing basket; his mother
kept it secret. In her lingerie drawers he found packages of silk and nylon
stockings, some with back-seams and reinforced heels and toes and an
assortment of garter belts to hold them up. He found a couple of satin
bustieres and corsets and even some crotchless panties and peek-a-boo
bras. He had seen women dressed in lingerie like this on the internet and
found them very arousing.

In her wardrobe he found a nurse's uniform made entirely of white satin
with a ridiculously short hemline. He also found a black latex cat-suit
fitted with a zippered crotch and nipple-holes. In a box at the back of the
wardrobe he found two sets of handcuffs, a ball gag and other restraints.

As Mike got older he realised that his mother had many 'gentleman friends';
although she seldom bought them home. He began to comprehend that his
mother was probably having sex with at least some of these men; and having
found his mother's secret hoard of fetish clothing; he could understand why
some men especially sought after his mother.

Mike did not really fantasise about his mother when he used her clothing
for sexual gratification; he had a picture in his mind of a mature sexy
sophisticate who dressed and smelt like his mother; but who was not
actually his mother.

Forgetting Mike's birthday was the catalyst that triggered Michele's
ordeal; but she was also, unknowingly, directly responsible for the way
Mike decided to respond.

Because Michele treated her son as though he was invisible, she didn't care
too much about how she conducted herself in his presence; nor was she
especially aware that her son was maturing or that he had entered puberty.

Michele thought nothing of coming home from work and kicking off her heels
and collapsing on the couch, her skirt hiked up showing off her nylon
encased legs and sometimes her panties. On some evenings when she was
getting ready for a date she wouldn't bother to finish dressing until the
last minute so that her clothes remained fresh and unwrinkled and she would
walk around the house in just hose, heels and slip; wearing her heavy
makeup and jewellery, drinking wine and talking on phone.

One day Mike came into the kitchen and found her straddling a kitchen stool
dressed just so; her legs spread wide showing off her pantied crotch. Mike
stood at the door to the kitchen staring at his mother whilst she was
oblivious to his presence. He took in her heavily made-up face; pretty but
world-wary; his eyes drifted to her full creamy breasts stuffed into a red
satin brassiere; then down to the small roll of tummy fat caused by the
tight waistband of her black nylon slip.

Her slip had ridden up her legs and was bunched at her waist displaying her
full-cut panties; the same red satin as her bra. The front panel of her
panties was stretched tight and, through the diaphanous nylon of her
pantyhose, a few wisps of pubic hair could be seen escaping the crotch of
her panties. His mother's legs were clad in lustrous, sheer-to-the-waist,
taupe pantyhose, and his eyes followed her legs down to her simple but
elegant black high-heeled pumps; a silver chain glittered on one ankle.

As she prattled on into the phone, totally unaware of the presence of her
son, she was smoothing the wrinkles out of her nylons; her long red
fingernails contrasting magnificently against the sheer flesh-coloured
hosiery. An empty wine glass sat on the counter and when she finally became
of Mike's presence she picked up the glass and waved it at him; indicating
dismissively for him to refill it. She didn't even bother to close her
legs.

Mike refilled his mother's glass and then raced up to his bedroom and
relieved himself into a pair of his mother's soiled panties.

Such displays were common; and Mike's fascination with mature women who
looked and dressed like his mother grew proportionately.

And so the tension built until it exploded on Mike's fifteenth
birthday. Mike spent all day at school thinking of nothing else but his
birthday cake and his birthday present; but most of all he longed for his
mother's birthday hug and kiss.

On Mike's birthday Michele had a lousy day at work and when she was finally
finished for the day she was glad it was over. She walked to the darkened
parking garage, her heels clattering on the cement floor, and looked
through the window of her car. The boxes containing Mike's birthday cake
and present sat on the back seat; she had gone to the mall at lunchtime to
pick them up.

She climbed into the driver's seat, her tight skirt riding up her thighs,
and was about to start the engine when someone rapped on the passenger-side
window. It was Bill McGregor; a new partner at the firm. Michele smiled at
him and punched the switch and the window slid down. She was a little
surprised when he put his hand through the window and opened the door. Bill
was a big man and had to squeeze himself into the passenger seat.

"What can I do for you Mister McGregor?" Michele asked; her eyebrows
raised.

"Call me Bill please," he said "I wanted to talk to you; but I wanted to
talk to you in private."

"Really; what about?" she replied.

"Well as you know I have recently joined the firm and have taken over as
the office manager and one of my jobs is to supervise the legal
secretaries,"

"Yes I know; I got the memo," Michele replied a little sarcastically.

She was in a hurry to get home and wanted Mr McGregor to get to the point.

Bill reddened; he looked furtively at Michele's exposed thighs and then
looked nervously around the car park and went on.

"Well one of my duties as office manager is to enforce the dress code and I
have to say Michele that your choice of clothing and makeup comes very
close to breaking the code," he said somewhat nervously.

"And you needed to tell me this in the car park," Michele said; this time
very cynically.

Bill reached over and put a sweaty hand on Michele's thigh and squeezed.

"See what I mean; your skirt is so short that it has ridden all the way up
your thighs," he huffed, his face getting redder and beads of sweat
breaking out on his brow.

Michele made no effort to remove Mr McGregor's hand from her thigh. She was
naïve but not stupid and she knew what was really going on.

Bill McGregor was a fat balding married man in his early sixties; and now
that he was the office manager he was her supervisor and he could make her
job as easy or as hard as he wanted to. She was not unused to being coerced
by the superiors of the firm. She only had herself to blame in some
respects; her reputation as an easy lay had been built up over the years;
submitting to men of wealth and power who promised plenty but delivered
little. She decided to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"Ok Bill; I think we can resolve this issue to both of our satisfaction,
but not tonight; I have to get to an important appointment," she said.

"Well I'm a busy man Michele, and as I am your superior so I think we
should resolve this issue now," Bill replied, making every effort to exert
his authority.

Bill began to stroke her thigh just below the hem of her navy blue skirt;
in the silence of the car his sweaty fingers rasped on her sheer
hose. Michele reached down and tried to remove Mr McGregor's hand but he
gripped her thigh and leaned over and hissed in her ear.

"Don't play hard to get! I know all about you; so why don't we resolve this
issue right here and right now and then we can forget all about your breach
of the dress code!"

Michele had little time for Mr McGregor's foolish games; she had been at
the firm too long and knew too many senior partners to be threatened by
him.

"Come on Bill; I really have to get home, I'll call you tomorrow and we can
make a date," Michele said sweetly, trying to be polite.

"Fuck tomorrow! You've been parading those legs and that arse around the
office all week and I want my share!" Bill growled, getting angry now.

"Fuck off Bill! What do you think I am!" Michele responded indignantly.

"I know exactly what you are!" Bill said and squeezed the top of her thigh.

He groped at Michele's legs, running his fingers under her skirt and up and
down her nylon encased thighs. Michele tried to slap his hand away but he
was a big man and he put all his weight on one hand to hold her down in the
seat while with his other hand he took her hand and forced into his lap.

Michele knew what the fat man wanted; a quick wank in the car park. Michele
decided to let him have his way but not to make it too easy for him; she
didn't want him to think that she was a pushover; but she did want to get
home soon.

She could feel Bill's cock tenting the front of his trousers. He was
panting and moaning and his face had become even redder; sweat streamed
down his forehead and ran into his eyes. He let go of Michele's hand and
opened his flies and freed his thick stubby cock.

"For fuck sake Bill let's get this over with shall we!" Michele sighed;
finally exasperated.

She wrapped her fingers around Bill's penis and he moaned; pawing at her
thighs with his free hand.

"If you ladder these fucking stockings Bill, you'll buy me a new pair!" she
whined at him.

"Well pull them down love and they won't get ruined," Bill laughed.

"Just get out your hankie and have it ready please; I don't want my
upholstery stained," Michele said smugly in reply.

Michele stroked Bill's hard stubby penis poking out of the front of his
trousers, trying to get him to come as soon as possible. As one of his
sweaty hands pawed at her under her skirt; the other hand fumbled in his
suit jacket looking for his handkerchief.

Bill's fingers were now digging into her labia through the layers of her
underwear and she squirmed down into the seat in discomfort. She wriggled
around trying to get him to stop groping her but at the same time wanking
away at his cock, trying to get him to orgasm quickly.

Then she felt his fingers tear through the gusset of her pantyhose and push
aside her panties; grating against her outer labia lips. His fingers rubbed
frantically, grinding at her dry cunt.

"Now you've ruined my fucking stockings and if you think that rubbing me
with your fingers like that is in anyway enjoyable you're wrong," Michele
said, becoming incensed at Bill's tenacity.

"Well I like it!" Bill laughed and dug his fingers deeper inside Michele's
labia, probing at the entrance of her vagina.

"Oh fuck this!" Michele said, finally at the end of her endurance, "Take
your fucking hand out of my panties and lie back and let's get this over
with!"

She put her free hand under her skirt and was finally successful in
removing Bill's hand out of her crotch as he lay back in the seat in
anticipation of what was to come. Michele lifted herself up out of her seat
and leaned over; difficult in the cramped car, until her face was in Bill's
lap.

"Oh suck it Michele," Bill moaned; and he pushed down on Michele's face
until she had no choice but to take his appendage into her mouth.

She sucked at Bill's cock, managing to take his entire stubby appendage
into her mouth; her lips locked around the thick shaft leaving traces of
her lipstick as she bobbed up and down. She alternated between flicking her
tongue along his frenulum and suckling his glans. Michele was an
accomplished fellatrix and Bill's wife had last blown him on their wedding
night forty years ago so it didn't take him long to climax.

"Oh fuck Michele!!! Yes!!!! Yes!!! Yesssssssssss!!!! Bill moaned as he
climaxed and forced Michele's face into his lap with both hands pushing on
the back of her head.

Bill's cock exploded in her mouth and Michele swallowed his issue and
continued to milk him with her lips and tongue. Michele was a pragmatist
and she would rather swallow all of Bill's semen than have him spill any of
it on her car's upholstery. She sucked him dry and licked him clean and
then lifted her head out of his lap.

Bill, affecting a scintilla of gentlemanly behaviour, offered Michele his
handkerchief. She wiped her mouth, and being a lady, she wiped Bill's
slowly deflating penis clean with the hanky and then tucked his shrinking
member away inside his trousers and zipped him up.

She lifted herself up in her seat and straightened out her underwear and
pulled down the hem of her skirt.

"Fuck me Bill; you've ruined a pair of my best sheers," she complained as
she saw the damage Bill had done to her pantyhose.

"Well let me make it up to you then," Bill said, mopping the sweat off his
brow.

"How?" Michele asked indifferently as she pulled down the visor and began
to repair her makeup in the mirror.

"How about dinner at Beethoven's?" Bill replied; a smile crossing his face.

Michele was surprised and flattered; Beethoven's was one of the best
restaurants in town. It was the sort of place where she used to be wined
and dined when she was younger and still had dreams of success.

"My wife's out of town so we can go and have dinner and if anyone sees us
we can say it's a business meeting," Bill grinned.

Michele knew that she should say no and go home to her son and celebrate
his birthday; but the offer of dinner at a swank restaurant with a big-shot
lawyer was too tempting.

"Ok; an early dinner and then I have to go straight home," Michele replied.

As it turned out Michele could have saved herself from an ordeal, and from
what turned out to be the worst dinner she'd ever had, by simply saying
no. She spent the whole evening in a darkened booth at the rear of the
restaurant trying to keep Mr McGregor's hands from under her skirt. He
constantly pawed at her, continually complimenting her on her appearance in
a futile effort to get her to capitulate and let him grope her.

Michele stayed too long and drank too much. Bill was frustrated; Michele
continually thwarted in his efforts to grope at her under the table nor
would she reciprocate and fondle him. As well as having to deal with Bill's
constant pawing at her, he kept insisting that she go to a hotel with him
after dinner.

The final straw came when she returned from the ladies a room, a little
unsteady on her high-heels, to find that Mr McGregor had slipped his cock
out of his pants and when she sat down he took her hand and tried to get
her to fondle it under the tablecloth.

Michele gulped down her wine and abruptly stood up and walked out.

Meanwhile at home Mike was seething. His mother was a cold hearted bitch
but she had always come home to celebrate his birthdays with him. He fumed
and boiled with rage until he eventually snapped. The years of neglect and
sexual tension took their toll and Mike coldly made plans to take his
revenge.

Mike went up to his mother's bedroom and took the handcuffs, restraints and
the ball gag from their hiding place in her closet and then went down to
the basement.

The basement of their house was used as a rumpus room, it was carpeted,
insulated, and was connected to the central air and heating systems. There
was a large screen TV and a DVD player, an old couch and two overstuffed
lounge chairs; and on a desk in the corner, an old HP computer with dial-up
internet. Other than his bedroom; this was the room in which Mike spent
most of his time; his mother happy to have him out from under her feet and
Mike happy to be away from her abject neglect.

He made some special preparations in the rumpus room; turned on a reading
lamp and turned off the ceiling lights; then he went upstairs and turned
out all of the lights in the hallway and the adjoining rooms. He sat in the
gloom; the only light in the hallway provided by the dim light escaping
from the open door to the basement. Mike had made a sap by filling one of
his socks with sand and he sat there in the dark and pounded the sap
against his palm; refining his plan and waiting for his mother to come
home.

Michele parked her car in the driveway; she was intoxicated from the wine
that she had drunk at dinner and she had to concentrate carefully on the
road during the drive home. She was still seething with indignity; it was
bad enough that Mr McGregor had forced her to wank him off in the car park;
but the dinner had been a disaster.

She tottered drunkenly on her high heels to the front door, completely
forgetting about Mike's birthday cake and his birthday present sitting on
the back seat of her car. Mike's birthday was the furthest thing from her
mind at the moment. She unlocked the front door and entered the hall; she
noticed that hallway lights were out and she was reaching out for the light
switch; then she suddenly lost consciousness as Mike bought the sap down on
the back of her head.

Mike struggled with his mother's limp body but eventually he had her where
he wanted her down in the basement. Mike went upstairs and ensured that all
of the windows and doors were locked and the lights out. He rushed back
downstairs, and after a while he had his mother arranged exactly how he
wanted her. He was sweating with the exertion of having to manipulate his
mother's body and when he had finished he stripped off his clothes and
surveyed his handiwork

Michele's body sagged against one of the basement walls her wrists manacled
to an exposed overhead water pipe, her legs spread wide and her ankles tied
to a weight lifting bar that Mike had long ago stopped using but now came
in handy. Her head lolled forward and Mike stepped forward and raised her
face; her heavy makeup was smeared and she reeked of booze and cigarette
smoke but a feint trace of her perfume still pervaded his nostrils. He
kissed his mother on the mouth; forcing his tongue into her slack mouth.

"Happy birthday to me; mommy!" Mike murmured, and then stepped back to look
at his mother.

Her hair was mussed and her lipstick smudged; her suit jacket was open and
her cream-coloured satin blouse had come out of the front of her skirt
which had ridden up her thighs when he'd carried her down the stairs. Her
legs were stretched wide, causing her navy blue skirt to ride further up
her legs and the kick-pleat to open up obscenely displaying her
thighs. Michele's ankles were tied to the weight lifting bar; her
high-heels rested on the floor but because she was unconscious most of her
weight was taken on her wrists.

Mike gradually became aware that he had developed an erection whilst look
at his mother's trussed body. He looked down at his tumescent member, the
glans red and angry and dripping clear pre-seminal fluid, the shaft long,
thick and veiny. He idly stroked it as he looked at his mother tied up
against the wall.

He stepped forward and again kissed his mother's unresponsive lips; he
lifted her skirt and rubbed his cock up and down against her pubis through
her panties. The feeling was exquisite and he felt his orgasm
approaching. He tucked the hem of her skirt into the waistband exposing his
mother's body up to her waist. He noticed the hole that Bill McGregor had
torn in the crotch of her pantyhose and sneered.

Mike took a step back and wanked furiously at his throbbing member and just
as a climactic convulsion shook his body he saw his mother's eye's open.

Michele screamed as her son ejaculated over her supine body. His sperm
scalded her legs; ropes of creamy hot semen soaked her red satin panties
and nylon encased thighs. Mike shuddered and groaned and another stream of
warm semen splashed over his mother's body and legs, splattering her satin
blouse, dripping down her skirt and soaking into her stockings and panties.

Michele screamed again and Mike smiled.

This was going to be fun!

To be continued


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Michele Nylons

michelenylons@msn.com