NEW: Mommy's Bottom Drawer [cd,femdom] 3/5
Pervitron
were like everyone else's: acne, Quaaludes, rock bands, and wet
dreams. I did all right, but I didn't have many friends, isn't
that the only thing that matters when you're a teenager? I was on
the fringes. I was good looking, but the jocks ruled my high
school, we had the best basketball team in the county, and that's
all anybody cared about. My school worshipped our athletes, the
chiseled, hard boys with quick moves and restless cocks swaggered
through the halls. They got all the action.
I never had a date in high school. There were probably girls who
would have gone out with me if I had asked, but I was too shy, I
didn't have the nerve. Besides, I wasn't interested in girls who
would go out with me. I wanted the special ones. I wanted the
cheerleaders. Girls like dark angels, sent by some unholy ruler
to show us how flat, how empty life would be without the promise
of their flesh. They might give blow jobs to the boys on the team
in the bus after the game, but for guys like me they had icy
contempt. Still, I couldn't stop dreaming about them, the way
their micro skirts flashed their silk panties, and the way they
pulled their panties tight underneath, so the stretched fabric
would show the shape of their mounds.
I went to all the basketball games, I'd get there early so I
could sit down low, right in front of their line, not really
caring that they blocked the view of the team. It was them that
I came for, the row of glorious, tight asses that danced, that
got me stiff with desire. I knew it was a joke with them. They
noticed I was there every game, and they knew why. Girls like
that love attention, the love the rain of desire that falls on
them from the looks of men. I'd see the smirk in their faces as
they turned towards me during one of their dances. They'd blow me
mock kisses while they all wiggled their ass for the boys on the
team. I didn't care, I was on fire inside. Their contempt, the
satisfaction they took in teasing only added to the erotic
thrill. I was surrounded by a crowd of kids and parents, I'd
have a boner pushing out the line of my shorts. Finally, it got
too much, I'd have to get up from the seat, and walk through the
crowd. Never mind that my excitement was obvious to anyone who
looked closely. I had to get away, to go somewhere alone, and
masturbate.
So I was a jerk off all through high school, my desire for girls
was too intense, too overwhelming to relate to one normally. I
was sick with fear that someone would find out my secret: I still
loved to dress, it was still an escape from the expectations, the
hard things you had to do to be a real boy. My secret life was a
world of lace and frills, of soft scents, and fabrics so smooth
and sexy that I wanted to cry when I put them on. The only
person who knew about this, other than my family, was Cliff, and
he moved away after my sophomore year. Only my mother and
father knew about my "strangeness." Not that anything was ever
said again. The incident with my mother's drawer was never
mentioned. Now when my mother went shopping in the afternoon, I
just went to my room and wacked off.
I never dared to go in her drawer again, yet still I had a secret
stash of pretty things. I got them because I earned them - I
became just like my father. I did as I was told. As I grew older,
she grew more demanding, she began to treat me the same way as my
father. I was given a strict, unalterable schedule of chores.
There were a number of areas in the house that I was expected to
keep clean when I'd come home from high school. I scrubbed the
kitchen and bathroom floors, and polished the wood of the stairs.
Every day. She'd come home from work at night and step around
the kitchen in her heels, inspecting the cleanliness of the
corners and the quality of the shine. She wouldn't say anything
if it wasn't right. No, she'd wait till she sat down to dinner,
and then she'd start in on me. She'd start with the insults,
call me by my nickname: "Tissy" She'd tell me what a hopeless
shit I was, and I'd feel the tears well up in me. I'd run to my
room, and swear to myself I'd do better.
I got my stash because I did do better. By the time I was a
junior in high school, I could clean like a whirlwind. I was
determined she'd find no fault in the execution of her
assignments. But I did more than that. Like my father, I began
to develop an intense alertness to her moods, her needs. I
don't know how I learned - I guess it was just the way of things
in my house - but I would watch her closely; I learned to detect
her unstated wants. I'd see a small look of annoyance in her
eyes, and I'd notice a pile of untidy magazines. I'd notice her
lips get tight, then I'd see that the windows needed cleaning.
Somehow I knew I was supposed to do these things, but without her
telling me. It was as if she was training me for a whole new
level of attention. She'd come home the next day, and while she
was inspecting the kitchen or bathroom floor, I'd tell her what
I'd done, and it was satisfying to see her smile at me. She'd give
me a kiss, and I was in heaven again.
And more than that. It might be the next day, it might be the
day after that, but soon after I did my extra service I'd come
home from school and find a present on my bed: a box wrapped in
shiny pink paper, with a large, red bow. I'd feel an inner
thrill, I'd close the door before I went over to the bed and
opened it. It would have a card, a simple thank you from Mom.
I could hardly restrain my excitement as I opened the wrapping.
I'd smell the perfume as I opened the box. It was always
something truly lovely! Mom had excellent taste when it came to
lingerie. It might be a pair of panties and a matching
camisole. Or sometimes something simple, like a pair of shiny,
loose fitting silk undies. Whatever it was, I was hard as a
rock just opening the box.
I loved wearing the stuff she bought for me. I always put it on
right away, I'd be shaking with excitement. I'd spend a delicious
few minutes sashaying in front of my mirror, loving the look and
feel of me in my new teasewear. I felt like every cell of my
outer skin was alive with sensation. This was a private heaven, a
soft, sensual world of my own, where I could be myself. I took my
time, caressing my raging cock within the soft folds of its new
fabrics; I wanted to treasure the moment. I wanted it to last.
Sometimes it would take a full hour until I could wait no longer,
I'd let myself go, shooting all over the bed. I'd take the new
items off, and carefully fold them. I had my own bottom drawer
now, I'd add them to my stash. I'd leave the panties on, though.
I'd put my boy clothes on over them, and I'd go downstairs and
thank mother. She'd be sitting in her chair in the living room,
relaxing. She'd see me coming and smile, she could tell by my
mincing walk and the distracted look in my eyes that I was
"dressed" underneath. I'd grow excited again as I approached her;
The truth was, she had an unbelievable erotic charge for me now.
I'd give her a kiss on the cheek, and say "thank you", and she'd
look at me with those lovely eyes of hers, and give a little
titter, and she'd say: "Just don't make a mess in them, dear." It
felt so good, I felt like such a ... slut, that I'd almost make
my mess, right there.
There were many things I did for her, many presents. My father
and I hovered around her, we were like busboys at an expensive
restaurant, watching some rich bitch complain about the service.
We never spoke about her, this pull she had over us. Gradually,
as I received more gifts from her, I started putting them in the
wash, with the rest of my clothes. My father always did the
laundry, my precious things were washed, folded and placed in my
drawer without comment. And I saw now that he had things of his
own, there were colors and fabrics in the wash that must have
been his. So Dad was a secret sissy too.
We never spoke of her, the two of us. She exercised a silent
dominion over us. We'd each be doing our housework, finishing
up our respective chores as the hour of her arrival approached.
In this we were together, but there was still a great gulf
between us. He was nothing to me, the more I became like him,
the more contempt I had for him as a man. Still, there was
something in him that I envied. The services I did were
pleasing to her, I knew. But I also knew that despite her
dismissal of him, her mockery, the many times I heard her speak
of him with disgust to her friends, he had a path to her that
would always be denied me. The services he did could be far
more intimate, I could only imagine the sweet pleasures she drew
from him during the night. And if my rewards, my pretty things
were my encouragement, then oh! What gifts might he be getting?
**
I was 17 when I learned who Vernon was. I came home unexpectedly
in the middle of the night. I was supposed to spend overnight
at my friend's house, we were planning on partying since his
parents would be leaving. But they never left, so there was no
reason to stay over.
I arrived home about 2AM, and found a strange car in the
driveway: A black Lincoln Continental. Dad's car was out in
the street. When I went into the house, I saw Dad on the couch,
fast asleep. I wondered if he was in some sort of trouble, it
wasn't unusual for her to banish him from their room for a few
days. I went upstairs, and when I passed my parent's bedroom I
got the shock of my life. I could hear my mother moaning through
the door. And there was someone else, there was a man in there. A
man with a low deep voice, he was saying things to her while she
was crying. I stopped by the door and listened for a moment.
The bed was rocking, I could hear the obscene shivers of the
springs, and it was clear that my mother was getting the fucking
of her life. I was rooted to the floor, I couldn't move, so
fascinated was I by the sounds, especially by the sound of her
voice. There was a tone of endearment that I had never heard
with my father. I had never heard her act so so feminine. She
was talking to him in a loving way, the man was pleasing her so.
I walked on to my room. I stripped off my clothes, and climbed
into bed. I could still hear the low voices, I just lay in bed,
listening to them, and trying to understand why I felt the way I
did. Yes, the sound of her thrilled me deep inside, my prick was
stiff with excitement. I had to do it - pulled my meat to the
sound of their cries in the room next door. They seemed to go
on all night, just when I thought they were asleep, I'd hear them
start all over, the bedsprings would come to life, and she'd be
screaming again.
I met him in the morning. I smelled bacon and eggs when I
walked down the stairs, and when I turned the corner I saw my
father through the kitchen doorway. He was standing at the
stove, cooking breakfast in his pink robe. He had a pair of big,
fluffy slippers on his feet, as if he was trying to look
especially ridiculous today. He didn't know I was home; when he
saw me approach, his mouth dropped open. He had the look of a
trapped animal in his eyes. When I entered the kitchen, I saw
why.
There was a big black man sitting at the head of the kitchen
table. He was right at home, he was wearing a T-shirt and boxers.
He was leaning back in the chair reading the newspaper, and he
had his feet up on the chair across from him. When he saw me he
looked up from the papers, and when I met his black eyes I saw
how handsome he was. His skin was coal black, his face had
sharp, angular features that were striking, in particular the
long, sensual lips that opened in an easy grin. His teeth were
brilliant white: "Hey, You must be Timmy. I'm Vernon, I work with
your Mom. How you doin'." He held his hand out towards me without
sitting up straight. He was completely comfortable, as if this
was his kitchen, and I was the visitor.
I walked over and took his hand. "Hi." I couldn't think of
anything else to say. I walked around the table, and sat down.
He made no move to be polite and move his feet.
I looked at him as I walked around. He looked to be in his late
twenties, and I could tell he was tall, and lanky. There wasn't
an ounce of fat on his body; He was all bones and tightly
stretched muscle. He was laying languidly, easily in the chair.
This was the stately, deceptive repose of a dangerous predator.
He had a large diamond stud in his left ear, and there were a
half dozen gold chains around his neck. I could see the ridges
of his hard belly beneath his T-shirt. As I sat down, I took a
quick, furtive glance at his shorts. He was hung like a horse,
I could see the outline of his hammer snaking along his thigh,
almost out the edge of his long boxers. It wasn't so much the
length of it, although that was impressive. It was the spread,
the fullness of it! Testosterone city.
"Good you got up. You Dad here is making everyone a nice, big
breakfast." He was smiling at me, he found this amusing.
"Ain't that right, Tom?"
Dad had his back to us, at the stove. "Yeah." I could hardly
hear him, he kept his back to us as he answered.
Vern looked at me. The grin was gone, he spoke to my father
without looking away. "What's that Tom?" I could hear an edge in
his voice.
There was a moment of silent tension, and then my father said:
"Yes, sir." He said it a bit louder than last time, his fear won
over his shame.
"That's it, you my man." Vern looked at me with a big, wide
grin. I looked down, in shame. We sat in silence for a few
minutes, while my father finished everyone's breakfast. The
only sound was the sizzle of the eggs, and the sound of Vern
turning the pages of the paper, every once in a while he'd
whistle a little tune, I could see that he liked this, he liked
where he was right now. I kept quiet, still feeling
disorientated. Every few minutes, I snuck another quick look at
his shorts.
My mother came down the stairs, and breezed into the room. She
looked radiant this morning, she was wearing a white silk
nightgown that ended midway down her thighs, and she was barefoot
beneath that. I could see her hard nipples in the thin sheen that
covered her chest. She had a calm, contented air about her. She
wasn't expecting to see me; when she did, her expression clouded,
but just for an instant. She recovered quickly, she came and
sat down on the other side of the table, next to Vern. He gave
her a kiss, on the lips, as my father came over with the coffee
pot.
"So I guess you guys have met." He filled her cup, then poured
some hot coffee into Vern's.
"Yeah." I said this quietly. I still didn't know what to say.
It was so obvious what was happening, it was so twisted, so far
beyond even the strange things we did before.
"Vern is another partner at the firm. We've worked together a
long time." This made me uncomfortable too, I wasn't used to Mom
ever explaining herself, but I knew that was the only concession
we'd make to propriety. We'd never mention it, the three of us,
we'd act like this was perfectly natural. Woman did this all
the time, they had their husband cook breakfast for their lovers.
Breakfast continued. I ate in silence while Mom and Vern spoke
about the firm. I was fascinated to hear the way she spoke to
him; I realized that I'd never heard her speak so respectfully,
so deferentially to a man before. She agreed with everything
Vern said, she laughed when he laughed, and when he reached his
hand down on her knee and caressed her inner thigh, she blushed
and batted her eyes like a schoolgirl. For some reason, I found
this extraordinarily exciting, I kept imagining him pleasing her
last night. I kept looking down at his boxers, fascinated by the
size of the man. The thought of her underneath him, the reaction
of her eyes to the push of that big thing inside her, thrilled me
in a way I couldn't explain. My cock stiffened with every look
she gave him. Yes, this was beginning to make sense.
While this was going on, Dad had moved into the laundry room, I
could hear him ironing, and I knew without looking that he was
working on Vern's shirt. When he was finished, he hung the
pressed white shirt on the laundry room door, and came back and
cleared the table. Vern and Mom got up. I realized how big he
was then. His shoulders were wide and muscular, his T-shirt
hung loosely over his thin waist. He made no effort to conceal
the huge thing in his shorts. They walked out of the kitchen
together. Vern said: "I left my shoes by the door."
I left the kitchen right after them, leaving my father at the
sink. He was doing the dishes, and he wouldn't look at me. I
went back up to my room to get dressed for school. When I passed
Mom's room, I could hear them inside, they were showering
together. I stood there by their door, listening to the talk and
laughter. An incredible charge flew into my balls. Yes, they
were doing it again, this time in the shower. They were
partying, making no effort to keep quiet. I could hear her scream
with delight. I imagined him behind her, reaching his big arms
around her, pulling her ass close up against him. I reached into
my panties and stroked myself. When I heard them shut off the
water, I ran into my room and shot my load onto my bed.
I got dressed for school and came downstairs.
My father was shining Vern's shoes in the living room. He still
wouldn't look at me. I went over and sat down next to him, and
he continued what he was doing, as if he was dead inside, nd his
body was working on autopilot. After a minute I picked up one of
the shoes and a brush, and I started brushing along with him. My
father stopped what he was doing, and now he looked at me. We
said nothing; there was no need to speak of this.
Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Share what you know. Learn what you don't.