NEW: Mommy's Bottom Drawer [cd,femdom] 2/5

[Pervitron]

**

Fifteen minutes later, we were standing by the sink, I was back
in my boy clothes, watching him wash her panties in warm, soapy
water. The washer was going, but he calculated the time against
the fact that they'd have to be dry when she got home. So he'd
have to do them by hand, before we threw them in the dryer. I
watched him wash them, he rubbed the soap into the areas I had
soiled with the tips of his fingers, and rinsed them by holding
them under the faucet. He kept doing this, as if there was some
residue of me that was only visible to him. I would have given
them just a quick dunk under the faucet and them thrown them in
the dryer, but for all the panic he showed before, he seemed
unable to move quickly now. Once he started washing her panties
he seemed to get lost somewhere, he looked down calmly as he
rubbed soap into them, mesmerized.

Strange, he'd never mentioned sex to me, whatever I knew of it
was from the Playboys I had stashed upstairs. And here I was
standing next to him, watching him wash my spunk off his wife's
panties. Nothing was said, but there was an undertone of
sympathy between us, as if he understood why a boy would want to
wear her clothes, and I understood the hold she had over him. I
knew how overwhelming the her presence was.

I don't know where I got the nerve, it was so unlike me, so
unlike the two of us to speak of such things. I broke the
silence. "Dad, she must be really, ... nice when she's wearing
... that?" Since I experienced puberty I understood some things
that always mystified me. They didn't fight anymore, but I
remembered some arguments that happened when I was small, I
remembered the shouting, and the tears, and the days of tension
afterwards. But most of all I remembered one thing: the
argument didn't end until he said he was sorry, and said it the
way she wanted to hear it. In the days afterwards he'd be after
her, desperately try to hold her, give her hugs or kisses, but
she'd act cold, uninterested, she'd turn her back on him with
crossed arms. The more distant she seemed the more desperate he
got. I'd hear him at the door of their bedroom at night, pleading
to come in. I knew then as a small child that she held all the
cards, and as I saw him rinse her panties, we both understood the
source of that power.

"She's ... really special." He seemed so far away as he said it,
as if he were lost in some inner dream, under a spell.

And then our world unraveled. I heard the car in the driveway.
She was home, almost an hour early. "Dad, she's home!"

In an instant, he shut the water off, raced to the laundry room,
The panties were dripping with soap, but he was oblivious. He
opened the dryer and threw the panties in. It was the easiest
place to hide them, for now. We'd have to improvise. Just as he
closed the dryer lid, she opened the door.

My mother strode into the house, with a small Bloomingdale's bag
hooked on her arm. Of course, she was impeccably dressed, today
she was wearing a white, knee length fur coat, it was cinched
smartly around her waist by a black belt. Black and white was
the theme, her hair was naturally jet black, thick and lustrous
it fell around the sides of her face in long, graceful waves.
She stood in the foyer in her black pumps, taking a moment to
survey her home. She glanced around quickly, measuring my
father's progress on the chores, noting that the washer was
still going. I knew he'd hear about that later. Before she
started upstairs, she told my father to get the rest of the
packages from the car. As she placed her foot on the first step,
I walked over to her. She bent slightly to accept my kiss. I
smelled her once again, once more I was lost for a moment in her
delights. She looked at me briefly, I felt her gaze into my
eyes. I looked away, feeling that if I allowed too long a look,
she'd see what I'd done. I watched her climb the rest of the
stairs, listening to the crack of her heels on the steps, seeing
the shape of her lower legs in her pumps.

Did we remember to close her drawer? Shit! Were the stockings
and garter still laying on the floor?

I knew we hadn't put them away before she got to the top step. I
looked out the front window and saw my father walk towards the
house, carrying her bags. I just stood there, like I was
underwater, drowning in the sick knowledge of what was about to
happen. My father seemed so far away as he came in the door, his
face was red from the cold, and from the weight of her bags. She
did a lot of shopping in just an hour, he had at least five bags,
plus a coat box, and two large hat boxes. He was foolish, and
tried to do all this in one trip. He struggled to get them
through the door, turning this way and that, until he found the
right angle to get the bulk of her purchases through the door.
He continued up the stairs, I noted his shortness of his breath.
I watched him climb the stairs, unable to speak. When he got to
the top, and turned to enter their room he stopped dead in his
tracks.

"Come in and close the door behind you!"

I didn't dare go up there, and try to hear what was said inside
that room. I was anchored to the bottom of the stairs,
listening to the drama that was played out. He did all the
talking, I couldn't hear the words, but I didn't need to in order
to understand what was happening. This wasn't the first time I
had heard him called to account. He was fighting for an
explanation, desperately trying to convince her of some innocent
reason why her intimate things were scattered about.
Occasionally I'd hear an impatient question from her, she was
having none of it. He'd try again, he'd try a different
explanation, but all that accomplished was to make things worse.
He was like a foolish driver digging his way deeper into a
snowdrift. Then I heard a slap, and I had no doubt that he was
on the receiving end. Then another, and another. Now he spoke
again, and this time I knew with a sinking heart that it was the
truth. After a few moments of silence he opened the door and he
called out to me. "Your mother wants to see you." Shit!

It took forever for me to climb the stairs. When I got to their
room, she was standing by the bed. She had taken her coat off,
she was standing there in her white dress. It clung tightly to
her body, showing the curve of her hips. It was tight enough on
top to reveal the tips of her nipples. I thought of her walking
in the mall like this, the stares that she'd get. Her arms were
crossed across her chest, she looked at me, down at me really,
from her perch on her high heels. I felt her gaze burn into me.

"How DARE you! Go through my ... things!" Her look was
unforgiving, pitiless. A coldness rose within me, I had the
sudden fear that I had lost her affections forever. "Well, what
have you got to say for yourself?"

Indeed. What could I say? That the scent of her, the sheer ...
idea of her, clasped and trussed, held tightly in hose and belts,
down there, down around the sacred precincts between her legs,
was too ... alluring to resist. That I would do anything for
some contact with her, even indirect contact, through things she
wore. Did she have any idea how lovely, how desirable she was,
even when she was angry? No especially when she was angry, I
realized with a start how ... alive I felt, knowing that in the
coldness I felt, that there was some secret language, a secret
exchange between the fire in her eyes, and my cock, my cock that
burned through the fear like a hot iron as she spoke...

"OK, Mister, I'll deal with you after dinner. Get out of here,
now!" I turned and left, closing the door behind me, leaving my
father there, inside.

I don't remember much of that afternoon, between that first
discovery, and dinner. If it was like the other weekend
afternoons, my father would have been busy making dinner, and my
mother would have been on the phone, talking with her
girlfriends. Exchanging gossip and idle chit chat, while she lay
back in her easy chair, dangling her high heeled slipper pump
over the edge of the footrest. I'd watch it swinging there,
suspended on the slightest catch of her toe, it was tantalizing.
The pink, furry ball on the arch buckle, the teasing curl of her
sole, the brilliant red of her nails, nails that were always
freshly painted, never marked or chipped. Every once in a while
my father would refill her drink. He'd take the empty and return
with a fresh glass, and he'd bend down and give her a kiss. He'd
keep the fire near her chair going, and as he walked back to the
kitchen he'd take a last glance, like a waiter checking to see
that everything was in order. She loved those talks with her
friends, the lazy afternoons. Girl talk and giggles, and the
talk about men, sometimes in the most explicit terms.

All of this took place in my home, it seemed the most natural
thing, like this was the true and natural order of the world.
Women get waited on, they get pampered, primped, because they
have something we need, something we can't live without,
something we can get if we're, well, perfect.

She started in on me during dinner. After my father sat down,
she started with the comments. "I had no idea we had a little
... sissy ... in our family." Sissy. My face was beet red, I ate
my meal with my face down. "Tom, can you image that, a twelve
year old boy who likes to wear girls clothes!" My father tried
not to take the bait, he kept silent too. So she continued.
"Tom, have you had a talk with this boy?" I could tell she
wasn't expecting an answer, she was just having fun. "Maybe you
need to tell him what boys are supposed to know? Hum, Tom?" Dad
just continued to look down, he wasn't going to look at her, he
shot me a quick, surreptitious look. I could tell what she was
going to say. "hmmmm ... as if you'd know." I chanced a look at
her, she had a faraway look on her face, a look of pleasure, her
expressive lips were curled in an unknowing smirk, the fun of
tormenting my father danced upon her face like bright daybreak.
"No,... maybe I'll..." The air was dead silent, these were
uncharted waters, she was drilling for a hidden nerve she knew
all about. "... maybe I'll .... have... Vern ... show him!"

That got him, he looked up at her at last, wide eyed, and said
"No!" It was the first, and only time I ever saw him get angry at
her.

She saw the look on his face. She would have none of it. "Timmy,
wait for me upstairs!" I did as I was told, I could feel the
silent charge between them on my back as I left the room. I knew
he was going to get it, she wouldn't accept any back talk. He'd
probably spend a week on the couch.

When I got to her room, I saw that it was back in order. Her
drawer was closed, and the offending garments were no longer on
the floor. I sat in the bed, wondering what was happening
downstairs, but I couldn't hear them. The silence from
downstairs was ominous, I knew how cruel, how vicious her silent
anger could be. Soon thoughts of them receded into the
background. There were far more, well, interesting things here.
I looked at myself in her vanity mirror, and then up at her
shoes. So many of them I couldn't help but look at them, they
seemed so ... precious ... up there, sitting on the bed looking
at them was like being in the center of an amphitheater. Each
shoe was utterly different, each seemed designed for a special
... mood. I had a sense of wonder at the diversity within me,
knowing that I couldn't actually choose just one as my favorite;
each seemed to speak to a different wish within me. They each
looked so fine, so special. I was lost again, the erotic buzz
was back, I was hard in my pants again.

I heard her heels on the wooden surface of the stairs. She had
finished the quick business with my father - now it was my turn.
I jumped off the bed as she entered the room, as if I had done
something there to be guilty of. She strode into the room and
came towards me, knowing exactly what she would do.

"Look at me." She took my chin with her left hand, and drew my
face upward. Still, I hesitated, the thought of a close look
from her frightened me. She'd be able to see my thoughts, my
desires... Seeing the reluctance, she pinched my chin between
her thumb and forefinger, shook me slightly, and said again:
"Timmy, look at me."

When I met her eyes, I saw with wonder that she wasn't angry at
all. "Mom..." I started to speak when I became trapped in her
gaze, held suspended between those magic halos around the black
well of her soul. Her eyes caught me like a snare, I was lost
in them, and couldn't speak. No, she wasn't angry, it was worse:
she was amused.

"So tell me, little man, what is this ... fascination ... with my
stuff." She knew, of course, but she wanted to hear me say it.
Better to be beaten, screamed at, than have to tell her my
feelings, about the thoughts and desires she aroused in me. She
said this with a smirk, contempt poured from her eyes down on me.
I kept silent, I just looked back at her, in shock, unable to
speak.

But she knew her little boy. She slid her finger up to my cheek,
and stroked me there with the tips of her fingers, the outer edge
of her nails. It was a slow, teasing caress. It sent an electric
current straight down to my cock, I felt like I would explode,
right there in front of her. "Come on! Tell me, little man."
And she bent down and gave me a soft kiss, pulling gently on my
lips. Ohhhh!

"Mom ... I just like to see the things you wear. They're ...
special." I hesitated to tell her, and with each successive
word I grew more excited. My heart started slamming within my
chest, leaping at the proximity to her, the sense of intimacy
from telling her things like this.

"And they give you a special feeling, I bet?" She continued to
looked deeply into my eyes, I was grateful to hold her gaze. I
didn't want her to look downwards, and see the obscene bulge in
my pants.

"Oh, shit yeah!" I said, before I caught myself.

Suddenly, having said it, her mood changed. She drew back from
me, and looked cold and bitter. "Listen ..." I almost screamed
from confusion, what was going on? She was so moody, so
unpredictable! Her moods were like summer thunderstorms.
"...listen, you little sissy..." Sissy. It was a word that cut
deep into me, especially the way she spat it out, like she had
something dirty in her mouth. I started shivering inside, from
the shock of her transformation. I recognized the mood,
remembering how she spoke with my father. "... I better not ever
catch you going through my stuff again." She grabbed my chin
roughly, held it between her clenched fingers and shook my head
from side to side. She was hurting me. "You understand, you
little shit!"

"Y-y-yes, Mom." I could hardly get the words out, she was
squeezing my chin and mouth so tightly. I felt like a bug
beneath her, so helpless before her. And despite the pain,
despite the tears there was another feeling. A feeling of ...
lust; the cut of her contempt was carving a new channel within
me, a secret canyon of pleasures too deep to speak of.

She let me go, and studied me for a moment, looking down with her
arms folded across her chest. I just wanted to get out of there,
I realized I had started to cry, a tear was rolling down the side
of my cheek. I knew I would never be a man, like other men, so
complete was my humiliation. "Tell you what..." Her eyes
brightened as an idea formed, I had to look away. "...since you
like my stuff so much, maybe you can wear something of mine."
She was grinning from ear to ear. "You can wear it to school
tomorrow." She was real happy with herself. "Yeah, something ...
really pretty!"

**

Of course, the next day was a gym day. My class was in the
locker room changing into our gym clothes. Or rather all the
other guys were changing, I was doing everything but. Acting
like there was a knot in my shoes, while the other guys stripped.
I kept dropping things to stall for time. Almost all of them
were naked when I was just taking my shirt off. I took the time
to hang it in the locker while they were putting on their shorts.
I took off one sock at a time, and put each one into the locker.
It looked like I'd be OK, the group started moving towards the
doorway. Mr. Lackman joined the stream at the back, saw me still
getting ready, and said "Come on! Lets go!".

"Sorry," I said to his back. I was going to make it.

I started undoing my belt, moving like lightening now. Then the
door opened, and one of the other students came in. Shit! It
was Cliff, a thin little geek with thick glasses, he got picked
on a lot. The word was, he was a fairy, so no one wanted to be
associated with him. He walked over to his locker, it was only a
few feet away. "You late too, Tim?"

What was I going to do now? I had nothing left to take off,
except for my pants, he was standing just a few feet from me. He
already had his shirt off. Finally, It came to me. "Lackman
said he wanted to see you..." Yeah, this might work. "... now!"

"Why?" I could see his questioning eyes, he always got picked
on, every day someone did something to make him look stupid.
But never me, in fact I usually felt a little sorry for him.

"Don't know - but he seemed pissed!" Anything to get him out of
there.

Once he was through the door, I knew I had to move quick, since
he'd be back any minute to get dressed, wondering why I had lied.
I only had a minute or so. I looked right and left quickly,
confirming that I was alone, and I pulled off my pants.

There I was, standing there in the sweaty locker room in Mom's
panties. She didn't pick them. No, she made me do it, she
wanted me to participate in my own embarrassment. I hesitated,
but seeing that she was determined, I figured I may as well
select a pair that I really liked. So there I was, a sissy in my
red satin undies. They were so soft and shiny, and despite my
discomfort, despite the shame I had felt all morning and my fear
of being discovered, I had a stiff hardon. It was like there
were two separate parts of me, an outer shell and an inner, well,
an inner ... girl, that liked soft fabrics and pretty things
against my body.

Those thoughts raced through my head in just a few seconds, but I
would have no time to savor them. No, Cliff would be back any
minute, wondering why I played a trick on him, probably figuring
I was just mean, like the other boys. So I had to get dressed.
I reached into my locker for my gym shorts. They weren't on the
top shelf, I looked down and started searching beneath my pile of
regular clothes. Shit! Where were they? I grew more frantic,
throwing everything from my locker onto the floor, desperate to
find something to cover myself. I heard the door open quickly,
and there was Cliff.

"Hey Tim, why did you ... " He looked down and saw what I was
wearing, his eyes jumped back and forth between my face and my
panties, and a grin started to surface. I felt so humiliated! My
face was probably as red as my panties. "Nice undies, Timmy!"
He was grinning from ear to ear, I could see how he enjoyed this.
For once in his life he was on top, he was the one who could poke
fun, to tease, and make someone cry from shame.

"All mine were in the wash, so I had to ..." I didn't bother
finishing, I could see the look of amusement on his face. I
tried another tack. "Listen, Cliff, maybe we can keep this
quiet." I was trying to come up with something I could offer
him, and even as I thought, I realized how unequal our positions
were. Me, standing there in my panties, and him, knowing he
could ruin me with a few words. He'd be free of all the abuse,
because I'd become the target.

He started unbuckling his belt. Real slow, with this evil grin
on his face. "Yeah, we can keep this quiet." He unzipped
himself, pushed his pants down slightly, and pulled his cock out
of his underwear. "C'mon, you little faggot, show me how secret
we can keep this." His eyes were shining brightly, he knew he
had me, he knew I would do it.

That was my first of many blowjobs. I remember every moment of
it, the scent of him, the strong, full boy odor, the taste of his
scrawny hair, and the look in his eyes when he was just about to
unload in my mouth. He wouldn't tell anyone, I knew, because I
had done him so nicely, I could see in his eyes the thrill beyond
all speech.

Of course, he'd want me to do this again, and of course I would,
to keep my secret.

When I had finished him, he went into class, and I stayed behind
to find my shorts. I felt a strange unexpected calmness, some
inner joy at passing a boundary that I was more relaxed, less
frantic, so I found them easily, I had already taken them out of
the locker. They were on the bench, under my school clothes. I
put them on, covering myself, and so when I went into gym, I
looked just like all the other boys.

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