The lure of sexual domination can be a powerful factor in sexual experiences. Once we are taught that sex (through toilet training and modesty reinforcement) is verboten, as is so often done in our early years, it may require the pleasurable forced sex to achieve whole satisfaction.
The following novel is typical of just such relationships, dealing with the seduction of young boys coupled with the enforced gratification of normal sex urges. Add the spice of the mystery of sensuality of women's undergarments, and you have Stella, school psychological counselor and Dominatrix unparalleled. She is truly a master at what she is studying: Sexuality in young boys-and what she enjoys: Mastery of young boys-including her daughter and virile son-in-law!
CHAPTER ONE
Timmy Fickas, the adolescent cub reporter for the North Jefferson School semi-weekly newspaper, The Maneater (so named after the school's various athletic teams, all called the Tigers), was sweating and twitching nervously as he sat in the small Guidance Counseling office. He was interviewing the part-time counselor, Mrs. Stella Hartley. At least, he was trying to. The mature woman had just crossed her legs with slow deliberation, prolonging the delightful whisper of nylon rubbing against sheer nylon as she did. At the moment, the boy's eyes were feasting on the shapely, beautifully stockinged legs of the woman.
"You were asking?" Stella Hartley teased the boy as he licked suddenly dry lips.
They were sitting together, side-by-side, on the small, red vinyl office couch. She had left her desk just a few moments ago to take a seat beside the boy so they could "talk easier," as she had said. But the seventh-grade student wasn't finding it easier. She had sat close to him, very close, and the warmth of her body, her soft, intoxicating perfume, and now the thrilling sight of her deliciously curved legs in smooth, shiny, dark, fine-denier hosiery was making it hard for him to speak.
"Er-I-let me see if I've got this all straight now," the lad managed to tear his wide eyes away from her nyloned gams long enough to consult his notes in the spiral-bound book. "You've been an assistant guidance counselor for-uhhh-"
"Nine months, now. I started last summer."
"Uhhh, right. And before that, you were-were-"
"A common housewife, Timmy. My husband, Mr. Jason Hartley, died some years ago. I recently received a Masters in Psychology from Washington University, so when this job became vacant, I took it to keep busy. I was living in Bel-Air, and my daughter and her husband were nice enough to let me come here to Fenton to live with them." She smiled as she watched the little boy scribble furiously in his notebook. "Am I going too fast for you, dear?"
"N-no," Timmy looked up with a frown. "I'm supposed to ask you about your family and all that," he said, a bit apologetically.
"Stella arched her eyebrows at him. "You're supposed to ask me?"
"Uh-huh. Mrs. Medford, the paper sponsor, told me to. I-I'm kinda new at this."
"Oh. I see," and her voice sounded disappointed. "And here I thought you were asking all these questions because you were interested in me."
"Oh, gosh," Timmy sputtered, uncomfortable. "I-I didn't mean it that way, Mrs. Hartley. I'm interested in you; sure I am."
"Mmmmm, good," she purred at him, teasingly. "I'm glad you're interested in me." Her dark eyes were openly provocative as she stared into his wide eyes.
"Uhhhh-uhhhhh-" Timmy gulped.
"Now. About my family." Mrs. Hartley leaned back, causing her already short skirt to ride up higher on her thighs, giving Timmy a generous view of how her rounded, heavy thighs stretched the sheer, silky fabric of her stockings, "As I said, I live with my daughter, Barbara, and her husband, Miles. They have a son, Bobby-" and here she smiled very warmly at Timmy-"Who's only about a year younger than you, dear. That's my family."
"Gosh," Timmy was obviously amazed, the way his mouth hung open, displaying his buck teeth. "Gee-you-you have a grandson-just a year younger than me? That means-that means-"
"That's right, dear. I'm a grandmother. You see, Timmy, dear, I've just turned forty-eight."
"Gosh-gosh-I can't believe it-" Her smile was even wider and warmer. "Why, thank you, dear. Such a sweet compliment. You don't think I look that old? Hmmmmmmm?"
"No-no way!"
Stella gave a little, musical laugh of pleasure at the cute little boy's words. However, his reaction was understandable. Stella Hartley was a tall, buxom, well fleshed out woman-with the flesh in all the right places. Her form was generously curved and firm, showing the pleasing effects of constant exercise and dieting. Her breasts, which stretched her 38D brassiere, ballooned out the front of the clingy, lime-green dress she wore. The garment was low cut, displaying the delectable top mounds of her big bosom, and the deep cleavage between. Her figure hour-glassed down to a very trim waist, the ballooned out in the back with her large, firm, but soft buttocks and flaring, flesh-padded hips. The dress hugged her voluptuous figure like a tight glove. Her short dress hem was high enough to show off perhaps her best feature: her long, long, lovely legs, which were delightfully enhanced by a pair of smooth, sheer tan nylon stockings. And those shapely, nylon-sheathed legs were further highlighted when she walked by the open-toed, black patent leather pumps with the five-inch stilletto high heels she wore.
Indeed, the only indication of the woman's mature years could be found on her slightly lined neck and face. Stella always wore heavy makeup, eyeshadow, rouge, lipstick, etc. But it couldn't hide the slight crow's feet at her eyes and the lines on her high forehead. But her face, framed by her long, thick blue-black hair-now done up in a bun at the back of her head-was still quite darkly beautiful with its large, wide, intense black eyes, sooty black eyebrows, long, angular, aristocratic nose, high cheekbones and thick, pouting, bee-stung lips.
At the moment, the middle-aged woman was training those peculiarly intense, prodding eyes on the sweating, now-quivering little boy sitting beside her on the couch. There was both lust and a strange determination in her eyes. Young Timmy found her eyes haunting. His wide, innocent blue eyes couldn't seem to break away from her intense, black eyes.
For a long moment, the woman and the boy gazed into each other's eyes, in the manner of a snake and a helpless bird. Timmy's notebook and Bic pen lay forgotten on his lap.
"So you think I don't look my age, dear." Stella Hartley's voice was soft, but husky with passion. "You sweet boy. You little flatterer. Do you think I'm pretty, dear? Hmmmmm?"
"Tell me, dear." Her voice was still soft and sweet, but there was a note of firmness in it that made the lad tremble more and his eyes widen as he continued staring into hers.
"I-I d-do."
"Does it excite you to sit close to me? Does it make you feel-sexy?"
Timmy quivered more. "Yes-yes-" The middle-aged woman's heavily made-up face was slightly flushed now, with both victory and rising passion. She licked her lips, slowly, deliberately. Then she recrossed her legs, slowly sliding one slick stockinged leg against the other, and the whisper of nylon against nylon was now loud in the deathly quiet little office. Outside, the murmur of voices and the slapping of feet were audible, but both woman and boy were oblivious to the sounds. Her dress slipped even farther up on the smooth fabric of her hose, and now Timmy could see completely up her thighs, see the darker, rolled welt top of her stockings and the winking chrome tabs at the end of the thin, black garter suspenders that held them up. The sight of creamy white thigh, dark stocking welt and black garters was dizzying to the boy.
"Look at my legs, dear," Mrs. Hartley softly commanded the sweating little adolescent beside her.
Timmy did just that. His eyes were swimming with immature arousal as they raked up and down, down and up, the mature woman's fully exposed stocking-clad legs, lingering over the heavy, rounded thighs, dimpled knees, swelling calves, trim ankles and large, but shapely feet, all sleek and smooth and incredibly sexy in the taut, gauzy, dark-tinted nylon hose. The lad also took note of her stockinged feet in the high heeled pumps with her sweet, nyloned-snugged toes visible.
"Like the way my nylons look on my legs?" Stella asked, teasing the sweating boy some more.
"Ohh, yes, yes," he panted.
"I noticed you looking at them before, dear, I could see you were a real leg man-a stocking fetishist. I'm not putting you down, dear. Most men-and boys-are, to some extent. I learned that from college. Besides, I like wearing stockings and garters for men who appreciate them. In fact, when I knew you were going to interview me today, I put on these nylons just for you."
Timmy's head jerked up from her lovely nyloned legs back to her intense black eyes. "R-really?"
"Yes, dear. Really."
"B-but-why?"
Now her eyes were simply devouring as they stared into the boy's. "Because you make me feel sexy, too, dear. From the very first time you came to my office. I want you, darling. I want us to make love."
"Gosh-gosh-" and Timmy looked down, his face flaming with embarrassment and shock.
"Don't you want to, dear. Hmmmmm?"
"B-But w-we can't -we can't-it's wrong-wrong-" He started to rise. "I-I'd better leave now-"
"Sit down, dear."
Timmy hesitated.
"Sit down." Again, the commanding tone. Timmy slowly slid back onto the couch. "Look into my eyes, dear." Timmy held his head down. "N-no-I-I Won't-"
"You will." Her tone was quiet but intensely domineering. The boy, his eyes still averted, trembled anew at the sound of it. "Look in my eyes, dear. Look."
"Slowly, the boy raised his head, as if unwillingly. But his eyes locked into hers again. They grew very wide, and he trembled, hard. Her eyes were humid and prodding and very, very intense.
"That's right, dear. Look into my eyes. That's right. Look into them, dear, look. Look. Look deeper... deeper... deeper. Keep looking, dear. Deeper... deeper... deeper... deeper... deeper... deeper... "
Her voice was soft, sweet, almost motherly in tone-and very compelling. The boy's wide eyes were very wide now-but were losing their animation now. They were becoming glazed.
"Just keep looking into my eyes... good boy... deeper, dear, go deeper... deeper... deeper... "
Timmy's body was relaxing against the back of the couch. His eyes were glazed and unblinking.
"Now, darling, your eyes are getting tired... so tired... you are so tired... you want to sleep... sleep... sleep... " Her soft voice went on with its compelling, commanding tone. "You are sleepy, dear... very sleepy... you want to sleep... sleep .."
The boy's eyelids were drooping now, and his head was beginning to sink down, down, toward his chest.
"You can't keep your eyes open... you are alseep, now, dear. Alseep. Sleep, Timmy. Obey me and sleep."
Timmy's eyes closed now and, with a sigh, his head dropped.
Stella Hartley sighed, too, and there was exultation, lust and lewd depravity in that sigh. Her eyes were now nakedly glittering with lust as she surveyed the now hypnotized little boy sitting beside her. She had to take several deep breaths before she could settle herself somewhat from the excitement she was experiencing.
She reached out and began to stroke the sleeping little boy's sweaty forehead with a shapley hand.
"Can you hear me, Timmy?" she murmered.
"Yes... " the boy mumbled.
"Yes-Mistress-" she corrected him.
"Yes, Mistress," Timmy mumbled again, deep in the trance.
"I am your Mistress, dear. You will obey me unquestioningly. You will do everything I command you to do. Do you understand?"
"Yes... Mistress... "
"You have no will of your own. You will obey me completely. Do you understand me again?"
"Yes... Mistress... "
"Then repeat your Mistress' commands."
"I-I will obey you-do anything you tell me. I got no will. I will obey you."
Again, her face flushed with triumph.
"Good, i dear. You learn fast and well. Your Mistress is very pleased."
"Th-Thank you, Mistress."
Now the middle-aged woman leaned forward and spent some minutes having the little boy repeat his instructions, making certain he was deep in the hypnotic trance. Finally, she sat back, satisfied.
"Now, dear, I want you to stand before me and remove all your clothes."
The boy trembled, but obeyed. Walking on unsteady feet, he placed himself in front of her, next to her desk, and began to undress, fumblingly. But his extreme adolescent shyness and uncoordination seemed to excite the middle-aged guidance counselor all the more. Her nostrils flared and her breathing increased as she watched. Timmy haltingly pulled off his sweatshirt and dropped his jeans on the carpeted floor. He kicked off his Adidas sneakers and pulled off the white tube socks. He stood before her now, his skinny, short, hairless body naked, save for his white cotton BVD shorts.
"Take off your briefs, dear," Mrs. Hartley commanded.
The lad trembled, but he obeyed her. He pushed down on the shorts and an instant later, they were in a pile at his feet.
"Ooooooohhh, dear. You have such a nice little cock." Stella licked her painted lips as she gazed at the boy's adolescent cock. The hairless, small organ was evidently aroused, the little cock shaft swelling and stiffening, the small, wrinkled ball sac with its fuzz of pubic hair beginning to draw up, the little balls outlined in stark relief. "I can see it's getting hard, darling. That's a good boy.
You obeyed your Mistress well."
"Th-Thank you, Mistress,"
"Now it's my turn to undress. Won't that be nice, dear?"
"Ohhh. yes."
"Yes, what?" and her voice was. firm again. The naked boy trembled before her at that. "Y-Yes, Mistress."
"You sweet boy."
So saying, the woman rose to her high-heeled feet and walked over to her little, hypnotized love slave, her heavy, stockinged thighs swish-swishing together as she walked, which made the boy squirm and his cock harden more. Now she was standing beside him, a full head taller than the lad.
"We don't have much time, dear," she murmured to him, reaching down, low. Her fingers slipped around the boy's jutting erection. He moaned as she began to fondle his cock and balls, softly, expertly, as she felt the penile shaft throb and stiffen in her hand. "There are all sorts of nice, naughty things I want us to do together. And we will, dear, we will. Sometime when we have more time. But you have to be back to class soon, or someone might- wonder. So we'll have a nice, quick cum together." She softly, lovingly squeezed his erecting little cock. He moaned at the exquisite sensations her grasping fingers caused.
Now she stepped back a bit. She reached back behind her and fumbled a moment. The metallic sound of a zipper being pulled down was loud in the quiet room. Mrs. Hartley shrugged her white shoulders, and the dress slithered down her body and shimmered to the carpet. She stepped out of it.
"How do I look, dear?" she asked Timmy.
The hypnotized thirteen-year-old boy trembled like a leaf now as he looked at his Mistress. Her white, flawless skin contrasted vividly with the skimpy black lace bra, heavy with her breasts, equally skimpy black panties. Stretched to the splitting point by her wide hips and big buttocks, thin black lace garter belt that hugged her hips tightly, digging into the flesh there, as did the thin, stretched black suspenders on her heavy rounded thighs, and long, taut, smooth tan nylon stockings that rendered her lovely legs so smooth and dark and sleek. Her open-toed spike-heeled pumps completed the erotic picture.
"Well, dear?" Stella prodded him. "How do I look? Hmmmmm?"
"Gosh-gosh-you're so sexy, Mistress-"
"I'm glad you think so, dear."
Swiftly, she reached back behind her again and the black lace bra fluttered to the floor. Seconds later, she reached down, her freed, meaty breasts jiggling as she did, and her panties slithered down the smooth silken stockinged way to her feet. Timmy's hypnotized eyes were alternately glued on the middle-aged woman's big, firm, bobbing breasts with the big, black nipples, and the lush forest of black pubic hair between her stockinged thighs that not quiet hid the pink gash of her cunt hole and the red labia lips surrounding it. The boy could see that the curly black hair there was already matted and wet.
"Now, dear," Stella murmured teasingly to the adolescent, hypnotized boy. "Shall I take off my nylons, or would you rather I keep them on so you can feel them while we fuck?"
Timmy trembled violently. But, somehow, he managed to say, "K-keep them on. P-Please."
She laughed, softly. "I knew you'd say that, my sweet little pan tie freak."
"Y-Yes, Mistress."
"Now, darling," she murmured huskily as she reached for the little boy. "Let's get on the couch."
A few minutes later, the school exploded into life as the class-changing bell rang and students and teachers poured into the hallways. Voices shouted, feet pounded and locker doors slammed in a bedlam of humanity.
But none of the noise penetrated beyond the locked door marked "Guidance Counselling."
The naked, trembling, adolescent boy was lying on top of the middle-aged woman on her red couch now, moaning at the feel of her soft, firm breasts against his hard little chest and the incredible warmth and softness of her larger, mature, fleshy body. His thin little arms were wrapped round her middle, several fingers digging into the thin, tight, black bandeau of her garter belt. Her heavy arms were holding his skinny neck in a tight embrace.
Woman and boy were in a deep embrace, kissing with lewd passion, their lips burning together. The middle-aged woman's tongue and the adolescent boy's tongue were intermingling sweetly as they French-kissed hotly.
At the other end of the couch, the woman's shapely, dark-stockinged legs were spread, knees up, her nylon-sheathed feet in black patent, open-toed high heels flat on the couch. Between the middle-aged woman's raised, shapely, glossily-stockinged legs hovered the adolescent boy's small, white, hairless hips and bottom. His little cock was fully erect now, throbbing and throbbing, poised over the large, hairy cunt of Mrs. Hartley.
Timmy's wide, glazed, mesmerized eyes were staring into Mrs. Hartley's deep, dark, humid eyes. Now she slowly licked her lips and said, "Darling, you know what we're going to do now, don't you?"
The lad nodded his head slowly, his gaze still fixed on hers. .
"We're going to make love. Your sweet little virgin cock is going to go deep inside your Mistress. I'm going to have you inside me, my sweet little slave boy. It'll be our own little love game, honey. You are going to fuck my cunt, fuck it as hard as you can, and then you are going to shoot your sweet virgin cum inside me. You are going to do this to please your Mistress, aren't you, my little slave boy?"
"Y-Yes, Mistress," Timmy replied, monosyllabically. But immature desire glowed from his hypnotized eyes.
With that, Stella snaked a hand down, down, and softly grasped the boy's throbbing cock. He moaned, and the adolescent penis lurched in her warm, soft palm. "Now, my honey," she murmured, huskily, and closed her eyes, "now my sweet slave." Slowly, she guided it down, down to her waiting cunt. And slowly, the boy's small white bottom sank between the middle-aged woman's raised, nylon stocking-clad legs.
Both woman and boy groaned deeply as his stiff, hard little cock prodded the drooling lips of her cunt. With a louder moan, Timmy obeyed his Mistress, and pushed his erect penis into her pussy, inch by throbbing inch, until his hairless little ball sac rested against her warm inner thighs.
Uhhhhhhhh-uhhhhhhhh-" Timmy groaned, as he felt his throbbing cock soak deep inside the woman's slic, wet, hot pussy.
"Ooooooooohhhh, yes, darling, darling," Mrs. Hartley cooed to him, the feeling of his boycock inside her hungry cunt causing her insides to squirm with lewd lust. "Doesn't it feel good, darling? Doesn't it? You're so deep inside your Mistress now. So deep." And here she gave another deep moan at the thought of hypnotizing and seducing this sweet little lamb of a boy right in her own office at school. Her experiment was turning out fantastically!
Timmy was moaning, too, at the new and mind-bending feelings shooting through him. He was lying fully on top of her large, soft, yielding, near-naked body now, his thin, hard chest mashing down the soft pillows of her huge breasts, the erect nipples pressing against him. His small fingers grabbed harder onto the stretched lace bandeau of her garter belt as his flat belly merged with her soft, warm belly, his bony little hips grinding against her flesh-padded hips. Her oily, warm pussy sheath was stroking and massaging his throbbing little boycock like a soft, clingy glove. It was stiffening, swelling with passion.
"Now darling," Mrs. Hartley commanded her dominated little lover, breathlessly. "Slip your lovely little love tool in and out of your Mistress. That's it-ohhhhhh, yes-yes-that's it sweetheart-fuck me-fuck me-" Now Timmy's little buttocks were pumping up and down, up and down between Mrs. Hartley's lovely, nylon-sheathed legs, slowly working his cock in and out of her hairy, hot cunt hole. He drew out his penis, up to the flaring cockhead, and then, with a childish gasp, thrust it down, again, into the woman's depths, all the way, again and again. The bizarre couple, the middle-aged woman and the dominated, hypnotized, adolescent boy, were fucking, hot and heavy, moaning and groaning with burning lust and their bodies slapped together on the red leather couch in her small, quiet office. Outside, the sounds of feet and voices continued, but neither heard nor cared.
"Uhhhhh-Uhhhhhh- M-M-Mistress- It-s so good-so good-ohhhhhhhh-"
"Yes, Darling-ooooooooohhhh- so hard, so deep-ohhhhhh-sweet slave boy-take your fucking-Hake it-take it-Hake it-oooooooooo-..
The bodies of woman and boy were jerking, heaving, rocking on the small office couch now, rolling nearly to the edge of it, almost falling off as they battled hotly, sweat beading on their bodies, breath chugging from their lungs. Timmy's little white bottom was pumping even faster now between Mrs. Hartley's quivering, sheer stocking-clad legs as he plunged his thumping penile shaft into her hot, wet, gasping cunt hole with childish vigor. Now the woman gripped the boy's bobbing hips with her slickly stocking thighs, and there was the erotic swish-swish of naked flesh rubbing against sheer nylon. Timmy groaned deeply, and his little body quivered in response.
"Yes, my little slave sweetheart," Mrs. Hartley moaned hotly to the shaking, sweating boy on top of her she held so tightly in her arms. "Feel your Mistress' nylon stockings rub against your naked flesh. Feels so good, darling, doesn't it? So good. Now fuck your Mistress as hard as you can and we'll have a nice big cum together."
"Gosh-ohhhhhhhhhh-" Timmy cried, nearly overcome by the new, fiery lust that was fogging his childish brain. Her scratch-smooth stockings felt like they were electrified, sending passion-bolts rocketing into his body. Goosebumps were forming where her hose was rubbing against his skin, and his little cock was swelling even more inside her hot, churning depths. In response fc they hypnotized child obeyed his mature Dominatrix and thrust and thrust his boycock as fast, as hard, and as deep as he could into her juicy, hot pussy hole, their bodies slapping together wetly as he did.
Meanwhile, low, guttural groans were issuing from Mrs. Hartley's mouth as she felt the lust-fire in her belly flare into an inferno, stoked by the pumping little erect penis of the boy on top of her. The hot love liquid was streaming from her drooling cunt hole, her pussy lips now clutching like a hand around his pumping shaft as it worked and worked in and out of her. The lewdness of the act itself was turning her on as much as the sex action, and the two were building a burning fireball in her loins, a fireball of orgasm. Her body began to undulate hotly on the couch, her hips heaving in delicious anticipations.
"Ooooooohh, sweetheart, I'm so close-so close-" she groaned hotly in Timmy's ear. "You're going to make your Mistress cum. You want to cum, too, darling, don't you?"
"Uhhhhh-Uhhhhh-" the adolescent boy, his small face now flushed and dripping with sweat, his eyes squeezed shut, could only gasp and groan in reply. His mind was consumed in lust fire, and his thumping little penis was swollen and stiff now, cherry-red with inflammation now as it plunged with squishy sounds in and out of her cunt hole. His little balls were drawn up tightly in the scrotal sac. His white little hairless behind was pumping crazily between her clinging, trembling legs in the sheer, gauzy, dark-tinted nylon stockings.
'UHHHHHH-UHHHHH-" Timmy now yelled, as he felt the white-hot fluid shoot from his balls. He slammed his little body down on the mature woman's yielding flesh, convulsively, as his boycock exploded inside her. "UHHHH HHHHHH-UHHHHHHH-" he yelled and yelled, deliriously, as his burning virgin sperm spilled and spilled, massively, from his jolting cock, deep in the middle-aged woman's womb. "UHHH HHHHHHHHH-"
"OOOOOOHHH-OOOOOOHHH -OOOOOOOHH-" Stella Hartley screamed, deliriously, as the spurt and surge inside her set off her own thunderous orgasm. "CUM' DARLING-CUM IN ME-EE-EE-EE-" Her long, lovely, stocking-clad legs wrapped around the lad's little behind now, as the middle-aged woman and the adolescent boy rolled off her office couch onto the carpet, as they came explosively, moaning and shaking and rolling on that carpet, for a long, slow time, and somewhere outside, a bell rang...
CHAPTER TWO
Several hours following her most interesting interlude with young Timmy Fickas in her office, Stella Hartley was at home with her family. Sitting in the bright yellow painted, plastic and chrome-motifed kitchen of the spacious ranch style house in the suburban outskirts of Fenton, she was avidly devouring the chicken and dumplings dinner she had helped prepare, along with her daughter, Barbara, her son-in-law, Miles, and her little grandson, Bobby.
"Mmmm-mmmmm" Miles exclaimed, as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. "I have to hand it to you ladies. I never much cared for chicken and dumplings until I tasted this. Now I'm a regular fan."
Both mother and daughter smiled at the husky, broad-shouldered man. Miles Horton was thirty-five, over six feet tall, and topped the scales at two hundred pounds. His barrel-chested, burly build-streamlined by his almost daily visits to the local YMCA-was evident even under the white shirt, dark grey tie and navy blue suit pants he wore. He was dark-complected, with wavy brown hair that spilled over his forehead, his ears, and down his brawny neck. He was a life insurance salesman, recently awarded yet another commendation for record sales.
"Well, I have to confess, it's Mom's recipe," Barbara Horton smiled, glancing fondly over at Stella.
"Phooey!" Stella replied, waving a hand depreciatingly. "I got it out of a cookbook."
But she smiled warmly at her thirty-year-old daughter for the compliment. Barbara was a younger and more petite version of her mother. Her figure was slimmer and her measurements less fulsome, but she was quite shapely in the clinging burnt orange dress she wore, with contrasting taupe nylons and dark brown leather slingback sandals. Unlike her mother, she wore her hair loosely, letting it fall behind her back, in thick, raven-black waves. Her wide, black eyes, small, delicate nose, and pouting rosebud mouth gave her a Madonna appearance.
"Besides, I have to do something to earn my keep around here," Stella added, lightly.
"Oh, come off it, Mom," Barbara replied earnestly. "We love having you here. We bought this monster three-bedroom house, and had that one bedroom going to waste. Why, you did us a favor coming here!"
"That's right," Mile's chimed in. "You're a member of the family now, and that's that. Besides, with the dinner, you've earned your keep for about a month, I'd say," and here he smacked his lips for emphasis. "And Bobby here likes having his grandmother around. Don't you, son?"
All eyes were turned to little Bobby Horton, a skinny, freckled, buck-toothed specimen of adolescent boyhood in his white Tee-shirt and jeans and Keds. The lad looked at his grandmother with wide eyes, and said, "Uhhh, sure, Dad. Sure I do."
A closer and more impartial observer might have noticed a certain agitation in the boy's manner, but Miles merely laughed and said, "Now that's something. You've been here about a year now, Stel, and Bobby here is still shy around you."
"Well, that's true-and understandable," Barbara smiled. "Not many little boys have such a pretty grandmother."
"Ill say," Miles returned.
"Now stop it you two, or you'll turn an old woman's head," Stella laughed at them, a pleased glow on her smooth, unblemished cheeks. Then her black eyes caught Bobby's green ones, and held them in an intense gaze. The boy's jaw seemed to sag somewhat as he gazed up at his grandmother. Now she murmured, softly, "Bobby and I get along just fine, don't we, dear.?"
"Yes," Bobby replied, slowly, still staring into his grandmother's eyes.
"Good for you, son," Miles said, approvingly. "That's what I like-one big, happy family."
"That's what we are, all right," Barbara beamed.
"Amen to that," Stella added.
They grew silent now as they resumed eating. Then young Bobby, who was seated next to his voluptuous grandmother, dropped his spoon under the table. He muttered an apology and dived under the table for it. Both his parents were engaged in a conversation about a neighbor, and took no notice of the incident.
But Stella did. She knew the spoon-dropping was no accident. It was, in fact, a game-a sex game grandmother and grandson had played before.
Beneath the table and tablecloth, and thus hidden from view, Bobby, while pretending to search for the spoon, was now avidly gazing at his grandmother's long, shapely legs sheathed in sheer nylon hosiery. For a long moment, his feverish gaze traveled up and down the mature woman's nice, dimpled knees, shapely, heavy calves, and trim ankles, all slick and glossy in the dark-tinted stockings. The boy especially gazed at his grandmother's smoothly-stockinged feet in the glittering black pumps with the wicked, five-inch spike heels. The open toes of the pumps allowed him a tantalizing view of her sweet toes snugged in the darker nylon pads of her hose.
Slowly, deliberately, Stella crossed her stocking-clad legs. Nylon hissed erotically as she did, and the hem of her dress slipped up her thighs.
Now the boy could see the darker, rolled welt tops of his grandmother's dark stockings high up her heavy thighs, and even the glittering chrome tabs of the garter suspenders holding them so taut. Bobby trembled violently at the sight, and sweat beaded on his forehead. With his heart pumping hard, the adolescent boy raised a quivering hand and dropped it on one of the woman's nyloned knees. He stroked the firm flesh there, loving the gauzy, scratchy-smooth texture of the sheer nylon of the mature woman's stockings. Then Stella slipped a shapely hand down and rested it on top of her grandson's hand. She squeezed it hard.
"Say, Son, what are you doing down there-searching for buried treasure?" Miles called out jokingly.
At that, Bobby popped up from beneath the table, spoon in hand. "I just found it," he muttered.
"Why, Bobby, you're all sweaty," Barbara exclaimed to her son. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Uhhh, it's pretty warm down there," the boy muttered to his mother.
"It must be," his father commented.
"Well, Miles, how was the office today," Stella quickly asked to change the subject.
It worked. The big, brawny man began to complain about a customer, and the table was festive again.
Several hours later, Stella was in her long pink velour bathrobe, sitting at the oak frame desk in her bedroom. She was still feeling the delicious glow of a good hot shower, and she had just finished brushing her long, thick, glossy black hair, and now it lay about her shoulders. As always, she was the last one to take her shower that night, and her table lamp was the only light burning in the still house. Everybody else was in bed.
Stella started to reach for the sheath of papers bound in the vinyl folder which comprised the doctoral thesis for the doctorate of psychology she was seeking from the local university. She glanced at her tentative title: "FETISHISM AND PEDOPHILIA IN ABNORMAL SEXUALITY." It made her think of something else, something that made her eyes gleam hotly, and her nostrils flare. She reached down into her robe, found her hairy cunt, and began to stroke it softly.
The seduction of little Timmy Fickas had been absolutely successful and absolutely delicious. It opened up new vistas in her sex life now that the school was a quite safe and convenient outlet for her immoral, illegal and bizarre sexual tastes and desires. All the cute little adolescent boys were hers for the picking now, and she planned to do some picking. And plucking. The thought sent an electric thrill through her, and she felt her pussy become moist.
Damn, she was hot and horny again. And she knew the perfect way to remedy that condition. She remembered her grandson's hot little hand on her nyloned knee, and she shivered with passion.
Now, she stood up. She walked to her bedroom door, and opened it. The dark, silent hallway yawned at her.
Walking softly, she walked into the room beside hers. On the huge, canopied king-sized bed in the middle of the wood-paneled room lay her daughter and her son-in-law. Both were already fast asleep, with the sounds of deep-sleep breathing issuing from them.
Stella stood on the side of the bed nearest her daughter, Barbara. In a soft, but intense voice, she murmured, "Barbara... Miles... Can you hear me?"
Both man and woman fidgeted briefly. Then both replied, hollowly, "Yes... Mistress... "
Stella felt thrilled that the post-hypnotic suggestion she had planted in both of them some time ago was still working. Her command of hypnotism was good, very good-much better than when she had taken that course back in college when she was working for her Masters Degree.
Now she said, softly, "Good. I want you to sleep, tonight. Just sleep. You will hear nothing. Nothing will awaken you. You will sleep... sleep... sleep... Do you understand me?
"Yes... Mistress... " Both Miles and Barbara replied, in those strange, sleepy voices.
"Good... now sleep, you two."
Stella could tell by the silence that they had obeyed her instructions. She was pleased. Now, any sounds that her nocturnal activities may make would not rouse Miles or Barbara.
She quietly left the room and closed the door behind her. Then she padded on bare feet to the door at the end of the hall.
She opened the door.
In the darkened room, jumbles of toys and clothes and a smaller bed could be seen between the moon shadows. In the bed lay her adolescent grandson, Bobby.
Stella moved into the room confidently, due to her handiwork in the boy's parents' room. Now she stood beside the bed, looking down at Bobby's cute little tousle-headed, freckled face. The lad was asleep. She murmured, softly, "Bobby, Bobby-do you hear me?"
At the sound of her voice the boy stirred briefly. "Yes," he muttered.
"Then open your eyes, darling, and look at your Mistress."
Slowly, the boy's eyelids fluttered open, and he stared up at his grandmother. His eyes were glazed with the hypnotic trance she held him under.
"Yes, Mistress," he said, tonelessly.
"You sweet lamb," she murmured, lovingly. She sat down now, on the side of his bed. She softly stroked his cool forehead. "Are you glad to see your Mistress, honey?" she cooed.
"Yes, Mistress," the child replied.
"I'm glad to see you too, sweetheart. I was having the nicest dream about you. Were you dreaming about me, Bobby? Hmmmmmm?"
The boy shivered in reply, his glazed eyes wide as he stared at his grandmother.
"I'll bet you were, honey. A real naughty dream, too. You were a real naughty boy today, Bobby, looking at your Mistress' legs and looking up her dress. Did you like what you saw?"
The lad was trembling. But he replied, "Oh, yes, Mistress."
"I know you did. I'll bet you also liked how my stockings fit on my legs. Did you like feeling my stockings? Did it make you all excited?"
"Yes-ohh, yes, Mistress."
Bobby's forehead was no longer cool to her touch. It was hot and sweaty.
"It made me all excited too, darling."
She removed her hand from her grandson's forehead and used it to fling back his bedcovers. She sighed soulfully as she drank in his naked little body, so smooth and white and hairless. She gazed lovingly at the boy's little cock. It was throbbing now, beginning to stiffen with arousal.
"Oh, honey, we're both so excited. Why don't we go back to my room and play that nice little game again? Would you like that, dear?"
Bobby was trembling now. "Yes-yes, Mistress."
"Then come along, darling," she ordered tenderly, holding out her hand...
Very soon, they were in Stella's room, with its large, queen-sized bed. The naked boy was sitting on the edge of that bed, looking at his sexy grandmother. She had just slipped off her pink velour robe, and her gorgeous, flushy nude form was bathed in a golden hue from a small bedside lamp, the only illumination in her bedroom.
The lad trembled with immature arousal as he stared up at his stark naked grandmother, his wide, glazed, hypnotized eyes ogling her jumbo-sized breasts, the size of giant grapefruits, but ten times as soft, he knew-as were her protuberant, round buttocks. Her cunt was a furry pelt between her heavy, firm rounded thighs, the scalloped pink lips of her labia just visible amidst the curly black pubic hair there. His inhibitions dissolved in his deep hypnotic trance, the boy felt burning lust in his adolescent loins for his middle-aged grandmother.
And she, standing lewdly naked before her own daughter's son, felt the same lust for him. Only part of it was inflamed by her having complete control and mastery over the boy. And the fact that she was committing the vilest kind of incest only thrilled her the more.
"Your eyes are so wide, sweetheart," she was murmuring, her voice husky with passion, teasing her grandson. "Do you like your Mistress' naked body that much?"
"Yes, Mistress," the lad replied. "You are so pretty and sexy. You make my thing get hard all the time."
"Poor boy," she murmured. "Your Mistress will see that you get relief tonight."
"Thank you, Mistress," Bobby replied.
"By the way, darling," Stella added as an afterthought. "Have you thought about my idea about wearing women's pretty underthings for your Mistress? Would you like that?"
The boy made a face. "No, I guess not Mistress. I-I'd feel sort of silly."
"It doesn't excite you at all?"
"No."
"All right then, dear."
Stella was disappointed. She was most eager to experiment on the phenomenon of transvestite behavior in young boys and its relation to garment fetishism, a subject that consumed both her scientific and sexual interests. Although her grandson, under earlier hypnotic psychological interrogation, had revealed himself to have a few fetishes, with the common stocking fetish being the foremost (much like young Timmy Fickas), he obviously wasn't at the stage of wanting to wear them. And if he didn't have the desire somewhere buried in his psyche, she couldn't force it on him. Oh, well. She'd just have to find some other youth to experiment erotic transvestism on... She turned back to the subject at hand.
"Well, honey, I guess we're ready for bed," she smiled, a bit devilishly. "Or are we? Hmmmmmm?"
She was staring at her naked grandson, who was quivering, under the hold of a strong emotion. "Are we, Bobby?" she asked tenderly, again teasing the boy. "Are we ready for beddy-bye?"
"N-No, Mistress," he stammered.
"Oh? Are we forgetting something?"
"Yes-yes, Mistress."
"Tell me, dear," and her voice was sweet but commanding to her trembling little sex slave.
"You-you forgot to put on-your sexy things... " his voice trailed off in a whimper.
Stella felt her inside tingle erotically at her grandson's humiliation. "Oh, yes, darling, your Mistress nearly did forget. And she knows how her sweet little lover likes her to wear her sexy garter belt and stockings when they sleep together."
"Oh, yes, Mistress."
With a sweet smile at her naked grandson, the equally nude middle-aged woman padded on bare feet to her dresser drawers. She pulled the middle drawer open. Inside, the drawer was brimming with lacy, erotic bras, panties, garter belts, satin and lace corsets, and all shades of nylon hosiery. "Let's see now, honey," she murmured, rummaging through the lingerie. "Let's find something you'd like... Your mother asked me the other day why I have so much lingerie. If only she knew... Hmmmmmm... Yes. Yes. These should doit."
Now she turned back to the trembling little naked boy on her bed, holding out the lingerie in her hands. In one hand she clasped a thin lacy band with straps dangling from it, and in the other, what looked like two thin strips of dark gossamer.
"I think you'll like your Mistress in these naughty things," she told the boy lovingly, walking back to the bed and laying the stockings there, but retaining the garter belt. The latter was thin and nearly transparent, constructed of black lace with red lace trim, and little red bows on the garter suspenders. The gauzy nylon stockings were lustrous and of a dark, smoky tint.
The voluptuous, middle-aged grandmother began to slip the black lace garter belt on, and her adolescent grandson leaned forward to watch with feverish fervor. The thin black bandeau stretched tight around her flaring hips, as she hooked it in back, contrasting delightfully with the alabaster white flesh there. Once she had the belt-strap hooked into place, she reached for a stocking, the red bow-tipped garter snaps popping noiselessly on het firm thighs as she did.
"No wonder you love sheer stockings and garters, darling," Stella murmured warmly to the wide-eyed boy on her bed, as she began to bunch up the filmy stocking in her hands. "They're so wonderfully wicked and erotic. And they feel delicious on my legs. Women are so silly to wear pantyhose when all studies so clearly prove that men like the regular stockings better."
Now, with the stocking properly bunched up, Stella extended one long, lovely bare leg, resting the smooth heel of her shapely foot on the mattress, quite close to the excited boy. With slow, deliberate movements, the middle-aged woman snugged her sweet toes and then her heel into the darker reinforced pads of the stocking. Her grandson devoured the scene hungrily, leaning closer to watch. With a pounding heart, he watched his grandmother roll the stocking up, up her long, shapely leg, sheathed her trim ankle and heavy, rounded calf in the sausage-skin-taut, gauzy nylon fabric of the sheer, fine-denier hose. Now she rolled the darker stocking welt over her dimpled knee and paused to bend that nice knee and insure the nylon was wrinkle-smooth over her flesh. Now she sheathed her large, rounded thigh in the dark, gossamer nylon. Bobby's mouth grew dry as he watched how his grandmother's big thigh stretched the gauzy nylon to a lighter shade as it merged with the whiteness of her skin. Then she was smoothly attaching the red bows of the garter snaps to the rolled welt top of the taut, stretched, well-filled stocking.
A heartbeat later, Stella was sheathing her other leg in the other glossy, smoky-tinted stocking. Her grandson was visibly sweating when she finished the exquisite operation.
Now the middle-aged woman was bent over, tugging at her garters, insuring that the dark hose was smooth and taut over her shapely legs, her large, meaty breasts bobbing as she did. "Got to make sure my stockings are nice and smooth for my little lover," she murmured huskily as she did. "How do they look to you, darling?" she added.
"Ohhhh, yes, M-Mistress," Bobby croaked, his mouth dry.
"I'm so glad you like them, sweetheart."
With a little sign and a rustle of nylon, Stella sat down beside her sweating, trembling, naked little grandson. Her light, heady perfume, the heat of her body, the impact of her nearness, seemed to envelope the lad, and he trembled more. Now, with a loving smile on her slightly-parted, luscious red-painted lips, the dominant mature woman softly patted her smoothly-nyloned lap. "Come here to me, sweetheart, and let your Mistress show how much she loves you."
The boy could only groan in reply. In response, Stella wrapped her arms around her agitated grandson, and smoothly pulled him onto her stocking-clad thighs. Bobby moaned and trembled anew at the delicious feeling of his naked bottom and thighs pressing on the slick, gauzy dark nylon sheathing her thighs, and the warm, firm flesh beneath. Now, Stella pressed her lips hard against his thin dry lips, and held him in a tight clinch, her heavy, pillowly breasts mashing against his thin chest. Bobby stopped trembling, and his small, thin arms slipped around his grandmother's trim waist.
For a long moment, grandmother and grandson kissed, passionately, their naked flesh burning, melting together. Both moaned with rapture with their deep, hot soul kiss that had no end. Now the middle-aged woman's tongue slipped like a snake into her grandson's mouth, wandering all about. It met the adolescent boy's, and they moaned again. Their sweet, soft tongues slipped and intermingled as they French-kissed, hotly.
Meanwhile, her soft hand was sliding up her grandson's smooth, hairless thigh, slowly, caressingly. It reached the top of his boney thigh and lingered there a bit. She slipped her fingers around her grandson's small, stiffening, swelling penis. She began to frig it softly.
At that, Bobby broke off the kiss and groaned.
Her hand was making his little cock throb hard, and his little bottom was tingling hotly from rubbing against her silky nylons as he had squirmed in her lap.
Her soft lips found his ear. "Yes, my darling, it feels so good. Now let's do that naughty thing I showed you before. Your Mistress' pussy is already nice and wet for you."
She kissed the child again, a long, slow time, and slowly began to push herself and him onto her bed. They rolled together onto the big mattress, the small, naked adolescent and his shapely, middle-aged grandmother, her nudity enhanced by the black lace garter belt and long, sheer, dark nylon stockings that seemed to glitter in the dim light from the bedside lamp...
At that moment, in his bed at home, young Timmy Frickas was having a wet dream. He wasn't consciously aware of its origin, but it gripped him, hard. He was perspiring freely, his hand stroking his red-hot, thumping boycock, as he masturbated and dreamed the strange, forbidden but exciting dream.
At least, he thought it was a dream. Actually, he was mentally reviewing the events in Mrs. Stella Hartley's office that afternoon.
He had rolled endlessly on the office carpet with the middle-aged woman, in a tight clinch, kissing and kissing as his jolting little cock had shot stream after stream of sperm into her womb. When they stopped, she had held him tightly with her naked arms and smoothly stockinged legs awhile, kissing him sweetly, lovingly. Then she had murmured to him and released him. Trembling from his exertions, the lad had got up off her soft, yielding body slowly. His softening cock had slipped from her cunthole with a soft squishy sound and a low moan from the middle-aged woman. His cock was drenched with her love fluid. Slimy white droplets dripped from the head of his flaccid cock onto the carpet, a few dribbling on her thigh, the white of his semen contrasting lewdly with the dark tint of the stocking there.
Then she had quickly gotten up off the carpet, and kissed and hugged him, a moment or two. Then she had quickly dressed, and helped him dress, too. And then... Timmy instantly conked out. His head slumped over the pillow, in deep sleep, just as his dominant Mistress had post-hypnotically suggested he do...
Meanwhile, Bobby and his erotically clad grandmother were having a wet dream, too, on top of her big bed in the dimly lit bedroom.
Stella was lying on her back on the bed, her black head resting on some pillows, her long, thick, raven-black hair spilled about them. Her little grandson was on top of her, facing the opposite direction, in perfect sixty-nine position.
They were deep in a hot and wet cunnilingus/fellatio.
Bobby's small, crew-cut head was buried deep between his grandmother's heavy, stockinged thighs, rubbing his lips adoringly over her rapidly wetting cunt, nibbling lightly at the glistening pink lips of her labia there. His palms were prickling deliciously as he ran his hands over her thick, firm thighs, rapturously stroking her sheer stockings.
At the same time, his small, white bottom was bobbing and weaving in the air, held firmly by his grandmother's hands, as his throbbing little boycock slipped in and out of her wet, sucking mouth.
The bodies of the small, nude, adolescent boy and the middle-aged, buxom woman clad only in skimpy garter belt and long, dark-tinted stockings, undulated and writhed on her large bed, their moans and sighs of burning passion muffled by their ardent licking and sucking.
From long practice, the little boy rubbed his lips against his grandmother's furry cunt, stroking the pink, scalloped lips of her labia, which were beginning to swell and quiver with arousal. Her clit was standing stiffly erect and the lad's lips brushed it, once, twice, a third time, as instructed by his Mistress, each time sending electric jolts through her and causing her hot love fluid to dribble from her deep, dark, dank cunt hole between her pink labia. Stella groaned deeply, her mouth full of her grandson's throbbing cock, and her stomach quivered and her heavy, nylon-sheathed thighs closed tighter around his little, crew-cut head. Bobby sighed as the feel of the nylon and flesh brushing against his hairless cheeks, and continued kissing and nuzzling her steaming love nest. His small hands kept stroking the taut, gauzy mesh of the stockings which encase*d her luscious thighs.
Up front, her black head sunk deep in pillows, Stella languidly closed her heavily made-up eyes as her grandson's mouth set her pussy on fire, and concentrated on sucking his little cock into palpitating erection. Bobby's cockpole was already stiff and hard, swelling with sexual heat, glistening from her saliva as it slipped wetly from her sucking mouth, and back in again, her red-painted lips a ring of fire around her sensitive cockflesh. She could feel the boy's small firm asscheeks quiver and clench in agitation, and the wrinkled little ball sac that had dangled in her face was now drawn up tight against the cock root. Her fiery tongue was caressing the adolescent phallus in her mouth, enfolding it, making it throb and throb even more. Her smooth rouged cheeks were collapsing inward from the force of her deep suction.
Now, as woman and boy lost themselves in their lewd, immoral lust, their bodies began to shake and heave on the mattress, with hot urgency as their genitals were manipulated into maddening sexual arousal. Moans and groans grew louder and deeper now, the sounds quite audible to the adjoining bedroom, but not to Bobby's sleeping hypnotized mother and father.
"Mmmmmmmm-mmmmmmmmmmm-"
"Uhhhhhh-uhhhhhh-uhhhhhh-" Grandmother and grandson moaned and groaned hotly, their bodies quaking and sweating on her bed. Stella's insides were squirming with sharp erotic stimulation, as Bobby began to slip his small tongue around the pouting, quivering lips of her cunt, around and around, inflaming the glistening labia, now sliding that proving tongue into the steaming, hot hole within... deep, deeper, into her cunt sheath... her cunt liquid was spilling out of that hole, now, wetting the boy's flushed face... her soft belly was clenching and quivering with arousal, her depths in an uproar, her adolescent grandson's tongue sending chills down her spine... her heavy, stocking-clad thighs clamped tight around the boy's head in extreme agitation, her buttocks nearly lifting off the bed. In response, Stella took Bobby's cock entirely into her mouth, turning her black head to and fro on the pillows to let his flaring cockhead rub against her luscious inner mouth, her hot, stroking tongue whipping around the thumping, bloated cock pole. Bobby groaned helplessly, his mouth buried in his grandmother's pussy, his hands nearly settling off sparks as he rubbed his palms lingeringly against the silken, stockinged thighs which pressed so tightly against the sides of his head...
At that moment, Barbara, like young Timmy Fickas, was having a wet dream as she snored softly beside her likewise mesmerized husband. Only it wasn't about her husband. Oh, no. It was a very wrong and naughty dream, buried deep in her psyche, liberated by her mother's hypnotism. It was, in fact, aided and abetted by her psycho-sexual student mother, who under the initial trance had learned to her delight of her daughter's secret, lewd, immoral desires, and, indeed, planned to make erotic use of them in the near future.
Barbara was dreaming of her twelve-year-old son, Bobby, dreaming of having him all naked in her bed, and of doing all sorts of lovely, naughty things with him...
In her torrid dream, her sweet little son was standing before her, trembling like a leaf. His face was flushed with embarrassment. For he was standing before her clad only in his shorts.
"Come on, now, honey," she was purring to him. "Take off your shorts for Mama."
Her little son trembled harder at her request. But he obeyed her. His little white cotton shorts slid down his skinny, hairless legs, and he clumsily stepped out of them.
"That's a good boy, darling," Barbara sighed. "Such a good boy to obey his Mama."
She was staring lustfully at her child's little cock. It was so small and sweet and hairless-not big and hairy and gross like his father's. She knew it would soon grow stiff with love and give her hotly itching cunt the soft, sweet, gentle fucking it craved. The thought made her shiver.
"Now, darling," she said to her son in her dream, "I want you to sit on Mama's bed and watch. Mama's going to put on a little show for her little man."
At this point, the sleeping Barbara gave a little groan in the dark bedroom, and a hand slid under the sheet and began to stroke her moistening cunt. Yes, it was so delicious, so sinful-she was going to give her son the sexiest strip-tease...
In her feverish dream, the thirty-two-year-old woman was standing before her naked little son, sitting on her bed. She was wearing the slinky, black silk dress that complemented her raven-black hair that spilled far past her exposed, milk-white shoulders, and dark complection. She was also dressed to kill in filmy, black nylons that glowed on her shapely legs, exposed by the short hem of the dress, the shape of those glossily-stockinged legs accented by a pair of black patent leather, five-inch heeled pumps. Bobby's eyes widened at the sight of his voluptuous mother before him.
"Do you like the way Mama's dressed, honey?" she teased him, putting her hand on her hips and slowly undulating those hips at him. She was putting her beautiful body through a series of sensuous movements, rocking back slightly on her high heels.
"Yes, Mama," her son gulped, fascinated by Barbara's moves.
"You sweetheart," she cooed to him, slowly reaching back behind her, her nimble fingers finding the back catches and the tongue of the zipper. The sound of her dress zipper going down was loud in the electric stillness of the bedroom. She shrugged her soft, white shoulders. The clingy, shimmery black dress slipped slowly, sensuously, off her, and down, down. It became a soft black puddle at her high-heeled feet.
"Next time, I'll have you pull my little zipper-upper, honey," she promised huskily, stepping out of her dress.
Bobby gasped softly as he viewed his mother's half-naked body. She was turning her beloved son on, in her dream. She looked at his little cock and licked her lips at how it was beginning to stir and swell as he ogled her erotic semi-nudity. Her lacy black bra barely contained her heavy, milk-white breasts, trembling with fullness as she moved. She could feel her nipples hardening in the stiff, black cups that molded her meaty jugs into two steeply pointed cones. Her lacy little black panties were the skimpiest bikini-style, barely covering her heavily-furred vulva and exposing the big white cheeks of her buttocks. For the erotic occasion, she was wearing instead of pantyhose, the black lace garter belt that held up her full-fashioned, sooty black nylon stockings so smooth and sleek over her long, lovely legs, a present from her mother (although she didn't know the real reason for the gift). Her black pumps glittered in the semi-gloom of the bedroom.
"Do you like Mama in her naughty undies?" she teased her son.
"Yes, Mama," he panted.
The sweet little thing was nearly in shock! They both loved each other so much. So she would show him how much she loved him. The sight of the boy's growing, erected cock made her sigh deeply, and reach behind her again. "And I'll let you help Mama off with her big bra," she murmured, her fingers working at the catches and hooks. "I bet you'll like that." She slid the black bra straps off her white shoulders, and down. The lacy undergarment fluttered to the carpet.
She let her son gaze longingly at her naked breasts which were visibly hardening, the nipples puckering with arousal, the tips standing out. "See how Mama's nipples are so big and hard," she murmured lovingly to her sweating son. "They're just dying for you to suck them."
"Ohhh, Mama," her son was shaking hard in her dream, his; cute little face with the adorable crew cut red and sweaty. "I'm getting so excited. I love you so much."
"Oh, my little lamb. I love you so much,, too." Now, she was walking, still attired in her black panties, garter belt, nylon hose and high-heeled pumps, toward her naked son sitting on her bed. "I think Mama will let her honey boy take off her panties."
The mature woman was deep in the erotic dream, frigging herself hotly, moaning softly beside her sleeping husband on their bed. And, as she did, she was totally unconscious of the moans and groans and passionate voices issuing from her mother's;bedroom...
Meanwhile, her son and mother were making hot, heavy love on the spacious bed.
Bobby was lying on top of his grandmother now, his hard, thin chest mashing down on her huge, soft, naked breasts, his little belly squirming against hers. They were in a deep embrace, her heavy arms around his scrawny neck, his little hands gripping her naked, flesh-padded hips. They were kissing, deeply, hotly, their tongues intermingling, wetly. Both their eyes were closed, their faces flushed with passion, the warm sex-sweat beading on their bodies. The glow from the bedside lamp bathed the two bodies in a soft, warm glow.
And the boy's white, hairless buttocks were pumping slowly, steadily, between his grandmother's raised, shapely legs in the smoky-tinted stocking as his stiff, throbbing cock worked in and out of her wet, juicy cunt hole.
The adolescent boy fucked his middle-aged grandmother with the smoothness born of long practice. The hypnotized child was. obeying his Mistress' commands obediently, submissively, lovingly, her total sex slave.
Stella broke off the deep soul-kiss. Her lips found Bobby's ear now, as his little head dropped on her soft, warm shoulder. "Yes-ss-ss-ss, my precious one," she moaned lovingly to the naked boy in her arms. "Your Mistress loves you so much... ohhhhhh, honey-that's it-in and out, in and out... ohhhhh... ohhhhh... ohhhhh... ohhhhh... you fuck your Mistress so good... ohhhhhhh... ohhh . yes-ss-ss-ss... go deep in me... deep... deep... ohhhhh-" Bobby groaned in reply. His stiff, thumping love tool throbbed and throbbed as it proved deeply into his grandmother's burning, slick, massaging pussy sheath, that was tight around his boycock like a steamy rubber glove. Her clasping, stroking depths were making his little organ grow stiffer and harder, making his head swim with overpowering sensations. His white little buttocks pumped faster now, between the middle-aged woman's trembling, dark stocking-sheathed legs, his little belly slapping wetly against hers, his small ball sac slapping against her inner thighs as he thrust and thrust, hard and deep, into her hairy cunt hole.
'Ooooooohhh, ooooooohhh, sweetheart, my little sweetheart," Stella moaned deeply into her grandson's ear as she felt her insides squirm hotly with each hard, thrilling thrust of his stiff little cock into her hungry pussy. Her heavy arms tightened around Bobby's scrawny neck, crushing him against her, so her firm, but soft breasts flattened deliciously against his thin little chest. Bobby groaned and groaned, eyes, closed, his small hands gripping her wide hips so hard just above the thin, black bandeau of her lacy garter belt that the knuckles were white. Her adolescent grandson was panting now, hard, as he passionately raised and lowered, raised and lowered his little white bottom between her mature, shapely, sleekly stockinged legs, harder and faster, working his boycock deeper and deeper into her slick, hot, enfolding, succoring womb. His little head was spinning; he was dizzy with the strange but overpowering urges and pleasures, unable to resist his Mistress' hypnotic control.
The small, male body and the larger female body were rocking and rocking on the firm but yielding mattress of the queen-sized bed, shaking and groaning and coupling with frenzied abandon, as both the little boy and his erotically clad grandmother lost themselves in hot fuck fever.
Now Stella pressed her stocking-clad thighs against Bobby's pumping hips and buttocks, so that his sensitive flesh rubbed hissingly against the scratchy-smooth, gauzy texture of her sheer hose. Bobby groaned desperately as he felt his fetishistic flesh crawl at the electric feeling of nylon rasping against skin, again and again and again. Now, with every lunge into his grandmother's burning, boiling hole, his boney little hips brushed lingeringly against her slick, silky nylon stocking-sheathed inner thighs. The tingly, maddening sensation made fresh sweat break out on his back, and his thumping cock to stiffen and swell even more in her dreamy depths.
"Yes-ss-ss, my little panty-freak lover," Stella moaned huskily into Bobby's ear, her sweet, warm breath caressing his flushed, sweaty face. "So silky... so soft... lovely, sexy nylons... feel them, darling... they feel so good... don't they, honey... "
Bobby groaned helplessly in reply.
He was fucking his grandmother at a breathless pace now, with short, hard, body-killing thrusts into her that made their bellies smack wetly together, and his little wrinkled ball sac to beat a tattoo against her buttocks, behind the thrilling lunge of his stiff, throbbing, swollen little penis into her drooling, steaming, palpitating large cunt. The pink, scalloped lips closed hungrily around the pumping pole of the boycock, urging it softly in, into her deep, fiery depths. Her warm, slick cunt walls grasped the childish love tool gently, massaging it lovingly, as her hot love liquid drenched it, dribbling out and around it, wetting her inner thighs and the dark, rolled welt tops of her stockings.
As the panting little boy's pumping little cock made her large, buxom body upheave against his and tremble with lust, Stella's lips found her grandson's ear again. "Ooooohhh-oooooohhh-o oooohhh-ooooooohhh-so good, darling, so good - ooohhh-ohhh -sweet heart, my sweetheart-ooohhh, kiss me, darling-kiss me... " Now those red, luscious lips found the thin, trembling lips of the little boy. They locked in a burning kiss that had no end... Woman and boy kissed and kissed as his little white buttocks pumped and pumped and pumped with a hot, heavy beat between her long, lovely, clinging legs in the shimmery, smoky-tinted nylon stockings...
In the adjoining bedroom, Barbara, in the same mesmerized sleep as her husband snoring beside her, was moaning, too, and frigging herself frenziedly as she continued dreaming her lewd, forbidden wet dream about her beloved son.
Now she was standing before her naked little son who was perched on the edge of the bed, scant inches before her. She was wearing only her skimpy black lace bikini panties, the thin black lace garter belt, and the long, sooty black nylon stockings. She had just kicked off the glittering, black patent-leather spike-heeled pumps.
"Now darling," she was telling the child in a pouting voice, "Mama told you she wants you to help her off with her little silky thing. Won't you be a good boy and help her?"
Her son was staring up at his erotically clad mother, his wide eyes seemingly mesmerized by her large, firm, naked breasts with the stiff, erect nipples.
In her dream, the mature brunette beauty smiled wickedly at her son. "I'll let you play with Mama's boobies, honey, all you want. But first you have to slip off her pretty little panties."
Now his adolescent eyes locked on his mother's loins. He was noting how the skimpy black lace panty barely covered her big, puffy, furry vulva which bulged out from the tight, gossamer material. Strands of her curly, black pubic hair curled out around the stretched edges. Her son trembled anew.
"Come on, sweetheart," Barbara cooed. "Show Mama what a big strong man you are. Pull down my panties."
In her dream, an electric thrill ran .through her, as she saw her son's small, trembling hands reach out, slowly toward her. His little fingers dug into the tight, elastic top of the skimpy black lace garment. The boy's touch made her heart beat faster. She could see how his little cock lurched with passion at the feel of her buttery flesh. Now, his little hands were tugging down, down. The tight panties peeled off her hips and over her flaring buttocks with some effort on her son's part. Now the slightly rolled undergarment was slipping off her abdomen, and down to the tops of her lush thighs. Now, her large, protuberant, black-haired cunt was fully visible to Bobby. And he stared and stared at the furry, triangular, and slightly moist nest between his beautiful mother's shapely, nylon-sheathed thighs, framed by the thin, black lace bandeau and suspenders of her form-fitting garter belt. For a long moment, Bobby just stared in awe and immature arousal at his mother's fully exposed vagina.
"Yes, my beloved son," Barbara murmured, her voice husky with love and lust. "Look at Mama's pussy. See how wet it is for you."
Bobby gulped, and his boycock throbbed, hard.
Now, Barbara said, "Hurry, darling, and get Mama's silkies off. She can't wait to go to bed with her wonderful son."
The sweating lad now pulled his mother's black lace panties down her thighs and legs. The going was much easier now, once he forced the leg holes of the garment over her garter-striped thighs. The silky panty slipped smoothly over the slick, filmy fabric of her sheer, sooty black nylon stockings, the erotic rasp of lace against nylon loud in the quiet bedroom. He let the panties slip the rest of the way down her shapely calves, her ankles, and the garment crumpled at her pretty, stockinged feet. Barbara lifted one smoothly nyloned foot, then the other, stepping out of her panties.
Now she stood before her naked, trembling son, her lovely body naked, too, save for the sexy garter belt and nylon stockings which seemed to glitter on her long, shapely legs, the black of the lingerie contrasting, vividly, erotically against the white of her skin.
At this point, she began to reach for a garter snap to begin taking them off, but an inspiration struck her. "I have a lovely idea, darling," she breathed to Bobby. "I think Mama will leave her sexy hose on. I know by the way you're peeking at Mama's legs all the time that you like them. How does that sound, darling?"
"G-Good, Mama," Bobby panted.
"I thought you'd like it." She began walking toward the bed, her heavy, stocking-clad thighs hissing as they rubbed together. "Now, honey, lie on the bed. Mama will be there in a second."
In a heartbeat, Barbara reached the bed. She slid in, smoothly. Instantly, her adolescent, naked, trembling son was in her arms. They kissed and kissed. His small hands stroked her soft breasts, making them swell with arousal. His small lips found her erect nipples and he sucked and sucked as she moaned and moaned... Finally, her hand found her son's penis. It was hard and fully erect, thumping in her soft grasp. Now she pulled the naked boy on top of her- In her hypnotized sleep, the furiously masturbating mature woman groaned loudly beside her sleeping husband as she came and came, violently, while she fucked and fucked her young son in her dreams...
In the adjoining bedroom, her own son and her own mother were cumming, too.
The sweating, gasping, adolescent boy was nearly crazed with hot fuck fever now. His small body was pounding and pounding down on the larger, soft, yielding body of his middle-aged grandmother, who was moaning with burning passion and heaving up her loins to meet his. His white little behind was almost a pumping blur between her clinging, dark stocking-sheathed legs. And with every breathless pelvic thrust, the boy was plunging his stiff, swollen cock to the root inside the middle-aged woman's burning, squishy cunt hole.
Bobby's mind reeled from the burning-hot sensations pounding in his belly, that made his super-sensitive penis almost painfully stiff in his grandmother's hot, juicy cunt sheath. And Stella felt the deep, hard rumblings of climatic orgasm in her womb as it spasmed and spasmed at the heavy, thrilling thrusts of the boycock into her.
Bobby's wining ballsac was no longer beating a tattoo against his grandmother's buttocks, but was drawn up tight into his scrotum, filling with fiery cum fluid. His small, hairless, sweaty ass cheeks were clenching and clenching with agitation. Goosebumps were forming where bis hips rubbed against his grandmother's slickly stocking-sheated inner thighs as he pumped into her depths, the swish-swish of sheer nylon brushing against flesh mingling with the smack-smack-smack of his sweaty belly slapping against hers, the squeaks of the box springs, and their passionate moans and groans.
"Oooohhhh - ooooohhh-ooooohhhh-honey-my honey boy-your lovely cock-ohhhh-ooohhh-is going to make your Mistress cum-ooooohhhhh-"
"Uhhhhh-uh h hhhh-I-I-uhhhhhh-so hot-f-feel so funny-uhhhhh-uhhh-uhhhhhhhh- Mistress-" The two of them, the little naked boy and the statuesque middle-aged woman, naked save for garter belt and long, dark stockings,were coupling furiously, frantically, going out of their minds, driven mad by impending orgasm. Stella held her little grandson in a tight embrace, crushing his pounding, burning body against hers. His fingers dig into her fleshy hips, just above the stretched-taut black and red lace bandeau of her garter belt. The boy's flushed, sweaty face was lying on one of her soft shoulders, his mouth panting and panting at his exertions. His thin lips were smeared with his grandmother's lipstick where she had broken off their soul-kiss. Stella's painted mouth was wide, too, as she groaned and groaned, more and more urgently. Her long, deliriously curved legs in the smooth, gauzy, smoky-tinted nylon stockings pressed harder against Bobby's pumping hips.
"UHHHHH-UHHHH-OHHHHH-MISTRESS- I-I-UHHHHHHHHH-" Bobby yelled and yelled, deliriously, as he plunged his rock-hard, bloated, thumping boycock all the way, massively, into his grandmother's cunt hole, and felt the white hot fluid pour out of his clenching testicles. Deep in her womb, his inflamed penis jolted and jolted as his sperm spilled out of the flaring red cockhead, filling her, thrilling her, killing her. Her palpitating pussy exploded, as streams of bubbling love liquid spilled out and around her stretched cunt hole, out and around his penile shaft. Stella upheaved violently, actually carrying her grandson's shaking body with her, as her stockinged feet pressed into the mattress, and her buttocks left it. At the head of the bed her thick, long raven-black hair flew as her head flopped from side to side on the pillows, her eyes closed, her nostrils flaring, her mouth slack in complete abandon. Her glossy, dark stocking-clad legs wrapped around Bobby's shuddering little buttocks, her nyloned heels digging into his ass cheeks, as she rocked and rocked with him on her bed, moaning and groaning, cumming and cumming.
"OOOOOOHHH-THAT'S RIGHT DARLING-" she yelled, mindlessly, to her panting grandson-OOOOOOOHHHH MY DARLING -CUM IN ME-CUM-CUM-" She continued yelling, nearly screaming with supreme orgasmic relief, as her convulsing grandson gasped and groaned on top of her and filled her middle-aged womb with his adolescent semen as they rocked and rolled on the sweat- and cum-drenched sheets...
CHAPTER THREE
When Stella reached the kitchen table around ten the next morning, a Saturday, her daughter, Barbara, and her son-in-law, Miles, were already there, sipping their coffee.
"Morning, Mom!" Barbara called out gaily to Stella. She was attired in a pinstriped blouse, with dark blue cotton vest and matching skirt, dark grey nylon hose, and open-toed dark blue pumps. Her dark-brown leather purse lay on the chair beside her. Miles, wearing only a dark-green bathrobe, but freshly shaved and showered, grinned at Stella from where he was nursing his coffee.
"Good morning, kids," Stella returned with a bright smile. She hesitated a second, then slid into a chair directly opposite from Miles.
"Where's Bobby," Stella asked casually, glancing at the chair beside her that was empty save for Barbara's purse.
"Oh, he's already bolted his breakfast and is upstairs brushing his teeth," Barbara replied, rising to get her mother a cup of coffee. "At least he'd better be. Cream and sugar, Mom?"
"That's right, dear. Thanks."
Stella's question had only been a ruse. She had bumped into her grandson in the bathroom, and had taken the opportunity to place the lad under the post-hypnotic trance again and make sure what had occurred the night before remained locked in his subconscious.
"He ought to be down in a moment," Barbara was saying as she poured coffee from the Mr. Coffee gadget next to the stove. "I want to leave in a moment, before all the stores are mobbed."
"Er, that's right," Stella said, slowly, "I forgot. You're taking Bobby to buy him some clothes."
"That's right," Miles grinned. "That woman of mine's going out to spend more of my hard-earned money again. I'll bet she comes back with a dress or two for herself."
"Oh, pooh," Barbara wrinkled her pert nose at her husband as she sat down, placing the filled coffee cup next to Stella. "You know Bobby grows out of his clothes in nothing flat. And I hardly ever get something for myself."
"Sure-only every other day," Miles retorted cheerfully.
Stella was thoughtfully stirring her coffee while the younger adults playfully bickered. "Uh, you plan to be gone all afternoon, Barbie?"
Her daughter shrugged. "I guess so. Bobby's so hard to buy for. He hates my taste in clothes. Why? You want to come along?"
"Heavens, no," Stella replied quickly. "You be with your son alone for a while. I have my thesis to work on, and besides, I have to prepare that skit for the den meeting Monday afternoon."
Miles groaned. "That den! You deserve a medal for taking that bunch of scouts off the hands of the mothers around here."
"Really," Barbara nodded. "One of the mothers, Martha Brown, was just telling me the other day how great it was you took over when Julie Foster and her family moved away."
"Oh, I was glad to. It gives me another activity, and you know how I like boys. Besides, Bobby's in the den, so it's not like I don't have an interest."
"Well, I think it's a Godsend, and so do the other mothers. None of us really had the time to spare, and the den is so important to the boys____" While Barbara prattled on about the local Scout situation, Stella mused. Martha Brown? Must be the mother of that cute, teenaged den chief of hers, Ronnie Brown. She felt a tingle in her loins. She had plans for that adorable lamb of a teenaged boy. After the next meeting, in fact...
That made her think of something. "Now you and Miles will be gone during the afternoon during Monday's den meeting?" she asked with forced casualness.
"Oh, sure, we're going to look at cars again," Miles replied. "Don't worry, we'll leave you alone with those kids." He grinned. "Gladly."
"Well, fine," Stella replied. "The boys get kind of uptight with all the adult authority figures around, and-"
"We get the point, Joyce Brothers," Barbara teased. "Besides, Miles is dying to show me his latest dream car."
"You bet," Miles said enthusiastically. "It's a BMW530i and it's fantastic. It's even practical. Why-" And while he prattled on, Stella mused some more. What a lovely coincidence! She and her son-in-law would be alone together, just the two of them, all afternoon. Just when she was beginning to feel horny again by talking about the cub scouts. Last night with her grandson, Bobby had been utterly delicious, and she was hungry for more...
Stella had partially dressed when she had decided to forget it and slipped on her pink velour robe. Under the robe, she had on panties and bra-and her garter belt and sheer, tan nylon stockings. Now, as her daughter talked, she quietly slipped her heelless bedroom slippers off her nyloned feet. She began to extend a nyloned leg forward, under the kitchen table...
".. ; and the girls all think it's wonderful how you two get along," Barbara was smiling at her husband and her mother.
"Really?" Stella murmured. At the same time, she slid her smoothly stockinged foot over her son'n-law's bare one under the table. "That's nice, dear."
Barbara went on talking, as usual, oblivious to the sudden tension in her husband's face. Her mother was playing footsies with Miles, stroking her stocking-sheathed foot against his, her toes beginning to wriggle against his ankle, teasingly.
"Oh, yes," Barbara gushed. "It's rare for a mother-and-law and son-in-law to get along as well as you two do. I think it's wonderful, too."
"Thank you, dear," Stella replied lightly. "Miles and I get along real well, don't we?"
"Uhhh-yeah. Yeah." Miles' face had lost it's tenseness, and was relaxed. Stella had hypnotized her handsome son-in-law well. The footplay was a signal, triggering Miles' relapse into the post-hypnotic state his mother-in-law held him under, and had used last night on both him and her daughter.
Under the table, her nylon-snugged toes were rubbing up and down Miles' bare calf.
"What time were you and Bobby leaving?" Stella now prodded.
"Oh, heavens! We've gotta go! Oh, Bobby!" her daughter jumped out of her chair and grabbed her purse.
In a second, the young lad appeared, wearing his usual t-shirt and scuffed jeans. He looked for a moment into his grandmother's dark eyes, trembled, then turned toward his mother. As she languidly played footsies with the boy's father, she watched how the lad's eyes grew round as he watched his mother absently smooth a white hand over one of her dark-grey nylon-stockinged legs as she reached down for her purse. With a thrill, Stella recalled what her daughter had revealed to her under hypnosis, about how she sexually craved her own little son. Oh, yes, indeed. She's have to set up a little sex show with them sometime soon...
With a flurry, Barbara and her son, Bobby, managed to say goodbye to, and kiss, both Stella and Miles. Then they all but flew out the kitchen door to the adjoining garage, ready for a day of shopping.
The fifty-year-old woman waited until she heard the car softly roar away. Then she turned to her son-in-law, who was sitting before her, staring into space.
"Miles," she said to him, softly, but "firmly. "Close your eyes and go to sleep. A deep, deep sleep."
The mature husband and father complied. His eyelids closed over his grey eyes, and he slumped forward in the chair, his chin almost resting on his barrel chest.
"That's right, dear. Go deeper... deeper... deeper... " Stella's voice was soft and firm, and hauntingly compelling in tone. "Deeper, still, dear... all the way... Now, open your eyes."
Her son-in-law obeyed. Now his grey eyes were deeply glazed, almost unblinking.
"Now, dear," Stella prodded her hypnotized subject. "Who am I?"
"You are my Mistress," Miles recited hollowly.
"Yes, dear," Stella said. "But who am I, specifically?"
"You're-You*re Aunt Beverly."
Stella's black eyes sparkled with delight. Miles had retained everything from their previous hypnotic session. A session in which Stella, in both a scientific (for her thesis) and a sexual (for herself) spirit, had psychoanalyzed her son-in-law about his adolescent fantasies and sex dreams. It had been a fishing expedition, for sure... until Miles had mentioned his Aunt Beverly Thompson, an aunt on his mother's side, who used to babysit him when his parents went out for the evening.
"And how old are you now, dear?" Stella asked.
"F-Fourteen years old, Aunt Beverly," the mature man replied in a trembling voice.
It seemed from Miles' earlier interview that Aunt Beverly, a tall, dark, beautiful spinster, was something of a disciplinarian. And, probably, something of a dominatrix. When she had babies at the adolescent Miles, she had been very strict with him. Being a young boy, he had disobeyed her often; and every time, she had spanked him. Not a simple swat or two on his pants with him leaning against the kitchen table, but a real, old-fashioned hand spanking over her knees, with the boy's pants and shorts pulled down. The tableau, as described by Miles, really turned Stella on; the little boy lying on top of his mature Aunt's lap as she spanked his bare bottom a fiery red. Stella was always interested with trying out erotic, fetishistic discipline with a male-and here was one made to order for for her! And her son-in-law to boot!
"And what else are you?" Stella prodded Miles.
"A-A bad boy, Aunt Beverly. I-I'm sorry."
"You should be, dear, because you disobey your Aunt much too often. She loves her sweet little nephew and wants him to be a good boy, so she can be proud of him."
"Y-Yes, Aunt Beverly."
Now her voice was severe. "You know what this means, don't you?"
"Miles" voice was trembling with childish anxiety. "A-A spanking?"
"Yes, dear. A spanking. Just like all the times before. Your Aunt Beverly is going to make you pull down your trousers and shorts and lie on her lap. You'll be lying on my thighs, dear, against my silky nylon stockings, while I spank your bum bright red. Your hard little thing will rub against my nylons as my hand takes care of your backside. Just like all the times before. Isn't that right, dear?"
The big, mature man's face was flushed with agitation and he was trembling. "Yes, yes, Aunty," he replied in a high-pitched gasp.
"Very well, then, Miles," Stella told him, gently but firmly. "I'm going to go to my room to prepare myself for your punishment. I want you to come to my room in five minutes. If you try to put it off, or are late for any reason, it will mean ten extra spanks. Is that understood?"
"I-I understand, Aunt Beverly."
Stella couldn't help marvelling at the power of hypnotism. Before her was seated a mature, thirty-five-year-old successful businessman. Now, under her power, he was reduced to an overgrown, fourteen-year-old boy. She sighed with satisfaction.
Now, she rose and started toward her bedroom.
Exactly five minutes later, Stella heard a soft, hesitant knock on her bedroom door. "Come in, Miles, dear," she called out firmly yet gently.
The door slowly swung open. Miles Horton gingerly stepped in, trembling.
Stella could barely restrain a gasp of pleasure. The big, brawny, handsome husband of her daughter was clad only in a pair of white boxer shorts. In the front of the shorts was the massive bulge of the man's already erecting cock. Stella studied that big pubic bulge hungrily.
Miles stepped further into the room, hanging his head in abject shame, the very picture of a little boy about to be punished.
He stopped short, and his eyes bulged with wonder and desire as he looked upon his mother-in-law, thought-to-be-Aunt, who sat, waiting for him, on the edge of her bed.
The fifty-year-old Dominatrix was a stunning package of creamy white skin and black lingerie. Her lined face was heavily made up, and her thick, raven-black hair was done up in a severe bun at the back of her head. Her busty, voluptuous mature form was wrapped in a skin-tight, black satin corset. The heavy, shiny black fabric hugged her curves and bulges like an ebony condom. The cups of the garment were extremely low-cut, holding up her huge, heavy, melon-like breasts, yet exposing the black, quarter-sized nipples with the long, hard tips. The black satin traced her supple chest, her hourglass waist, and ended at her hips, just above her exposed, flaring buttocks, and her heavily-furred vagina. Thin, shirred black garter suspenders stretched down from the hem of the corset, pressing into the white flesh of her heavy, sculptured thighs. The garters only extended shortly down her thighs, where the chrome tabs clasped the darker, rolled welt tops of her nylon stockings. The sheer, shiny hose was a sooty, midnight-black shade, with razor-thin seams in back, sheathing her long, lovely legs like a second skin. And on her feet, the voluptuous, dominant woman wore her shiny, black patent leather pumps- with the six-inch spike heels that forced her feet into a ballerina-like pose and accented the heart-stopping shape of her stocking-sheathed legs.
Her son-in-law gasped at her. Stella smiled. To his hypnotized, dominated mind, she was his adolescent sexual goddess, his Aunt Beverly.
"Come here, Miles," Stella said firmly to her son-in-law.
The hypnotized mature man trembled visibly, but obeyed. He took slow, hesitant steps toward the older woman, his mother-in-law, seated on the edge of her large bed. In his feverish, dominated, mesmerized mind, he was approaching Aunt Beverly once again, just as he had done many years ago. Gosh, she looked so sexy. No panties, either. He could harldy take his eyes off her furry bush. He stared now at her legs. Black nylon stockings. He couldn't imagine anything more erotic. It made his cock begin to throb in his white cotton shorts.
Stella licked her lips lewdly as she watched the growing bulge in the white boxer shorts of the big brawny man now approaching her so cowering and submissive. As much as she liked dominating little boys, she always got a special thrill out of turning her tall, husky son-in-law into her obedient panty slave.
Now Miles was standing less than a foot away. She looked up at his flushed, craggy face. "Your Aunt loves you, Miles," she said softly. "But you must learn to obey me. I can tolerate no insubordination from you. If you obey me unquestioningly and lovingly, I can promise you great pleasures. But if you disobey me, you must be punished. Do you understand, dear?"
"Yes-yes, Aunt Beverly," Miles muttered, hanging his head.
"Very well, then. We must prepare for your discipline." Stella quickly slipped the fingers of both hands into the elastic waistband of the man's shorts and tugged them down, down his hips, and now his muscular buttocks. She let the shorts slide down the man's thick, hairy, sinewy legs. He stepped out of them.
The erotically dressed, middle-aged woman took a second or two to admire the man's thick, long cock pole and droopy brown sac bulging with his heavy balls, all covered with wiry black pubic hair. Such a contrast to his little son's hairless penis..But each thrilling to her in their own, special way...
"Now, dear," Stella said softly, but firmly, a shapely hand patting a nicely rounded, nylon-sheathed thigh. "I want you to bend over here and place your tummy on my lap. You know the way. Make it quick. The sooner you receive your spanking, the sooner we can do something more pleasant."
With a nearly childish groan, the burly, mature man leaned over, holding on to the side of the bed. Slowly, he bent forward, easing his lean stomach and abdomen down, until they were resting on top of his mother-in-law's smoothly-nyloned thighs. He groaned louder as his huge, pounding hard-on pressed against the firm, satiny warm thigh flesh beneath the gauzy, prickled whisper-sheer fabric of the taut stockings. Now the thirty-five-year-old man was bent over the lap of his forty-eight-year-old mother-in-law, in the old-fashioned spanking position, his white, sinewy buttocks high in the air, his hands and feet holding his balance on either side of her legs.
Once again, Stella felt the rush of gratification of finding she could comfortably hold a large, well-built man in that humiliating position. Already, the prospect of disciplining those mature male buttocks was making her insides squirm with arousal.
"That's a good boy, Miles," she murmured to the man now, feeling his stiff phallus throb hotly as it pressed against her stockings and watching his asscheeks clench and clench with anticipation. "I want you to take your spanking like a little man. Make your Aunt Beverly proud of you."
"Y-Yes, Aunt Beverly," the man-child whimpered agitatedly.
Stella smiled lovingly' down at her hypnotized male slave. Now, holding him firmly with her left hand and forearm, she raised her right hand in the air and took careful aim.
SMACK!
Her hand crashed down on one of Miles' large, protuberant, firmly muscled asscheeks.
The man jerked and gasped, childishly, although the blow wasn't hard. But in his mind, he was being soundly spanked by his domineering Aunt Beverly.
Stella raised her hand and saw the bright pink flush that had appeared on the man's asscheek. She smiled, wickedly, and raised her hand again- SMACK!
Her son-in-law kicked his muscular legs in the air, and his burly, heavy body jerked on her lap as if pulled by strings. He whimpered, louder, from the imagined pain. But his mesmerized mind was also spinning from the delicious sensation of his swelling, hardening cock rubbing against the scratchy-smooth texture of the nylon stockings that were like a second skin on her warm, firm thighs.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Stella's right arm raised and fell smoothly, quickly, as she delivered three stinging spanks to Miles' squirming, reddening buttocks. The hypnotized mature man's whimpers became sobs now, his voice high and quivery like a young boy's. The bizarre performance was exciting Stella immensely. Her thin, aristocratic nostrils flared, and her deep, hard breathing made her huge breasts rise and fall in the tight cups of the black satin corset. The middle-aged dominatrix was getting turned on, immensely- not just his hard, thick penis brushing against her nyloned thighs, but also the act of dominating and controlling her daughter's husband.
Her arm was pumping like a well-oiled piston as it continued to deliver hard, sharp, stinging spanks to the clenching and clenching male buttocks on her lap.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
"Owwwww! Owwwwwww! A-Aunt B-B-Beverly )owwww-owwwww-" The hypnotized man-boy held the tears back no longer and began to openly cry just like a little boy. His big, husky body began to shake with sobs, as his legs began to kick and kick in response to Stella's spanking hand.
With a strange, lustful light in her black eyes, the mature, erotically clad dominatrix continued to spank and spank as the naked man continued to sob and sob...
At about this time, some houses away, young Ronnie Brown, the den chief of the Scout den Stella was filling in a den mother of, was alone in his bedroom. He was also alone in the house, his mother having left a few minutes before to make her appointment with her favorite beautician.
The skinny, gangly boy was fully naked now, having taken off the scout uniform he had worn to a special den chief's meeting he had attended earlier. He had just placed the uniform items into the wicker clothes hamper beside his walnut bureau.- Now the naked boy was reaching deep into one of the drawers of the bureau. His peach-fuzzed, adolescent cock was fully erect, throbbing in the air, as he bent over.
For, once again, the only child had peered through the tiny hole he had bored in the wall separating his bedroom from his mother's. And, once again, he had watched his beautiful, sexy blonde-haired mother, naked from her bath, dress herself. And it had made his organ get so hard and stiff. Now he was going to finish the job.
He straightened, pulling his hand from the recesses of the bureau drawer. In the hand he held one of his mother's long, dark-tinted, sheer stockings. He had liberated it from her hamper and he knew he had to use it before she noticed it was missing. Quickly, the boy crossed over to his single bed, and climbed on top of it, still carrying the woman's stocking.
With a deep, soulful sigh, the adolescent boy slipped the stocking over his erect cock pole, bunching the welt as he did. Now his penis was sheathed in the foot of the stocking, the flaring cockhead tenting the darker, reinforced toe pad. Then he closed his eyes. His hand began to softly frig the stocking against his supersensitive cock flesh, making it stiffen and swell more and more in its nylon condom.
The lad closed his eyes. He began to dream of his mother, standing beside the bed, full naked. She had just strapped on a frilly white garter belt. Now she was slowly rolling a dark stocking-that dark stocking-onto her shapely white legs. First one... and then the other...
Yes... the silky stocking in his hand was on his beloved mother's heavenly leg. His hot, hard cock was where her exquisite foot had been...
Ronnie began to moan deeply on the bed. His hand pumped and pumped at his stocking-covered cock.
Now he was in her bedroom. She was standing before him, her glorious nudity only enhanced by garter belt and stockings. She was watching him, with her loving, motherly look, as he put on a pair of her stockings, too, attached them to one of her garter belts around his naked waist.
Ronnie's body was covered with sweat, as he groaned and groaned helplessly. His hand was a blur as he masturbated with his mother's stocking.
Now they were in bed. Together. Their bodies were one. He could feel her stockinged legs stroke his buttocks as she guided his pounding cock into her... deeply...
Ronnie bucked on the bed, spasmodically, as he came into the bunched stocking in his hand...
"All right, dear."
Stella Hartley now raised her stinging palm from her son-in-law's naked buttocks. Miles was whimpering softly now, his burly, tanned body shaking and shaking with emotion and stimulation on her lap. The dominant mother-in-law surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction. The man's big, firm ass cheeks were glowing with rosy inflammation from her sound hand spanking. Those red cheeks were now clenching and clenching from the fire those hard smacks had built up on the sensitive flesh.
"You may rise now, dear. I think you've been punished enough. Don't you think so?"
"Y-Y-Yes-Yes, Aunt Beverly," the mature, mesmerized man blubbered in a fourteen-year-old voice.
Slowly, the naked, powerfully-built man rose from her smoothly nyloned lap. Stella saw, with a thrill, that tears streamed from his eyes, down his lean, stubbly cheeks. It was yet another indication to her how deeply hypnotized and cowed her son-in-law was. It was with a different kind of thrill that she noted how stiff and swollen his large penis was. He was reliving his boyhood wet dream, and it excited him immensely.
"You poor boy," she cooed softly, lovingly, to him. "I'm sorry I had to spank you so soundly. But you must learn to obey your Aunt Beverly. She loves her sweet little nephew-very much."
"Do-do you?" Miles blubbered.
"Oh, yes, darling. You were a very good, obedient boy to take your spanking like you did. Such a good boy. I think you deserve a reward, dear."
"A-a reward?" The mature man's eyes lit Up with immature arousal. "You mean-like last time?"
"Yes, dear. Just like last time. You'd like that, wouldn't you dear?"
"Gosh, Auntie-gosh!" Miles appeared beside himself with excitement.
The sitting, voluptuous, erotically clad woman smiled sweetly. "I can see you would. I would, too, dear."
"You-You would? Really, Auntie?"
"Of course, sweetheart," Stella said with a soft laugh. "It makes me feel good, just as it does you."
"Gosh-gee-" Miles appeared intrigued. "There's so much I don't understand about-"that."
Stella's deep, black eyes glittered. "Don't worry, my sweet nephew," she murmured, her voice husky with passion. "Your Aunt will teach you-a lot."
At her lascivious tone, Miles trembled boyishly, and his big cock throbbed. Stella felt that familiar tingling of lewd lust in her loins. She had toyed with him long enough. Now, she wanted her daughter's husband-turned little boy. And she wanted him now.
She petted the edge of the mattress next to her. "Come sit beside me, dear." Her eyes were commanding, nearly sending out hot sparks with the naked, hungry desire in them.
Miles trembled more at her words, and she was reminded rather thrillingly of the son. Slowly and gingerly, Miles sat down beside his dominant, older mother-in-law.
Her nearness seemed to overpower him. Her warmth, her bewitching perfume, surrounded him, intoxicated him. He stared with rapture at her big, black nipples with the erect tips that peeked over the lace-fringed cups of the black satin corset, at the deep cleavage between the milk-white mounds of her heavy breasts that overfilled those cups. His gaze traveled down, noting how the skin-tight black satin foundation garment hugged her generous curves. The thin, shirred garter suspenders seemed taut as piano wire from the hem of the black corset as they stretched down her heavy, rounded, alabaster thighs. Her puffy, hairy vulva was framed perfectly between the suspenders. For a long, breathless moment, Miles studied his mother-in-law's opera-length, super-sheer, lustrous black nylon stockings sheathed her beautiful legs like a second, glittering skin. His cock throbbed anew at the thought of how it had felt rubbing against those glossy, smooth stockings. The black patent leather high-heeled pumps were a perfect compliment to the erotic tableau before him.
Now she was opening her arms, causing her large, soft breasts to wriggle in the corset cups as she did. Her strong, smooth arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him to her. Now her lips were on his, and the probing flame of her tongue was in his mouth, searching for his. They met.
And now, slowly, they rolled onto her bed. Mouth to mouth in a burning, proving kiss of flaming passion. They were in a deep, hot clinch. Moans and sighs grew louder, more passionate. Now Miles broke off the heart-pounding kiss and began to groan and groan, as her hand began to gently fondle his thumping cock. Her lips! found his again. They kissed and kissed some more, the thirty-five-year-old, stark naked man and his forty-eight-year-old mother-in-law, wearing only the black satin corset, long, glossy black stockings and glittering black spike-heeled pumps...
"Whew! Let's sit a minute, Bobby."
"Okay, Mom."
Barbara Horton and her little son, Bobby, paused in their shopping at the local shopping center to sit at one of the small, wooden benches in the mall. The mature, beautiful brunette gratefully eased down on the bench, and the adolescent boy plopped down beside her. Close beside her. Mindlessly, she crossed her long, shapely, stocking-sheathed legs with a soft brushing of sheer nylon, and slipped off one of her open-toed dark-blue pumps. She massaged the dark nylon-snugged foot, tenderly, wriggling her sweet little nylon-padded toes for circulation. Suddenly, she was conscious of her son's avid gaze on her nylon-clad legs, seeming to concentrate on her smoothly nyloned foot. immediately, she felt her tummy quake with arousal. She tried to suppress it, but the obviously-desiring gaze of her beloved little son set off all the deep, buried subconscious lusts and made them conscious. Her mind automatically flashed back to her wild, wicked, incestuous dream of the night before. Now her loins were prickling with arousal- God! Dear God! What was wrong with her? The more she tried to suppress her wicked, lewd feelings, the more they seemed to rebound right back at her...
Naughty, naughty," she teased her son, in an attempt to lighten the situation. "Mama's going to have to wear pants suits if you keep looking at her legs like that."
Bobby flushed, and averted his gaze. "I-I'm sorry, Mama," he muttered, in an embarrassed way that only made her heart go out to him more.
"Don't be embarrassed, dear," she laughed, softly, tousling his crew-cut head. "It's nice such a handsome boy thinks my legs are pretty."
"Aw, Mom," Bobby muttered, embarrassed. He was keenly aware of her soft, warm hand now caressing his forehead-as was she enraptured by the feeling of his smooth, flawless, boyish skin.
For his part, Bobby had spent much of the shopping trip covertly gazing at his mother's beautifully stockinged legs... and the legs of other women in the various stores he had been in. In fact, the various hosiery departments he had wondered through had claimed his attention. Now, sitting beside his lovely mother, he was acutely conscious of the warmth of her body, her perfume, the generous curves that bulged out her blouse and skirt. And it was making his little organ hard and stiff again in his tight jeans. He had already had to visit the restroom once to relieve himself... where he had thought of how smoothly and sleekly those glossy, skin-tight dark grey nylon stockings fit on his mother's beautifully curved legs, and had pumped nearly a gallon of semen into the toilet bowl...
"It's only natural for a growing boy to notice things like a woman's legs, dear," Barbara was saying. "I'm flattered that you notice mine. Of course, it's no wonder you look at legs. Your grandmother's legs are awfully pretty, too, aren't they?"
"Uh-huh," Bobby gulped. Now visions of his grandmother's lovely legs, always clad in dark, sexy hose, filled his mind. It also reminded him of the naughty, forbidden, but fantastically erotic wet dream he had had last night. It all seemed so real. He could again feel his grandmother's gauzy, scratchy-smooth stockings on her legs rubbing on his shivering skin as he pumped his super-hard organ into her burning depths-... It had seemed so real... His boycock gave a lurch in his jeans at the thoughts crowding his head.
"Bobby-are you all right?" His mother's hand caressed his now sweating forehead. "You seem hot, and you're flushed."
"I'M all right, Mom. Really."
The poor little lamb, Barbara thought. Look how I excite him! I should be shot! But it showed to the mature woman that her son desired her as much as she desired him. She shifted slightly, and then realized that the front of her nylon panties were getting wet. Good Lord!
"Both-both you and Grandma have real pretty legs," Bobby said now, with an effort.
"Why, thank you, darling," Barbara replied, trying to retain the light tone. "We're both glad to hear that, I'm sure."
"Well, it's true," Bobby replied. Barbara smiled lovingly at her son. Suddenly, an overpowering impulse hit her, and she slowly recrossed her legs, slowly brushing one slickly stockinged leg against the other, so that the electric swish of nylon against nylon was quite audible. With gratification, she watched her son's eyes feverishly devour the scene. The leg action also caused the hem of her dark blue skirt to slip on the smooth nylon of her hose and display more of her thick, heavy, sculptured thighs, and the cobwebby dark grey nylon stretched so taut and smoothly over them. With a start, she realized she was deliberately teasing her own son-and enjoying his obvious arousal.
"Tell me, dear," she purred, warmly, softly. "How do you like our legs? Mine and your grandmother's Do you prefer them bare, or in a pair of sheer stockings-like these?" Playfully, she brushed a shapely white hand against one of her crossed, dark-nylon-sheathed thighs.
Bobby was almost trembling. But, gamely, he replied, "In-in stockings, Mama."
His answer thrilled her. She thought of her dream last night where she had that inspiration about leaving her garter belt and hose on. So it was true...
"I see, dear," Barbara replied softly, still keeping her voice light and playful, just like any woman would with her young son. "Of course, that's why women wear hose-really. Your preference is very natural, son. Of course, there's all kinds of hose. For example, do you like the flesh-tone stockings some women wear, or do you find the dark, sheer, full-fashioned kind more to your liking?"
"The-the dark kind. Like-like you're wearing, Mama," Bobby gulped.
"Oh, really, dear? How nice. I'm glad you like my hose, son. It is more sexy, isn't it?"
"Uh-huh."
Barbara smiled, sweetly. "And I suppose I don't have to ask whether you prefer pantyhose or regular nylons with garters. You think garter belts are-sexy. Right?"
Bobby was clearly agitated. But he answered, "Y-Yes, Mama."
"Hmmmmm," Barbara said, as much to herself as to Bobby. Her face was suddenly thoughtful. "And here I used to think your grandmother was so old-fashioned with her garter belts and corsets and all! I'm the one behind the times, I guess."
Bobby didn't reply. He was too busy ogling his mother's sensuous, shapely, stockinged legs again.
While Barbara and Bobby were deep in their interesting discussion, her deeply hypnotized, fully dominated husband was in bed with her middle-aged mother. His rosy-red, freshly spanked buttocks were hovering between those lovely legs so smooth and dark and shimmery in the opera-length midnight-black nylon stockings. His buttocks sank now, and they both groaned deeply as his stiff, pounding cock slipped smoothly into her hot, hairy cunt hole.
"OOOOHHHHHH-YES-S-S-S-S-DARLING-" Stella moaned as her guts squirmed hotly at the sensation of her son-in-law's huge, long, stiff phallus probing the depths of her spasming cunt sheath, filling her fully-"GO DEEP IN ME-DEEPER' MY HONEY B O Y -D EEPER-DEEPER-OOOHHHHHHHH-" Miles groaned in reply to the undulating, older woman beneath him, as his low-hanging, hairy ball sac now touched her soft, smooth inner thighs. Her palpitating, puffy pussy lips grasped gently around his thick cock root. He was fully impaled into his mother-in-law's cunt, his flaring cockhead pressing against the velvety walls of her burning-hot womb. Her slick cunt walls were squeezing and stroking his throbbing pole like a warm, loving, wet hand. Her incredibly delicious pussy sheath was making his immense organ swell and stiffen even more with horny inflammation. He groaned and groaned, eyes closed, his sweating face just inches above hers, enslaved by his burning lust and her hypnotic spell. UHHHHH - UHHH H.H - A - A U N T BEVERLY-I-I FEEL SO FUNNY-I-I'M BURNING UP-" he groaned deeply to his thought-to-be Aunt, as his big, brawny body seemed to melt against her yielding, soft, erotically clad body, his skin rubbing shiveringly against the smooth, tight black satin of her form-fitting corset, which was delightfully warmed by her pounding body beneath. His large, sinewy hands gripped her flesh-padded hips hard, just below the lace-fringed hem of the erotic foundation garment. And her arms held his thick, muscular neck in a tight embrace.
The thirty-five-year-old man and the forty-eight-year-old woman continued groaning and moaning' as his erect cock soaked in her steaming cunt.
"Now, my honey," Stella whispered to Miles just above her, her sweet, warm breath caressing his flushed face. "Now, darling, move your lovely cock in and out of me... slowly, darling, slowly... mmmmmmmmmmm-... ooooooooohhh... yes, yes, lovely honey... "
Obediently, his large, muscular, rosy-red behind was raising and lowering, raising and lowering, slowly, between the woman's trembling, raised, black stocking-sheathed legs. As he did, she dug the spike heels of her glittering pumps into the mattress in agitation. Wet juicy sounds became audible in the quiet bedroom as the man's throbbing penile shaft began to work in and out of his mother-in-law's hairy, bubbling cunt hole. "Kiss me-my love-" Stella moaned.
"Yes-Auntie-I-I love you so," gasped back the hypnotized mature man in the fourteen-year-old voice.
Their mouths met. And fused. They kissed, deeply, slowly, lingeringly. Their soft, warm tongues intermingled. The middle-aged woman tightened her arms around her son-in-law's thick neck, crushing him against her, so that her firm, meaty breasts in the stiff half cups of the black satin corset flattened against his naked, barrel chest, and her arm muscles trembled with the effort. They moaned, still in their dreamy soul kiss. And, as if to an erotic love beat, his red-spanked, naked buttocks pumped in and out, in and out, between her upraised, long, beautiful legs. Muscles trembled there, too, beneath the shimmery, filmy black gauze of her nylon hose. Each deep, hard, breathtaking thrust of his pounding penis into her drooling cunt hole, her sweet, nylon-snugged toes clenched in her patent-leather pumps, and she dug the spike heels deeper into the mattress. It was a hot, wet and juicy fuck.
They broke off the kiss with groans of burning passion. The sweat was beading on their straining, coupling bodies, and they were breathing harder, deeper, beginning to pant.
"OOOOOOOHHH-OOOOOOOHHHH-SO LOVELY-LOVELY-" Stella gasped to the man pressing down on her, as his hard pelvic thrusts, the deep, deep penetration of his immense love tool, sent Shockwaves through her agitated system. "NOW MY HONEY BOY-" she cried, breathlessly, but commandingly, "GO DEEPER-HARDER-FUCK ME-FUCK ME-MAKE ME CUMMMMMM WITH YOUR LOVELY COCK-OOOOHHHH-" And obediently the sweating, groaning man stepped up the hot pace, spurred on by her commands, forcing his overheated body to pound and pound down on her soft, yielding, erotically clad body, pumping his stiff, swollen, throbbing prick faster and harder and deeper into her delicious, fiery, massaging pussy sheath. She took his downward plunges, thrust for body-killing thrust, with a rhythmic upheaving that caused their thundering hips and bellies to slap wetly against each other with an audible smack-smack-smack! The bedsprings creaked in protest at the heavy action on the mattress of the queen-sized bed.
Miles' mesmerized, dominated mind was reeling from the jolting sensations that nearly numbed him. The thought that he was making love to his beautiful, worshipped Aunt made his temples pound defeaningly, as the stroking, hot, slick, and palpitating grip of the woman's velvety cunt around his still swelling and stiffening, inflamed cock sent shudders blasting through his jangled nerves. His swinging, hairy ball sac was beginning to draw up tight under his plunging cock pole as the heavy balls filled with steaming love fluid in preparation for a heavy, hard, mind-blowing cum.
Now, through the white-hot haze that was enveloping his head, he heard his mother-in-law, thought-to-be Aunt, murmur something lovingly to him, her puffing breath warm on his sweating face just inches above hers. Smoothly, her nylon stocking-sheathed legs pressed against his pumping hips and buttocks. His super-sensitive flesh there began to rub and rub against her scratch-smooth, slick stockings and the firm, warm, heavenly flesh beneath the taut nylon mesh. He groaned anew, and fresh sweat popped out on his back as his skin crawled against the electric kiss of her gossamer nylon hosiery.
Her red-painted lips found his ear. "Feel good, darling? I'll bet it does... Soft, silky nylons... feel them... honey... "
Miles groaned helplessly in reply, again in the fourteen-year-old voice. There was the static hiss of nylon brushing against skin as he continued his breathtaking pelvic thrusts that were sending them both into horny heaven.
"UHHHHH-UHHHHHHHHH-" Miles gasped and gasped, at the thousands of fiery sparks racing up and down his spine. Stella's tight, clutching cunt lips were a ring of fire around his pounding cock shaft, and her deep, stroking depths were like a bubbling cauldron, the delicious friction of fornication inflaming his already swollen and rock-hard formidable organ.
His mother-in-law's magnificent cunt was sucking his cock, sucking so hard and hard and wet, making it grow harder, bigger, and throb furiously. His ball sac was now tightly drawn up, his big balls quivering with steamy cum. His hairy white and pink spanked ass cheeks were beginning to clench and clench in anticipation of the shattering orgasm that was so near as they now pumped crazily behind the passionate, breathtaking thrusts of his cock all the way into her womb. Meanwhile, goose bumps were forming on his hips and buttocks as they continued rubbing tinglingly against his mother-in-law's pressing, surrounding, trembling legs swathed in the lustrous, black-tinted sheer stockings.
Beneath his straining, pounding body, Stella was gasping and groaning, too, as she felt his stabbing cock stroke a bonfire in her loins, a bonfire that grew hotter and hotter each second. Her lined, heavily made-up face was twisted with a leer of lewd depravity as she upheaved her fleshy hips to meet his sinewy hips, making their bellies smack wetly together. She was totally engulfed in the stupendous orgasm that was building inside her, her mind becoming fogged with hot fuck fever and the ecstatic thrill of dominating and seducing her own daughter's husband.
All the while, their, heaving, rocking, bucking bodies coupled furiously, frenziedly atop Stella's big bed. Their breath pounded, sweat poured off their jerking bodies, and their gasps and groans grew louder and louder, more and more desperate. And still, the naked, brawny, mature man, and the older, statuesque, voluptuous woman clad in only skin-tight black corset, long, sheer, sooty black stockings and glittering, spike-heeled black pumps fucked and fucked and fucked- "OOOOOOOHHH-OOOOOOHHHH- OOOOOOOHHHH-" Stella cried, her voice rising to a scream, as her black corset-clad body began to jerk and jerk under her son-in-law's body. "OOOOOOOOOOOHHH-" Her busty body heaved and heaved, forced down only by the man's pounding mass, as her burning, boiling pussy exploded in a body-killing cum. Her head flopped from side to side in ecstatic abandon, her painted mouth sagging open, her blue-tinted eyelids shut, her nostrils flaring, causing strands of her raven black hair to work from the tight bun behind her head. She crushed Miles' pounding body against hers in a tight clench. Her long, shapely, black stocking-clad legs began to kick on either side of his pumping, naked buttocks, her black pump-shot feet reaching for the ceiling. "OOOOOOOHHH-OOOOOOOHHH-OOOOOOOHHH-MY DARLING-I-I'M CUMMING -CUMMMMMING FOR MY DARLING-" Suddenly, Miles snapped back his head and shouted. "UUUHHH -UHHHHHH - UHHHHHHH-G-GOSH-GOSH-I'M-I'M-" His behind became a pumping blur as it madly drove his bursting cock into his mother-in-law's convulsing, creaming cunt hole, the flow of her boiling love liquid only inflaming his raging hard-on more-He was shudderingly close to orgasm- "OH YES, DARLING-" Stella moaned lewdly, urgently, to her son-in-law -"MY SWEETHEART-MY LOVE-DONT HOLD IT BACK' DARLING-CUM, HONEY-FEELS SO GOOD - CUMMMMM F OR ME-CUMMM-CUMMM-CUMMMMMM-"
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH-" Miles roared, and fell down, falling on his mother-in-law's bucking body, as he plunged his bloated, thumping, engorged cock all the way into her womb. A heartbeat later, that holting, inflamed organ began to spurt and spurt, filling her womb with its burning sperm- "OOOOHHHH-OOOOOHHHH-OOOOHHHHHHHHH-"" Stella screamed mindlessly, the feeling of the volcanic surge of his spilling cock totally blowing her mind. Now her kicking, black nylon-stocking sheathed legs wrapped around his clenching, sweating behind, her spike heels digging into the hard ass cheeks. The bodies of woman and man began to rock vigorously back and forth on the bed, as they moaned and groaned and came, stupendously in a massive double-orgasm. Now those intertwined bodies began to roll around on the mattress as mother-in-law and son-in-law began to kiss, passionately between groans and sighs, their arms locked around each other, her glossy, stockinged legs holding his behind in a convulsive grip. They continued, a long, dreamy, while as his shuddering cock filled her with his cum...
CHAPTER FOUR
"Okay, boys!" Stella Hartley called out, clapping her hands, briskly. "Time's about up."
Her words brought groans from the six little boys seated around the kitchen table.
"Now, come on, you guys," Ronnie Brown added, standing at one side of the table. "Mrs. Hartley's let you have the whole meeting to study your lines for the program. So let's move it."
Stella smiled warmly at the teenaged boy as he glanced her way. He was so cute and serious in his Boy Scout uniform with the rakish red barret. Although he was skinny enough for the khaki uniform to hang on his slight frame, and was still a few inches shorter than she, he was doing his best to act like an adult. The middle-aged woman found him charming, cute... and arousing. Quickly, she recovered, and walked around the kitchen table, talking to each little scout in turn about his part in the den's upcoming program for the Banquet. Besides little Bobby, her grandson, there was Jimmy, Teddy, Sidney, Patrick and Lonny. All of them were around Bobby's tender years, and all were the sons of her friends and neighbors. They were attentive and polite to her... and secretly ogled her voluptuous form when they thought they could get away with it. And, of course, she encouraged this, allowing the boys plenty of opportunities to get a good look up her legs, or down her bosom. She cock-teased the little boys and Ronnie purposely, getting a tremendous thrill from it, and also laying a foundation for her future plans.
Now, as she chatted and smiled down at the little scouts who looked so wide-eyed up at her, Stella put some more thought into those plans. Basically, she planned to hypnotize, seduce and make sexual use of all the boys in her den-that was why she had volunteered for the seemingly thankless job in the first place, after all the mothers had turned it down. She smiled inwardly as she thought of those grateful mothers-and fathers. If only they knew! But, fortunately, thanks to her powers of hypnosis, they wouldn't.
Yes, she thought as she made her rounds, she was going to ball every little boy there... one by one, slowly but steadily... and their den chief, Ronnie, would be first...
With that, she glanced up and caught him once again ogling her. He quickly dropped his eyes and pretended to collect the papers of one of the boys for him. She drew her glance around the table. She smiled wickedly. She had caught a few more gazes her way from the cubs.
Of course, it was quite understandable. She was wearing the regulation Mother's outfit of pale yellow, short-sleeved blouse, navy-blue skirt, and small cap with her long, thick raven hair piled up inside it. However, she wore the blouse quite tight, emphasizing the generous tenting of her big, heavy bosom, with the first few buttons, undone, allowing the boys a thrilling peek of her considerable cleavage. The dark blue skirt was, perhaps, a bit shorter than usually worn, exposing her knees, calves, ankles and feet to her cubs' wide eyes. Those gorgeous legs were dark and glossy in a pair of dark brown nylon stickings, their shape brought into stark relief by the black patent, high-heeled pumps that encased her stockinged feet.
Thus, when Stella purposely bent over or walked by, it was not surprising that the innocent eyes of her little boys followed her.
But now they were taking their leave, having picked up their materials and beginning to head for the kitchen door, carrying on a rapid-fire conversation with each other as they did. Stella watched the adolescent boys a moment, so cute in their scout uniforms, and felt the surge of pedophiliac lust in her loins.
The half-dozen boys were almost through that door before she stopped them.
"Now, remember, boys, I want those pieces learned by next Monday's meeting," she told them, firmly.
"Awww, gee, Mrs. Hartley." That was young Jimmy Johnston, an adorable, freckle-faced redhead. "Do we have to?"
"Yes, you do. The banquet isn't far off."
"Golly!" returned Lonny Merrill. He turned to Bobby. "She's your grandmother, man. Talk to her."
Bobby fidgeted uneasily. Stella broke the tension with a musical laugh.
"Bobby knows I mean what I say, Lonny," she said, lightly. "Don't you, dear?"
"Uhh-yeah, yeah," her grandson muttered. He kept his eyes averted from her.
"Okay, you guys," Ronnie broke in, firmly. "You heard Mrs. Hartley. You get those pieces learned by next meeting. I'll bet the other dens have learned theirs already."
Up against the firmness of Mother and den chief, the cubs saw there was no appeal. With groans and mutters, the boys went out the door, with the exception of Bobby and Ronnie, who were busily cleaning off the kitchen table. Stella saw that it was time to make her move.
"Stay for a moment, Ronnie," she said to the teenaged boy, laying a hand softly on his shoulder. She felt him quiver slightly at her touch.
"Yes, Ma'am," he replied obediently.
Now she walked up to Bobby, who was standing at the screen door of thy kitchen. At the click-click of her high heels, he looked up at her, and his eyes noticeably widened.
Stella quickly glanced behind her, saw that Ronnie was too occupied to notice them. Now, she stared down into her little grandson's eyes intensely. Bobby's eyes grew glazed and his body seemed to stiffen. For a moment, she continued staring deeply into the little boy's eyes, then waved her hand in front of them. Bobby did not blink. He was once again in her hypnotic power.
"Bobby," she murmured, low but firmly. "You will obey me."
"Yes, Mistress," he replied, monosyllabically.
"I want you to leave the house for awhile. Your parents won't be home for an hour, and I want you to be gone that long. Is there some place you can go?"
"Yes," her little grandson replied in that same spiritless monotone. "The guys are gonna play over at Jimmy's house."
"Fine. Then you go there. Now."
"Yes, Mistress."
"And," she added, maternally, "be sure not to get that uniform too mussed up. Your mother will skin you alive if she has to mend it again."
"Yes, Mistress."
"Obey," she told him firmly.
Obediently, Bobby turned and eased out the screened door. Stella watched him walk out through the garage, until he disappeared from sight. She felt a quick shiver of delight at this demonstration of her power over the lad.
Then she turned, and flashed a quick smile at Ronnie.
"I see you've got everything cleaned up, dear," she told him. ___________ "Yes, Mrs. Hartley," the den chief replied.
"That's a good boy," she commented with a warm smile. She saw that the boy looked rather agitated at that; there was no doubt he was infatuated with her. Sexually infatuated. The dear boy was at his teen years a mass of suppressed sexual drives, literally at the height of his sexual prowess, despite his immaturity. She wondered, idly, what kind of cock was concealed in his tight khaki pants. She felt the familiar tingling in her loins. She wanted this child, wanted to seduce this trembling adolescent boy, wanted to taste his tender young flesh. And he would only be the first. Soon, all the boys in the den would be hers...
Then she mentally shrugged. It was time to get down to the business at hand. She had a lot to accomplish before her daughter and son-in-law returned from that car dealer.
"Well, Ronnie, I see that we're alone," she said, staring directly at him, with her warm smile.
Ronnie visible quivered. "Uhhh, yeah, Mrs. Hartley."
She walked up to him, slowly. "You know, dear, we've never taken the time to get to know each other better. You know?"
"I-I guess not," Ronnie replied.
"Do you have a little while, dear? You don't have to go home right now, do you?"
Ronnie was staring into her wide, limpid black eyes. "No... I don't."
"Good. Then let's go over to the couch and have a little chat."
"Uhhhh... " Ronnie hesitated, clearly agitated at the prospect of being at such close, intimate proximity with one of the women who filled his wet dreams.
"Com'on, Ronnie," Stella laughed. "I won't bite. I promise."
"Oh-okay," he said.
Stella led the way to the living room, fully aware of the lad's eyes feasting on her large, protuberant buttocks swaying in her tight skirt, her flashing,, glossily stockinged legs, her swaying hips. She let her heavy thighs brush together as she walked, causing the erotic sound of sheer nylon swishing against sheer nylon.
They reached the couch, and she saw the short trip had already caused Ronnie to start perspiring just the smallest bit. That was good. She was already weaving him in her mature, sexual spell. With a rustle of clingy fabric and static nylon, she seated" herself on the firm but comfortable brown leather couch which dominated the wood paneled living room. She patted a spot on the couch close beside her. "Sit down, dear," she invited.
Ronnie hesitated a bit; then sat down, gingerly. Stella flashed the teenaged boy scout her warmest smile as she turned to him. She saw his wide eyes roving over her form, noted the fact that his breathing had increased. The warmth of her ripe body, her soft, enticing perfume, her physical nearness, were all enveloping him, arousing him.
"Comfortable, dear?" she asked.
"Yes-yes," he replied.
"Good. Now we can talk easier." She flashed him another smile. "I think the boys will do very well at the banquet, don't you?"
"I-I think so. The program is kinda neat-using those historical quotes for the benediction," Ronnie replied with some enthusiasm. "I think it'll-" And then he stopped. For, the buxom, statuesque, middle-aged woman had crossed her stocking-clad legs, slowly, teasingly. The lad's eyes had immediately riveted on the sight, his mouth hanging open, slightly. Slowly, so slowly, Stella slipped one slickly stockinged leg over the other, prolonging the electric rasp of nylon against nylon. The hem of her tight, navy-blue uniform skirt slipped sleekly on the smooth gauze of her dark-brown tinted stockings, exposing a generous portion of her heavy, but firmly rounded thighs which stretched the filmy nylon hose to a lighter shade. Ronnie's eyes seemed somewhat glassy as they raked over his den mother's long, shapely, stocking-sheathed legs, taking in her glittering black pump-shod feet as well.
Surprised elation swept over Stella as she clinically and professionally evaluated the boy's reaction to the sexual stimulus. The little lamb was in the grip of a strong sexual fetish-perhaps several of them. Like so many small boys, lingerie played a prominent role in his sexual desires-stockings, high heels, bras, panties, corsets, gloves, all the intimate feminine apparel that was all the boys usually were allowed to see of the exciting, mysterious world of Sex. It wasn't surprising that such garments had such a powerful fascination for them-and hold over them.
And, of course, this was more than all right to Stella. She, herself, was fascinated with the use of erotic fetishism in sex-especially its use for seduction and sexual slavery. Her den chief, Ronnie, was a prime candidate to join her pedophiliac stud stable as a panty slave. The realization made her quiver with anticipation as she stared at the agitated, infatuated boy.
"Yes, dear?" she prodded. "You were saying?" With an effort, Ronnie tore his nearly bulging eyes from her displayed, stockinged legs. "I-I was saying I thought the program would go over real well, Mrs. Hartley," he managed to stammer.
"Ronnie, dear, are you all right?" Stella asked with feigned concern. "You seem so-jumpy."
"I-I'm all right, Mrs. Hartley."
"No, you seem rather agitated to me," the middle-aged woman returned firmly. "Ill bet you've let school and scout work run you down. I'm right, aren't I?"
"Well," Ronnie began hesitantly, and then grasped at the straw purposely offered by Stella to explain his fetishistic reaction to her impromptu leg show. "I-I guess you're right."
"I know I'm right, dear. Remember, dear, I have a degree m psychology. I can teW ftve svgcvs oi strain. I'm glad we're having this little talk, Ronnie. I can help you."
"H-Help me?"
"Help you leam to relax. I learned it in college, dear. It works wonders. I've used it myself."
"You have?"
"Um-hmm. I know it would help you. Would you like to give it a try?"
"Well... " Ronnie looked a bit confused.
"Come on, Ronnie. It won't hurt. I know you'll feel better afterward. It's just a way to calm down after you get uptight about things."
Ronnie looked at her with wide, but trusting eyes. It was evident he was already a little dominated by the vivacious attractive older woman.
"O-Ok'ay, if you say so," he said.
"I say so," she replied, softening it with a particularly warm smile that made Ronnie gulp.
"Wh-What do I do?" he asked.
"Well, dear, it's basically relaxation, while you concentrate on one thing, to clear your mind of anxiety." Stella explained smoothly, not giving Ronnie a chance to think. "So, just lie back on the couch... that's right.' Now just relax. Let your body go limp, dear."
The teenaged boy obeyed her, settling back against the padded back cushions of the leather davenport. His thin, gawky body visibly became less tense. Stella turned half around to face him, slowly leaning toward him. Now, she was inches Xhxa , "]"\vo \"gaiv \,o qtxwei \t\ response. A.gain, the middle-aged den mother smiled encouragement to the lad.
"That's a good boy, Ronnie," she purred, leaning even closer to the boy. "now that you're relaxed, all you need to do is concentrate."
"H-How do I do that?" Ronnie asked.
"Simple, dear. All you have to do is look in my eyes. Concentrate on that, dear. Just look into my eyes and think of nothing. Let everything go... all your troubles fly away... Just look into my eyes... "
Now she was leaning over the teenaged den chief, her lined, heavily made-up face only scant inches from his smaller, hairless, ruddy face. But trustingly, Ronnie obeyed his den mother. His light green eyes stared into her deep, black ones. Instantly, her eyes became intense and compelling. Ronnie began to tremble again.
"That's the way, dear. Look into my eyes... just look, dear... look... look... look... think of nothing... nothing... "
Ronnie, with a gasp, tried, to tear his eyes from the strange, magnetic, overpowering ebony eyes of the older woman. But he couldn't. Her words, so ; warm and soft and caressing, massaged his senses, [ became a steady drone that made his mind wander...
"Yes, dear... yes... you're completely i relaxed... so relaxed... you feel so warm, so comfortable... so totally relaxed... you are I drifting... drifting... "
Ronnie had ceased his trembling. He was staring wide-eyed into Mrs. Hartley's eyes. And the boy's eyes were becoming glazed.
"Oh, dear... you're becoming sleepy... so sleepy... Your eyelids are so heavy... so heavy... because you are so sleepy... "
The young, impressionable child was quickly falling into the middle-aged dominatrix's hypnotic trance. His eyes had become quite glassy and staring, and now his eyelids were fluttering.
"Now you can't keep your eyelids up... you are so sleepy, my dear... so very sleepy... all you want to do is sleep... sleep... sleep... "
The boy's eyelids were definately drooping, and his head was tilting, as if it were too heavy for his neck.
"Go to sleep, dear. Close your eyes and sleep. Obey me and go into a nice, deep, dreamy sleep... sleep, dear... "
Ronnie's eyes were closed. With a tremulous sigh, his head dropped forward, his chin touching his collarbone.
Ronnie Brown was deep in a hypnotic trance.
Air hissed between Stella's clenched teeth as she suppressed a cry of sheer delight at her facile hypnotizing of the teenaged boy. Her eyes glittered hotly as they now surveyed the now-sleeping form of the adolescent lad in the boy scout uniform.
Then she collected herself. It was time to probe a little bit, and see just what use she could make of the child... and confirm her psychological diagnosis of his fetishism.
"Ronnie, dear," she began, softly. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes... " The boy's voice was toneless.
"You will concentrate on my voice. You will obey my voice. You will obey me. You have no will of your own. All you want to do is please me. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes... "
"I am your Mistress. I have total control over you. You will obey all my commands because you love your Mistress and want to please her."
"Yes... Mistress."
"Who am I, dear?"
"You-You are my... Mistress. I do what you say. I-I love you. I-I want to please you." Ronnie's voice stumbled as he sought to remember what he was told.
Stella smiled, wickedly. She had been right. Ronnie was naturally submissive to women... such as his mother. Stripped of his inhibitions, he would obey her without trouble. Just like Bobby... and Timmy... and, yes, Miles...
"That's fine, dear. If you obey me well, you will be rewarded. You will find much pleasure in obeying me... and much pain in disobeying me. Do you understand that, dear?"
"Yes... I understand... Mistress."
'Now it was time to probe deeper. "Who am I to you, dear? Besides your Mistress, I mean."
"You're-you're Mrs. Hartley."
"Do you like me, dear?"
"Oh, yes... yes... I do... a lot."
"Why do you like me, dear?"
"You-You're so pretty and-and sexy... " the boy's words trailed off.
"You little sweetheart," Stella murmured, as she felt a warm glow in her tummy... and the tingling in her loins. "Your Mistress is pleased... Now, dear, what exactly do you like about me?"
"You're so shapely... your b-breasts are so big, they look so soft and firm... I-I'd like to touch them.
"You will, my darling," Stella told him, her voice warm and loving. Softly, she stroked the boy's forehead with a shapely hand. "What else, dear?"
"I-I-" he hesitated.
"Go on, Ronnie," and firmness underlined the velvet in her voice. "Tell me."
"Your-Your legs... "
"Stella shivered with excitement. Yes, she was right! Young Ronnie Brown was, indeed, a panty freak.
"What about my legs?" she prodded.
"They're so pretty, so long and-and sexy... I love to look at them... especially with stockings on them... and... and your pretty shoes... "
Flushed with gratification, Stella probed deeper. "So you like your Mistress' legs, darling? You like them with stockings, you say... and high heels. Is that what you like? My legs in nylons and spike heels? Hmmmmmm?"
"Ohhh, yes-yes, Mistress," Ronnie replied, excitement evident in his quavering voice, despite the hypnotic trance. "I love it... I dream about it all the time... "
"You sweet little lamb," Stella told him, warmly. "Is it stockings you especially like? And women's shoes-with high heels and open toes and heels?"
"Uh-huh," and the hypnotized boy was nearly panting. "Those real dark stockings you wear... they're so sexy... and your high heeled shoes... I love to look at them... I dream of touching them... rubbing my hand on them... "
"Ooooooh, that's real sexy darling, feeling a woman's stockinged leg. You'll get your chance, darling. Now, tell me, do other women's pretty underthings excite you? Like bras, panties, corsets-that sort of thing?"
"Oh, yes," he gulped, "and garter belts and-and- well, all that. I love seeing women in them, in the catalogs and the shop windows... they make my thing get hard... "
"Poor dear," Stella murmured. "I can see it's getting hard right now, just talking about these sexy things."
The lad's adolescent cock was indeed making a visible bulge in the front of his khaki uniform pants. The sight of the childish erection made sparks radiate in the middle-aged woman's vulva. She knew the front of her lace panties was already getting moist.
"Now, dear, I want you to tell me if other women's legs and bodies make you get hard."
"Y-Yes, Mistress."
"Who, dear?"
"My-my mother," the lad blurted.
Stella had to suppress a sharp exclamation. She took a deep breath. Incest! The little lamb sexually desired his own mother-with a fetish and submissive angle, to boot. Just like her grandson, Bobby, and her daughter, Barbara. Prickly heat was starting to warm up her panties, which were getting more moist by the second. But, with a strong grip on herself, the middle-aged den mother dominatrix returned to the subject at hand.
"So you think your mother is sexy, too," Stella said, slowly. "Do you dream about sleeping with your mother and even making love? Do you?"
"Yes-Yes-" Ronnie shook with the intensity of his feelings.
Stella had an inspiration. "Tell me, dear-have you ever spied on your mother? Watch her while she dressed?"
Ronnie trembled, more. "Yes... Mistress."
"I see," Stella said. "So you watch your mother put on her pretty bra and panties and nylons. I'll bet it gets you real hard, Ronnie."
"Yes-"
"Then what do you do?"
"I-I take one of Mama's stockings and-I-I put my thing in it, and-and- -"
"And you masturbate-you beat off," Stella finished for him, the idea adding to her rising passion. "My, you do have a strong fetish, dear... I wonder how strong... "
Stella studied the hypnotized den chief for a moment. It was a long shot, but it might pay off. A child so addicted to garment and lingerie fetishism could be a good prospect for her hitherto untried experiment.
"Ronnie, dear, tell me... do you ever dream about wearing some of that sexy lingerie in your fantasies?"
"Yes," Ronnie replied, simply. Ye Gods! Stella fell back in the couch, her face glowing with gratification. Here was what she was looking for-a child with transvestite tendencies to further her studies-and her fun. And here he was, right under her nose. She would have to take advantage of this, for sure.
"I see... you'd like to wear sexy lingerie when you meet with your dream women. You'd like to wear it when they're wearing it, when you're making love-having sex. Am I right?"
The bulge in the boy's trousers was more noticeable. "Ohhhh, yes, Mistress," the boy nearly whimpered. "I-I'd love to do that-it'd be so neat... just like in my dreams... "
"I can see how much you'd like to do it, dear," Stella told him, her voice husky with passion. "You know what? Your Mistress would like to do it, too. With you. Would you like that, darling?"
Ronnie gasped softly at the suggestion. He trembled anew.
"Think of it, sweetheart," Stella whispered. "I'll let you wear some of my lacy undies, and I'll wear some nice things, too. My sexiest stockings and my high heels. Then we'll make love, my precious one, sweet, sweet love... just as you've dreamed for so long... you would like to make love to me, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, Mistress," Ronnie managed to say. "Good, darling. Very good. Then well set up a meeting time. Next week, sometime." Stella's mind was racing with plans and preparations. She'd have to get her family out of the house for a few hours, and get Ronnie over here on some pretext... den business, most likely.
"I-I'd like that... M-Mistress," Ronnie said, eagerly.
"Then it's a date, darling," Stella smirked.
For a heartbeat, the middle-aged woman dressed in the den mother uniform stared lustfully at the teen boy dressed in the boy scout uniform. God, she was hot and horny, right now! She'd love to ball the delicious little lamb right here and now... Quickly, she disregarded the impulse. There was no telling when the kids would get back. She couldn't take the chance... then a thought came to her. After all, she'd have to do something about Ronnie's erection. It must be hurting the poor dear, and, besides, she certainly didn't want his parents to see it.
"All right then, Ronnie, your Mistress will let you know when she wants you next. It's too bad we can't have our fun now. But there is something we can do... and it'll help give you relief, dear. Your hard-on is about to burst your pants."
"Wh-What is it?" Ronnie asked.
"Why, you suggested it yourself, honey. A delightful way to masturbate. Don't you remember?"
Ronnie trembled, and his penis made a visible spasm in his pants.
"I see you remember, dear. It's so sexy. Your Mistress is going to frig her little slave's sweet cock in one of her silky stockings."
Smoothly, she tugged up the hem of her clingy, navy-blue uniform skirt. "Open your eyes, dear," she commanded.
Ronnie obeyed. He caught sight of his den mother's large, shapely thighs, high enough to spot the darker, rolled welt top of her glossy, dark-brown tinted nylon stockings, and the thin, black garter suspenders holding them up, striping her creamy thigh flesh. Enthralled, the mesmerized teen boy watched the middle-aged grandmother's shapely hands smoothly unclasp the gleaming chrome garter clips from the stretched, dark bank of one of her stocking welts. Now, that sleekly stockinged leg was extended. Stella kicked off the high heeled pump, and began to slide the gauzy stocking sheath off that long, shapely feminine limb.
Moments later, Stella was holding one of her dark stockings in one hand. Ronnie was standing before her, staring down with glazed, hypnotized eyes as she unhooked his pants and pulled down the coppery zipper tongue. The metal rasp of the pants zipper descending was loud in the deathly quiet living room.
Ronnie groaned, loudly, as he felt Mrs. Hartley's hand on his boycock. She was softly fondling his penis, admiring its length and girth as she did. Ronnie was still a boy but was also well-hung for his tender years.
"Your cock is so hard, sweetheart," Stella cooed to the sweating boy standing before her on the couch, as she gently frigged his throbbing phallus. "So hard with love. Your sweet little balls are so heavy with cum. Sweet cum. Your Mistress will help you haye a nice, big cum."
Stella rolled the chiffon stocking in her hands, to about halfway. Then she smoothly slipped it over the boy's swollen, erect penile shaft. Ronnie groaned louder as she did, at the first feel of silky nylon mesh on his super-sensitive cock. Stella worked the nylon stocking on that cock so his flaring, bulbous cockhead was tenting out the darker, reinforced toe pad of the dark hose.
Ronnie groaned, more.
Stella took a second to stare at the deliciously bizarre sight of the dark-tinted, woman's nylon stocking encasing the stiff, throbbing pole of the boy's cock. That adolescent penis was sheathed tightly in the stocking, the cockhead snugged in the toe pad. Already, dark blotches of pre-cum fluid were visible on the nylon mesh there.
Now, Stella's hand grasped the stocking-sheathed boycock and began to pump, slowly, rubbing the scratchy-smooth sheer nylon against it, exquisitely.
"OOOOHHH-OOHHHHH- UHHHHHH-" Ronnie groaned above her, his body shaking with spasms.
"That's it, darling," Stella murmured huskily to him. "Feel your Mistress' silky stocking on your cock. Feel it, darling. Feels good, doesn't it? Ohhhh, your sweet little cockhead is pushing on the toe pad. Just think, darling, my toes were there a few minutes before. That's it, darling, feel it stroke so hotly on your hard little thing- feel it... "
Ronnie's face was beet red, and sweat was beginning to drip down his brow. His skinny little body shook like a paint mixer. Stella felt his stiff, bloated cock lurch and lurch, violently, in her hand. And still she pumped, frigging that boycock with her stocking, her hand beginning to blur with speed.
"OOOHHH-UHHHH-UHHHHHH-"
"Ooooohhh, yes, darling... you're so big... so hard... my stocking's so silky, isn't it... making you so hard... I'll bet you're ready to cum, darling. That's it, honey. Cum. Cum. Cum in my stocking, dear. Cum... "
"UHHHHHHHH-" Ronnie yelled, deliriously, as his boney hips bucked forward, spasmodically. Stella felt his stiff, erect cock begin to jerk and jerk in the gauzy stocking sheath. A second later, she saw huge white blobs of sperm dribble out of the toe pad of her stocking. She squeezed her stocking-sheathed, spurting boycock lovingly, and the child groaned and moaned and came, violently.
"That's a good baby," she purred. "Such a big cum for your Mistress... "
As interesting as her interview with young Ronnie Brown had been, it was no more interesting than her interview with Mona Washington the next morning in her guidance counselling office at the junior high school.
Mona Washington was an English teacher at the school. She was also the school's only black teacher. She was a medium-sized, but busty woman, whose shapeliness denied her thirty-six years of age. Her skin was flawless, chocolate-brown hue, and unlike other members of her race, she wore her hair long and straight down her shoulders. Her eyes were large and brown, her nose rather straight, her lips thick and pouting, all of which complemented her heart-shaped face... which, in turn, complemented her hour-glass shaped figure. That figure was nicely displayed today in her sleeveless, tight, tan and brown-checked dress, tan stockings that made her long, shapely, brown legs glitter darkly, and tan high heeled sandals on her largish feet. The thin, sheer fabric of the dress clearly outlined an ample bust and an equally fulsome pair of buttocks.
Mona was a divorcee, and the mother of a young boy, Rufus, who attended the same grade school as Stella's grandson, Bobby. In fact, the two boys were in the same class.
This data ran through Stella's mind now as she sat at her small wooden desk studying Mona, who sat in a straight chair opposite the desk. Mona's dark, pretty, heavily made-up features mirrored agitation.
"Well, Mona, I guess you know why I called you in here," Stella told her, her voice frank.
"I-I guess I do," the black female teacher replied, quietly. Her shapely hands twisted nervously on her lap. "Has-has someone-a parent-complained? Or-?"
Stella shook her head. "No, Mona. No one has said anything. The fact is I more or less figured it out, having sat in on your classes a few times."
"But-I was so careful-how-how do you know?"
Stella smiled thinly. "I know," she said, "because I have a Master's in psychology from a very tough university. I've been trained to know the signs. Besides, I've specialized in abnormal sexuality for some time now, and so I'm alert to it, so to speak. I've seen you touch the boys a bit more than necessary. You've hovered over them a bit longer than need be. That's all I needed to see, really. Also, the fact that you were so willing to transfer from an integrated school to this all-white school."
"I-I transferred because it is becoming integrated," Mona sputtered. "I would be the first. After me-"
"Hold it, girl," Stella raised a hand. "That's not the real reason, and you and I know it. You've as much as confessed it a few minutes ago."
After her brief outburst, that seemed to take the fight out of the attractive, mature black teacher. She sighed, helplessly, and sat back in the chair.
"You're right," she said, slowly. "I can't help myself. Someone was bound to find out sooner or later."
"Stella nodded. "That's right, Mona. You're lucky it was me. If the principal, Mr. Rogers, knew you had a real thing for young white boys, he'd have a heart attack. And the PTA would have you drawn and quartered-or worse!"
Now Mona nodded, sadly. "I-I've never went so far as seducing one of the boys. But-you're right. I can't seem to be able to keep my hands off them. God, they're so cute-so adorable. I just want to. :."
"Come on, Mona, we're both adults here," Stella told her, impatiently. "Admit it. You have a fetish for adolescent boys-particularly if they're white. I don't know if that's why your married life broke up, but you definitely want to have sex with little boys-and you've suppressed it so much and so long that you can't help but touch them, be near them, maybe even cock tease them a little... am I right?"
Mona shivered, and looked down at her hands. "You-You're right," she said at length. "There's no use denying it." She flashed Stella a wan smile. "I'm glad you're so understanding about it. Most people would think I'm some sort of a monster."
"Don't be silly," and here Stella smiled. "I don't think you're a monster at all. In fact, a lot of women share your sexual inclinations. It's called pedophilia, and a lot of adults have it-women as well as men. I know. I've done extensive research, some of it at the Kinsey Center in Bloomington, Indiana, and I've found it to be rather frequent in older adults. In fact I'm doing a thesis for my Doctorate on that very subject, along with another subject."
"What other subject?" Mona asked, fascinated. The fear had left her dark features, and she was leaning forward, listening raptly.
"Fetishism," Stella told her. "Erotic fetishism."
Mona shivered, involuntarily. "You mean-you mean, corsets, high heels, lingerie-that sort of thing?"
"Exactly. And I've found that it has a powerful influence in the sexual awakening of little boys. In fact, in some of the cases I've examined, the women subjects used 'that sort of thing,' as you put it, to seduce their so-called young victims.' " Mona's eyes glittered. A tremor passed through her as she sat back, digesting this information.
Stella, eyeing the mature black woman closely, suddenly asked, "That excites you, doesn't it?"
Crimson actually deepened the color of Mona's face. "I-I-" she sputtered. Then she stared down at her writhing black hands again. "Yes," she muttered.
Stella shook her head.
"Don't be like that," she said."I'm not trying to embarrass you. Not at all. Fetishism is very common. It's considered by most sexologists as a legitimate sexual aid. No more. No less."
"But-you caught me-I-"
"Wait a minute. I just wanted the truth from you. I got it. So I have no intention of turning you in to the principal. This will be our own little secret."
Hope made the attractive black woman perk up. "Do you mean that?" she asked. "Yes, I do."
Mona nearly collapsed against the back of the wooden, school-issue straight chair. "Thank God. Oh, Thank God. I-I'll change. You'll see. I keep myself under control. I'll-" Once again, Stella stopped her with a motion of her hand. "Stop. Stop right there. I'm not asking you to stop lusting after little white boys. You can't. Any more than a homosexual can become straight. What you need is to be able to-er-satisfy your sexual cravings from time to time. Then you'll be able to carry on, having let out a little steam from the pressure cooker of your libido."
Mona looked amazed. "You-You're crazy-or you're just teasing me. The first time I really start feeling up one of my boys, the word'll get out and-"
"I know, I know," Stella said. "And the wrath of society will fall on you-hard. You're right. But there is a way... a very special way... you can have all the boys you want and never get caught... I know. I found the way." Mona nearly squealed with surprise. "YOU?!"
Stella smiled, wickedly. "Yes, dear. Me. You see, once I began my abnormal sexual studies, to fill the void after the death of my husband, I discovered something. I discovered that I had a strong pedophiliac tendency. In fact, it was so strong that I really couldn't resist it. So... I found a way to seduce and have sex with all the little boys I want-one of them right here in my office."
"My God!" Mona cried, staring intently at the statuesque, middle-aged white woman. "You're not kidding! You mean it!"
"I do."
"But-how?"
Stella smiled. "With hypnosis. As part of my studies in psychology, I became very skilled in hypnosis-for laboratory experiments. I found it is very powerful and, if applied properly and skillfully, it can make anyone your slave. It will turn that cold fish of a person into a raging sexual animal. And that person will obey all your commands. You can keep him in a post-hypnotic state forever. And put him in your power with just a special gesture-or code word."
The black teacher let out a long breath. "You mean to tell me that you hypnotize these little boys, and then make them have sex with you?"
Stella nodded, smiling.
Mona shook her head. "It's-It's incredible!"
Now Stella shook her head. "No, Mona-it's applied psychology. Young children-especially boys-are very impressionable. They're as susceptible to hypnotic suggestion as any population segment-and more than most. The boys I-had-were quite simple to hypnotize. I now have four boys currently under my power, ready to do as I tell them... although one is a bit older than the rest. I've had three of them, and I will soon have the fourth."
"Good Lord," Mona said, rolling her eyes. "You lucky devil... who are these boys?"
"One is my grandson."
"Incest-My Good God-"
"Is pedophilia any better?" Stella pointed out.
"No... No, I guess not. I have to admit, I've had thoughts about my own boy, Rufus."
"We can arrange that."
Mona leaned forward, excitement evident in her actions. "What do you mean-exactly?"
"I mean I'll set up a demonstration to show you that I'm telling the truth. Once you're convinced, I'll teach you some hypnotic technique, so you can have all the little white boys you want."
"What-What kind of demonstration?"
"I think we'll have to hold it in your apartment. Perhaps this weekend. You have Rufus there. I'll bring Bobby, my grandson." Stella smiled knowingly at Mona. "You'd like to get your hands on him, wouldn't you, dear?"
Mona sighed soulfully. "You know it girl. I've met him, you know, and he's such a sweet little lamb."
"He's more than that," Stella told her. "He's a thoroughly trained, disciplined, submissive slave. I've turned him into quite an adequate lover. He's also an ardent panty-freak, a lingerie fetisher. You'll have to dress for the occasion."
"Oh? What do you mean?"
"To excite and stimulate him," Stella explained. "To turn him on, so to speak. He likes stockings, garter belts, corsets, high-heels, and so on. I assume you have something suitable for the seduction?"
"Yes indeed," and a leer played on Mona's dark features. "I know just the stuff. It'll be exciting."
"Indeed it will." Stella leaned back on her padded office chair. "I'll quickly put Bobby and your son, Rufus, under a trance. I'll demonstrate just how effective it is. Then I'll give my grandson to you to have some fun with... I assume your apartment has two bedrooms?"
"Yes."
"Good... then you and Bobby can share one, and... "
Mona nodded. "I get you. And you and Rufus can have the other. Right?"
"That's right," Stella agreed. She gave Mona a long, searching look. "You don't mind?"
Mona shrugged her shapely shoulders. "Believe it or not, I don't. After all, he's ready for sex, if Bobby is. They're the same age and all. It's an even swap I guess." She smiled, rather impishly. "And after all, I plan to have Rufus myself, so what's the difference? Now, you're sure the boys won't be conscious of any of this?"
"Absolutely not. It will stay locked in their subconscious. At most, it'll be like a dream to them." Stella smiled devilishly, at that. "A very naughty dream. A very wet dream."
Mona laughed, musically. "My Rufus has had some of those, even at his age. I wash his sheets, you know."
"I know. He's more than ready to offer you pleasure. Not to mention the other little boys-little white boys-you'll have."
A dreamy, humid glow eminated from Mona's snapping black eyes. "Yes... it'll be heavenly."
"You bet it will... so, it's this Saturday. At your place. About twelvish?"
"It's a date," Mona laughed.
"A double date," Stella laughed back.
CHAPTER FIVE
"No," Stella Hartley said into the receiver.
She was in her office, having returned from a quick cup of coffee in the teacher's lounge. Almost as soon as she had opened her office door, the phone had rang. It was her daughter, Barbara.
"You sure? After all, our going to the movies tonight was your idea."
"Of course," Stella told her. "You need to function as a family unit. You, Miles and Bobby. Go out and have a family outing, without grandma tagging along. You all need it, and besides, I need to work on my thesis."
"Okay, okay," Barbara laughingly backed down. "I don't need a full, socoiological report. Just a simple 'no' will do."
"No," Stella Hartley said again.
Barbara laughed. "Well, that's simple and to the point, for you. Okay, be that way. We'll leave at six-thirty and have dinner out. I assume you can see about your own supper?"
"Listen to her," Stella returned. "I only saw about you and your father's suppers for how many years-?"
"Too many," her daughter agreed. "Okay. Well, you'll know where we are then, if you get home late this evening. Now, Mom, we'll probably be late. Maybe ten o'clock. You know how Miles and Bobby like to stop and get ice cream everytime we go out."
"I know. I've been involved in a few of those outings myself," Stella told her. "You three just have a good time, and don't worry about me. I'll find some way to amuse myself."
"Sure," Barbara sniffed. "Some fun. Digging in dusty old psychology books."
"Different strokes," Stella laughed.
"Amen," Barbara replied.
Mother and daughter exchanged good-byes, then both rang off.
Stella stared at the phone a moment, then smiled, lewdly. It was all set. Ronnie would be hers tonight. She'd have to remember to stop off at that weird, expensive shop off the Strip that specialized in erotic lingerie-in all sizes. Her order was ready-it had better be ready. Tonight was the night.
Stella looked at her phone again. Dusty old books, indeed.
That reminded her. She had smuggled one of the books from the Kinsey Center in from her locked and double-locked files at home. She quickly unlocked her desk drawer and pulled it out.
It was a large, glossy, picture magazine, a well-made example of the best of Swedish pornography. Entitled, "BALLING LITTLE BOYS," it was the hardest-core child pronography-viz., "kiddie porn," and depicted actual adolescent boys being sexually used and abused by older women.
The cover was excellent, clear and in beautiful color. It showed a busty, red-headed woman of obviously mature years and of Swedish extraction, naked save for a red satin garter belt and charcoal-grey tinted stockings, straddling a boy of apparent tender years, naked also, both on top of a huge, white-sheeted bed. The camera angle was such that a clear view of their joined genital organs was afforded. The erect, small, childish penis was thrust deeply into the large, puffy, red-haired cunt.
Stella sighed, began to turn the page-There was a loud rapping at her door. Stella hastily stashed the magazine and slammed the drawer closed. "Come in," she said.
It wasn't the Raven who entered, but a very mad Mrs. Adele Frobisher, an elderly matron who acted as girl's gym coach and history teacher. She was dragging in a very bemused looking little boy still in his blue and white gym shorts, gym shirt and tennis shoes. "Yes," Stella prompted, a bit taken aback. "Sorry to bother you, Stel, but I caught Stevie White here sneaking into the girl's locker room again. I've warned him before." She now turned to the boy and shook him. "Haven't I, boy?"
Stevie stared down at his tennies. "Y-Yes, ma'am," he muttered, abashedly.
"You see?" Adele told Stella. "Now, I could take him to Mr. Rogers and have him punished. But if you think you could talk to him-?"
Stella smiled. If Mrs. Frobisher had been a bit less credulous, she would have noticed the gleam in the guidance counsellor's eyes.
"I see. And you're quite right. I think I can talk to young Stevie here and find out his problem."
"Think you can get him to cut it out? I mean it, Stel, one more incident and-"
"I know, I know. To the dungeon." Adele shrugged. "We have to have discipline." Stella nodded. "Oh, yes. Indeed we do." She was looking not at Adele but at little Stevie. He was a boy she knew. His mother attended Stella's church. With his short, curly brown, almost auburn hair and big green eyes, he was simply adorable...
"So I'll leave him here. You can send him on to his next class when you're done. I hope you can get him to straighten up and fly right."
"I'll try," Stella said, deadpan. "Okay." The matronly woman turned to the child. "You listen to what Mrs. Hartley has to say, young man. And listen good. The next time, it's the office, for sure."
"Yes, ma'am," Stevie muttered, still studying his (untied) tennis shoes.
"See that you do," Adele replied curtly. Then, with a nod to Stella, she left, banging the door behind her.
For a moment, the boy and the middle-aged woman guidance counsellor stared at each other. Then, Stella arose from her desk. She felt the boy's eyes on her, knew he was ogling her form through the clingy, pastel-rose, sleeveless dress she was wearing today. She felt the familiar, undeniable flame begin to flare in her loins...
She smiled at the lad, warmly.
"Let's sit on the couch where we can talk easier," she suggested. "Just lock the door behind you, dear. This may take quite a while... "
Some minutes later, a somewhat baffled Barbara Horton hung up the phone in her bedroom. She was lying on the bed, catching a few winks before her husband and Bobby and Stella got home, rest she would need for the long evening ahead. She smiled, wanly. She must be getting old. Not too long ago, she could have danced the night away...
The mature brunette beauty was naked, lying on top of the coverlet.
Strange. She had tried to call her mother back again, to remind her of the cold cuts in the refrigerator, but the line had been busy. So, she had called back ten minutes later, and the line was still busy. Could her mother still be on the phone?
She shrugged.
She lay back on the pillows, with a sigh. She closed her eyes. Slowly, a hand traveled to the furry black-haired bush between her shapely white thighs. She moaned as she began to masturbate slowly, deliciously.
She began to dream of her son, Bobby. And as she dreamed, her moans increased, and her stroking hand began to become quite wet...
At about this time, Stella, who had taken the phone off the hook, was standing in front of the couch. On the couch lay young Stevie White. His gym clothes were neatly draped over the wooden, straight-back chair. His nude, hairless, immature form was nearly white against the brown leather of the office couch.
Stella was dropping: her skimpy, black lace panties on the top of her desk, where she had deposited her dress, slip, and bra. The only garments that still adorned her tall, buxom, naked form Was the thin, shirred, black lace garter belt that erotically bisected her trim waist and taut suspenders that stripped her heavy, alabaster thighs. They held up a pair of glittering, midnight-brown nylon stockings over her long and lovely legs.
Stevie's eyes were glazed with the hypnotic trance the middle-aged woman had him under.
"Well, darling," Stella was cooing to him. "Now, you've actually gotten to see a naked woman... how do you like it?"
"It's-it's wonderful," the hypnotized lad mumbled, his voice catching. "I never dreamed it would be like this."
"You little flatterer. Your Mistress is going to reward you... shall I take off my stockings?"
"No-no-please-k-keep them on-they're so pretty and-and-"
"Sexy," the middle-aged woman prompted.
"Yes," the adolescent boy replied.
Stella stared at the boy's loins. His little boycock, so sweet and hairless, was already erect and throbbing on his flat belly.
"Your sweet little love tool is so hard," she breathed to the little boy. "Shall I take a ride on you? A nice, long, hot ride? Then my little slave and his Mistress can have a big, hard cum together."
Stevie trembled, and his boycock throbbed harder...
Minutes later, the dominant, voluptuous, middle-aged woman, and her little submissive mesmerized boy slave were taking that ride.
The boy was lying on his back on the smooth, cool leather of the office couch. That supple leather was beginning to darken with his sweat. The larger, shapely body of the mature guidance counselor, nude save for the black lace garter belt and glossy, dark-tinted nylon stockings, was straddling him, on top of him, her hands clasping his skinny arms, her nylon-sheathed legs pressing against his sides. Her large, protuberant buttocks, framed by the thin, shirred black garter belt, were bobbing up and down, as she impaled herself again and again, on his stiff, erect little cockpole.
She rode the boy hard, pumping and pumping, up and down on his loins, so that his cock penetrated to the root in her burning, steaming womb... just like the woman on the magazine cover.
Beneath her, Stevie groaned and upthrust his hips and groin, his little behind lifting from the couch, thrusting himself into his Dominatrix, with childish vigor. As he did, his sides rubbed tantalizingly against the gauzy mesh of her silky stockings, that sent chills through him and made his thrust even harder.
"OHHHHH - UHHHHH - GOSH - I-I-UHHHHHH-" he groaned, helplessly.
"THAT'S IT, DARLING-" Stella moaned back at him. "TAKE YOUR FUCKING-TAKE IT-TAKE IT-TAKE IT-TAKE IT-" They came, explosively-Later that evening, at home, Stella was again talking on the telephone.
"Now Ronnie," she was saying in a soft, slow, but firm voice, "do you understand my instructions?"
She heard his monotone: "Yes, Mistress." She smiled, gleefully. She had reactivated the young den chief's hypnotic trance over the phone-a not inconsiderable feat.
"All right, then. Tell your mother what I have instructed you to tell her. I'll expect you in about half an hour, dear. The door will be open. Just walk in and come up the stairs to my bedroom door-the third on the right. Knock on the door, and I will instruct you further. Do you have that straight, dear?"
"Yes, Mistress. I dd."
"Obey me, then."
"Yes, Mistress."
Softly, Stella replaced the receiver.
Almost exactly a half an hour later, the teenaged den chief, Ronnie Brown, was knocking on his den mother, Stella Hartley's, bedroom door. He was wearing his boy scout uniform, as instructed, and he was sweating in the khaki outfit, although the air conditioning was purring softly in the big, silent house.
"Come on in, dear," he heard his Mistress say.
"Yes, Mistress," he mumbled. He opened the door and stepped in.
Stella Hartley's bedroom was dimly-lit, by the shaded bedside lamp. However, the young body was able to see the middle-aged woman clearly. She was standing beside her bed, smiling at him. Her long, glossy, raven-black hair was done up into a severe bun at the back of her head. Her lined but darkly attractive face was heavily made up. She wore her long, pink velour bathrobe.
"Such a good little slave boy," she purred to Ronnie. "You obeyed your Mistress well. Very well. Your Mistress is pleased with you, dear."
"Th-Thank you, Mistress," the mesmerized lad mumbled back.
"Now, you're sure you explained everything correctly to your mother?" Stella probed, delicately. "You told her you were coming here to work on the skit for the banquet?"
"I-I did, Mistress."
"Good... and she accepted that?"
"Yes, Mistress. She-She believed me."
"I'm glad to hear that, dear," Stella murmured, her voice warm and husky. "This must remain our little secret. Now we're free to play our little games... those sexy little games we talked about in the office. Remember, dear?"
Ronnie shuddered. "Y-Yes, Mistress," he stammered.
"And you want to play them, don't you, dear?"
"Ohhhh, yes-yes-"
"All right, then... I want you to close your eyes, dear. Close them, and go into a deep sleep... sleep... "
The thin, gawky body of the adolescent boy seemed to slump forward, slowly, and his head dropped, listlessly, his chin hitting his chest as he closed his eyes. The action caused his red Scout beret to topple off his head and land on the thick carpet softly.
"Yes, dear... you're in a deep sleep... so deep... you are completely in my power... you will obey me, without questions, lovingly, obediently... because I am your Mistress... and you are my little slave... my love slave... " Stella's voice became quite husky with passion as she spoke, her eyes glittering with lewd, bizarre lust for the little boy.
"Yes, Mistress," Ronnie muttered docilely, his voice thick, eyes closed.
The middle-aged grandmother licked her lips with suppressed excitement. Quickly, her shapely hands worked at the knot of the loose, long robe she wore. As she did, she said, "Are you ready to service your Mistress, my darling? Are you ready to give her pleasure?"
"Yes, yes," the sleeping, hypnotized teen muttered, excitement evident even in the monotone.
"You little angel. Your Mistress will reward you well for your obedience." The tie-belt parted. Stella shrugged off the pink robe. It shimmered into a puddle at her feet.
"Open your eyes, dear."
Ronnie obeyed. Now he stared through hypnosis-glazed eyes at his Mistress. Those eyes widened, and he began to tremble violently, for his middle-aged den mother was the stuff of his hottest wet dreams.
The tall, buxom, statuesque, middle-aged woman was nearly stark naked, her firm, nearly flawless flesh alabaster white, glowing somewhat in the gloom of the room. The black lace lingerie she wore contrasted vividly, erotically against it.
Her melon-sized, meaty breasts were uplifted high in a black lace French half-bra. The stiff, frilly cups of the fetish bra cupped the mature woman's firm, pillowy breasts, covering the bottom swell of her bosom, but exposing the big black nipples and cleavage in stark relief. The hypnotized teenaged boy stared hungrily at his den mother's nipples in particular, the swollen aureole, the stiffening tips. Those large, firm, discoid breasts were erotically highlighted in the blace lace half bra.
Stella Hartley's vulva was equally highlighted as well in a pair of skimpy, tight black lace panties. Only these undies were crotchless-the front of the garment sported a large opening in the translucent, frilly black lace that exposed the middle-aged woman's large, puffy, black haired cunt to her wide-eyed little den chief. Her curly black pubic hair resembled a furry pelt, framed in the frilled edges of the bizarre, crotchless panties. But the lad could make out the glistening pink lips of her labia, buried deep in the pubic hair there, resembling two rolls of meat not entirely pressed together.
Pussy and open panties were framed erotically by the heavy black satin garter belt that hugged the middle-aged grandmother's hips. The bandeau was wide and shiny-black, with white lace fringes. The garter suspenders were thin and also fringed with white lace. They emerged from the legholes of her black lace crotchless panties, and striped her heavy, rounded thighs to about mid-thigh; there, gleaming chrome garter tabs pinched and pulled up the rolled welt tops of her hose.
Ronnie Brown's glazed, hypnotized eyes widened more as they raked up and down his mature den mother's stocking-sheathed legs with fetishistic fervor.
Stella's long, heavy, deliriously curved legs glittered and gleamed in a pair of ultra-sheer* seamed nylon stockings. The exquisite hosiery was of an inky, charcoal-grey tint, with a tight, tiny diamond-pattern woven into the gossamer nylon fabric. It rendered the middle-aged woman's long, lovely legs dark and glossy, the diamond mesh emphasizing their breathtaking shape. Stella wore her glittering, black patent leather pumps with the six-inch heels that dramatically highlighted the curvature of her beautifully-stockinged legs.
Stella smiled warmly at the adolescent boy in the boy scout uniform as she watched him ogle her lingerie-clad form. "How do I look to you, dear?" she murmured.
"R-Real good, M-Mistress," Ronnie stuttered with agitation. "You're so-so beautiful... " his voice trailed off into a whimper.
Stella's smile widened, and her eyes grew humid as she gazed on her hypnotized little boy-slave. "Thank you, my darling. I can see how excited you are. I know how long you've dreamed of a woman who would wear sexy undies and stockings for you. Well, darling, your dream will come true. Tonight. Your Mistress will teach you the ways of love."
"Y-Yes, Mistress. I-I want you to."
"J know you do, dear... Now, it's time for you to take your clothes off for your Mistress."
The lad gulped, trembled... but, slowly and haltingly obeyed her. Fumblingly, he undid his neckerchief, and unbuttoned his uniform shirt.
"Put your things on the dressing table beside you," Stella ordered. "We mustn't get your uniform mussed."
Ronnie obeyed her. He kicked off his shoes, and reached down and pulled off his socks. Then, trembling more, he unsnapped. the web belt buckle. He unbuttoned his pants, pulled down the fly. A moment later he was folding his kaki pants over the chair by her dressing table.
"Now, dear, take off your shorts." Stella's eyes were brighter and her breathing had noticeably increased.
The boy did so. His white cotton shorts skimmed down his skinny, hairless legs. He stepped out of them.
"Oooooohhhhh," the middle-aged den mother sighed as she stared at her teenaged den chief's boycock. It was quite immature in development, but large and thick for a boy his age. She could make out a downy dusting of adolescent pubic hair around his scrotum. She licked her lips, slowly, as she continued to stare at Ronnie's childish penis.
"Such a nice little cock you have, dear," Stella murmured huskily.
"Th-Thank you, Mistress," Ronnie gulped.
"Now, dear," Stella continued. "Do you remember that nice little chat we had? About all your sexy dreams?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Good, good. Do you remember the part about how you love your mother so much? How you desire your mother's shapely body... especially her pretty legs? And especially when she's wearing sexy stockings and lingerie?"
Stella had been watching Ronnie's cock as she spoke to him. She was rewarded by the sight of his adolescent penis throbbing, beginning to swell as she led him to think of his adored mother.
"Yes... yes, Mistress," Ronnie gasped.
"Since we talked, have you spied on your mother again?"
"Y-Yes, Mistress."
"Tell me about it, dear."
The lad's face was flushing, and his cock began to throb harder. "She-she had just taken a bath, and she was in h-her bedroom. I-I was peeking through the hole I made in the wall. She-she was n-naked. I-I watcher her put on her bra, her p-panties, her garter belt and her-her-" Ronnie groaned and his stiffening cock gave a hard lurch.
"You watched your mother roll her stockings up her pretty legs?" Stella prompted.
"Yes-yes-"
"You poor boy. I bet you were all excited. Did you put your hard little cock in one of your mother's nylons and masturbate?"
"Yes, and I-I cleaned up real good afterward."
"I'll bet you did, dear." Stella paused, then: "I'll be you also wanted to dress up in her undies, didn't you, dear?"
"Oh, yes, yes," Ronnie replied, dreamily. "But I wasn't sure when she'd come back when she left."
"Of course. Well, darling, your Mistress is going to let you have your chance tonight."
"R-Really?"
"Yes, dear... come over here, to the bed."
The naked, trembling, adolescent boy walked slowly, trance-like, over to the large, queen-sized bed that dominated the bedroom. When the boy saw what was on the bed, he stopped and gasped.
On the flat, ivory-white sheet of the large mattress lay a small, red satin garter belt, long, tan nylon stockings, and a pair of skimpy, red satin panties.
Ronnie stared at the lingerie a moment.
"Yes, dear," Stella cooed to him. "These are for you. For you to wear, dear. I ordered them specially from a store that specializes in transvestite fashions. They should fit you. Try them on, dear. I know you want to."
The lad was shaking hard.
"You sweet little lamb," Stella murmured sympathetically to him. "I know how excited you must feel. Here, I'll help you put the sexy things on."
The erotically clad, dominant middle-aged woman walked over to where the naked little boy stood, her heavy, nylon-sheated thighs swishing together as she did.
"Let's start with the pretty garter belt," she murmured, picking up the frilly garment. She slipped it around the boy's narrow waist, letting her hands slide pleasurably on his warm, smooth, young flesh. Ronnie trembled at her touch. Then she had the bandeau stretched around his bony hips, and affixed the back stays. The shiny, red satin garter belt fit him like a glove.
For a moment, Stella surveyed the effect, the frilly, feminine garment on the boy's immature, adolescent body. A hard shiver went through her, and she felt wetness seeping from her cunt. She was already wet for the boy!
"Now, honey," she cooed, her voice soft and warm and husky. "Now you can put on the sexy nylons."
Ronnie trembled hard, his eyes glazing more as she stared at the dark-tinted, sheer stockings laying on the bed. Quickly, Stella picked up one of the gossamer nylon sheaths, bunched it in her hands. She bent over and slipped one of Ronnie's small, hairless feet into the foot of the stocking, carefully fitting his small toes and heel into the reinforced pads. Slowly, she drew the dark, sheer stocking up the boy's thin leg that had only the barest dusting of hair, rolling the dark welt over his bony knee, up his thigh. Ronnie assisted her, fumblingly, his face flushed with excitement. Now, she helped the teenaged boy attach the garter tabs to the rolled welt that was now high up his thighs.
"Now the other stocking, darling," Stella murmured.
A heartbeat later, the other lustrous, tan-tinted nylon stocking was sheathed tautly on Ronnie's other leg.
"And the nice little panties, too," Stella added.
It was hard to work the tight, slippery red satin panties over Ronnie's growing erection, but Stella managed it. The panties were skin-tight on the boy's loins, with the tenting bulge in the front that gave them a decided kinky appearance. Ronnie's face was glowing and his eyes were wide and worshipping as they gazed at his lingerie-clad Dominatrix.
"Does it feel good to wear the sexy lingerie, dear?" Stella asked him, softly.
"Ohhhh, Mistress-it's wonderful," Ronnie blurted, his hypnotized, glazed eyes bright. "I-I dreamed of this for so long-to be with you-like this-"
"I know, my darling one," Stella replied in a sweet, loving tone of voice. "And your Mistress is excited, too. We're both going to have our fantasies fulfilled tonight."
"Yes, Mistress."
Stella was staring at her near naked, teenaged den chief, feeling her blood boil at the incredibly bizarre and erotic sight he presented, the red satin garter belt and panties on his childish body, the dark, shiny stockings on his thin legs, the way the garter suspenders framed his erecting boycock... The lust-fire was building up in her loins. She was burning to fuck the little boy. Now.
"Oh, honey," she murmured softly to the little panty slave standing before her. "Your Mistress is feeling so hot and horny for her little lover. She's about ready to burn up. How do you feel, honey? The same?"
Ronnie's eyes were ogling her big, meaty breasts in the black lace half bra, her big, hairy cunt framed in the crotchless, black lace panties and garter belt, her long, lovely legs in the sooty, black mesh stockings and spike-heeled pumps on her feet. The bulge in his red satin panties was much bigger now; "Yes, Mistress," he breathed.
She held out her hand. "Then let's come to bed, darling. We have all evening to play... "
Barbara Horton stiffened in her seat in the dark, stuffy movie theatre. Although she and; her husband and son were watching what was supposed to be an exciting action film, her reaction wajs not caused by anything happening up on the screen.
She had felt her son, Bobby's, little hand brush against her nylon-clad knee. And a wave of irrepressible arousal had washed over her.
Miles had left to buy the usual popcorn and soda for them, and mother and son were sitting quite alone at one corner of the theatre.
Barbara wondered if the action was accidental. If it was, she was getting all excited for nothing. But if it wasn't... No! she told herself. Bobby was just a little boy, barely out of diapers-and her own son! She couldn't... she couldn't...
Those thoughts were driven aside as she felt his hand rest softly once again on one of her nylon-sheathed knees.
Once again she stiffened, arousal twisting knots in her belly.
The little hand hesitated there a moment... then it began to travel up her warm, firm thigh, stroking her gauzy, smooth nylon stocking and the satiny flesh beneath...
Dear God! Barbara thought. The sweet little lamb wants me as much as I want him!
She knew she should remove his hand, and admonish him. But she couldn't... his very touch made her heart beat faster... and she knew the front of her panties were getting moist...
His hand moved higher up her stockinged thigh, touching the hem of her skirt... it began to push up that hem...
Then Miles was standing beside them, bearing cardboard boxes of popcorn and cups of soft drinks. "I'm back with the loot," she heard him whisper.
"Fine, dear," she whispered back. She didn't have to tell Bobby to remove his hand. He had already done so...
Meanwhile, young Ronnie Brown's hand was deep between her mother's spread, stocking-clad legs, stroking her hairy pussy framed in the black lace crotchless panties as they lay together on her large bed. And Stella's hand was between the young boy's own stocking-clad legs, softly frigging his swelling, stiffening boycock. His little red satin panties lay on the carpet beside the bed.
The two of them, the middle-aged woman clad in black lace French bra, crotchless panties, satin garter belt, long, sooty-black stockings and glittering high heels, and the teenaged boy bizarrely attired in red satin garter belt and tan-shaded nylon stockings, had kissed, caressed, a long, slow time. At this moment, their lips were sealed in a deep, probing soul kiss. Young Ronnie's head was swimming at the feeling of his den mother's soft but firm breasts pressing on his naked chest, her hard nipples scraping against his flesh there, and of her warm hand slowly but expertly fingering his throbbing cock, pumping at it with firm strokes.
Stella felt her insides squirm hotly as she kissed and kissed the young boy, passionately. His little, inexperienced hand was making her pussy ooze out the steaming love liquid from between her palpitating pussy lips. His hard little childish body felt delicious against her, and even his childish kisses were making her blood boil. Once again, her pedophiliac lust was sending her to homy heaven.
Woman and boy's faces were flushing and shiny with sweat, their eyes closed, their lips joined, fused with lust, kissing and kissing, moaning with mounting passion. Now Stella slipped her tongue into Ronnie's mouth, like a snake. It wandered all around his mouth, hotly, until it found his tongue. Ronnie groaned. Now the middle-aged tongue and the adolescent tongue were intermingling together sweetly as they French-kissed, on and on...
At length, the middle-aged woman broke off that burning kiss, coming up for air. Her lips found Ronnie's ear. "Ohhhh, my little darling, your Mistress is so hot for you... so wet for you... can you feel how wet, darling?"
"Yes-yes-" Ronnie gasped. His penis was fully erect now, stiff and swollen with arousal, throbbing urgently in her pumping hand.
"I'm wet for you, darling... your Mistress' pussy is all ready to receive your sweet little cock... mmmmmmm, it's so big and hard, darling... "
"Ohhhhh, Mistress," Ronnie groaned. "It's so hard, it hurts, it hurts-"
"I know, darling. You're so horny. So am I, dear, There's so many nice things we can do, dear, and we will, we will. Another time, very soon. But now I want my little virgin slave to put his sweet cock in his Mistress' pussy and have a nice big cum with her." Stella kissed the boy's shell-like ear. "All right, darling?"
"Ohhhhh yes-yes-Mistress-" Ronnie groaned.
The middle-aged den mother released her adolescent den chief's throbbing cock. "Climb on top of me, dear," she murmured softly.
Gasping and groaning, the trembling teenaged boy mounted the mature, statuesque woman. He climbed on top her her slowly, his hard little hairless chest mashing down on her firm, spongy breasts in the tight, black lace half bra, his flat tummy merging with her rounded belly, his naked loins tingling pleasurably against the slippery satin of her garter belt and the cobwebby lace of her crotchless panties. The lad's small hands grabbed hold of her flesh-padded hips hard as she wrapped her heavy arms against his thin neck, crushing his hard little skinny body down against her larger, softer body. His garter belt-framed little hairless buttocks hovered between her raised, black mesh stocking-sheathed legs. Her stockinged feet in the high-heeled black patent leather pumps were flat on the bed, the spike heels digging into the mattress.
Ronnie's hanging cock throbbed and throbbed, poised over the middle-aged woman's cunt framed by the black lace crotchless panties.
"Ummmmm, you feel so good on top of me, darling," Stella cooed to him now. "So good. Now you're going to have your first fuck, darling. It's going to be so good."
"Yes-yes, Mistress," Ronnie panted as he stared down at her with his glazed, hypnotized eyes. Now, he saw her heavily made up eyes close. He groaned as he felt her hand close around his throbbing cock.
"Now, darling," she breathed. "Now, my darling."
Slowly, she urged his stiff, swollen adolescent penis down, down to her steaming, middle-aged cunt. Just as slowly, the lad's small, garter belt-framed buttocks sank deep between the woman's raised, encircling legs so dark and glossy in the sheer, dark-tinted nylon stockings.
Woman and boy both groaned at the first contact of cock and cunt. Ronnie felt his throbbing, engorged prick slice into his den mother's wet, hot hole, felt her velvety labia lips grip softly around his cock root. He groaned again and thrust forward, inserting his penis into her vagina inch by throbbing inch.
"Ooooooohhh, sweet darling-" Stella moaned, deeply, as she felt her guts twist, spasmodically, at the feeling of the boy's cock entering her. "That's r.i g h t - o o o o o h h h h h - s w e e t, sweet lover-deeper-deeper in me-" The boy obeyed. With a loud groan, his garter belt-framed buttocks sank the rest of the way between her now-quivering, stocking-clad legs, his abdomen smacking against hers as his stiff, swollen prick slipped to the root into her hairy cunt hole, his little ball sac slapping against her black lace-covered buttocks.
"UHHHHH-UHHHHHH-MISTRESS-IT'S SO-SO-" the teenaged den chief groaned helplessly to his middle-aged den mother beneath him as his pounding little cock soaked deep in her womb, her velvety cunt sheath gripping and stroking hot, wetly, exquisitely. The lad groaned again as he felt his cock become itchy with the stimulation, begin to grow even more stiff, even more swollen inside her steamy hole.
"YES, SWEET BABY, IT'S SO GOOD-" Stella moaned back to Ronnie, her abdomen upheaving spasmodically, lifting the boy up, somewhat, affording even more deep penetration of his childish penis into her. God, she loved balling little boys! Ronnie was a few years older than Bobby, but his immaturity was making the lust-fire blaze in her womb, stoked by his small, but exciting penile shaft. The bizarre, depraved act itself turned her on-as well as the thrill of dominating and using the adorable little lambs for her own pleasure. Awakening Ronnie's secret transvestite tendencies was an added plus. Now, Stella moaned again as she felt the boy's throbbing cock begin to move in the loving grasp of her oily cunt sheath.
"THAT'S RIGHT, DARLING, MOVE-MOVE-IN AND OUT-OHHH YES-OOOOOOHHHHH-" The virgin boy, sweating and groaning, obeyed his Mistress. He began to pump his white little naked buttocks, framed so bizarrely by the thin, black, frilly farter belt that encircled his small waist and extended down his thin thighs, pumping slowly, hotly, between Stella's raised, black mesh stocking-sheathed legs. His little tummy was beginning to slap and slap against her soft, yielding stomach. And his erect adolescent cockpole began to work in and out of her large, hairy cunt hole.
"OOOOOHHHH-OOOOOHHHH-" Stella groaned as the exquisite friction sent hot sparks radiating throughout her hypersensitive body. She felt her mind whirling with fierce, depraved pleasure, her pedophiliac lust totally gratified. She closed her heavily made-up eyes now and lay her black head on the cottony pillow, letting the pleasure consume her, letting her body heave and buck and strain as she fucked and fucked the little boy on top of her.
Ronnie's brain was buzzing with hot fever, the new feelings and sensations overpowering him. His body seemed to have a mind of its own as it instinctively pumped and pumped down on the soft, warm, fleshy body of the middle-aged woman beneath him. Through sweat-blurred eyes, he watched his Mistress close her eyes, her large, wrinkled, but lovely face glowing with hot passion and twisting with it. Then the boy groaned again and dropped his head on one of her firm, spongy, black lace-covered breasts, closing his eyes, too. The garter belt was tight on his jerking, straining little body, but not unpleasantly so, and the skin-tight nylon stockings made his legs tingle erotically. Her burning, clutching, oily pussy sheath continued to massage his pounding boycock, as he thrust and thrust and thrust into her, his adolescent male weight massing down on her as he did.
The dim, silent bedroom was now filled with the moans and groans of woman and boy as the middle-aged den mother, clad in black lace French bra, crotchless panties, satin garter belt attached to the inky, black diamond-mesh nylon stockings that glowed on her long, shapely legs and spike high-heeled pumps that glittered on her stockinged feet jerked and heaved against the thin, smaller, gawky body of the adolescent boy on top of her, his white-skinned, youthfully masculine form contrasting vividly with the red satin garter belt on his hips and the lustrous tan nylon stockings on his legs.
"UHHHHH-MISTRESS-" Ronnie gasped as he felt his boycock begin to lurch and lurch, hard, as it continued stabbing into her steaming cunt hole. That little cock pole was listening with the middle-aged woman's love liquid as it poured feverishly from that cunt hole, and her fluttering pink cunt lips were actually climbing on the boy's shaft, drawing him in, into her, again and again. The lad felt his guts rumble, his thing becoming almost painfully stiff and swollen, his whole body jerking with hard, body-killing spasms. Still, his garter belt-framed bottom kept pumping passionately between her trembling, stocking-sheathed legs, and his immensely erect prick kept spearing into his Mistress' drooling, palpitating pussy.
"UHHHHHH-U HHHHHHHH-MISTRESS-" the teenaged boy gasped again, still in the grip of the hypnotic trance she held him over, despite the haze of lust that enveloped his mind. "MY THING-UHHHHHH-IT'S SO HARD-UHHHHHHH-"
"GOD YES-YES-DARLING BOY-" Stella moaned back to him, nearly insane with the fiery climax that was building in her own loins. "YOUR HARD COCK IS GOING TO CUMMMMMMM-OHHH-CUMMMM FOR YOUR MISTRESS-OOOOHHHH-OOOOHHHHH-AND YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE YOUR MISTRESS CUMMMM, TOOOOOOO-" The middle-aged den mother crushed her little den chief against her, passionately, as she ground the spike heels of her glittering black pumps into the mattress, upheaving her abdomen to meet his, they met in mid-air smackingly, his steel-hard boy cock plunging forcefully into her depths, again, again, again. Spasmodically, her heavy, nylon-sheathed thighs clamped about Ronnie's bobbing buttocks. The lad groaned desperately at the feeling of his Mistress' gauzy, scratchy-smooth nylon stockings rubbing exquisitely against his naked hips as he continued pumping and pumping his cock into her, mindless with fuck fever. The feeling of the stockings on his own legs tingled madly as they slid smoothly against the mattress only increased that fever.
"UHHHHH-GOSH-GOSH-UHHHHHH-"
"OOOOOOHHH-SO GOOD-GOOD-" Woman and boy fucked and fucked- Meanwhile, Stella's mature daughter, Barbara, was finding it hard to keep still in her seat at the theatre. But, she knew she had to... her husband, Miles, staring avidly at the screen beside her, must not see what their son, Bobby, sitting on the other side of her in the darkened theatre, was doing.
Yet it was driving her out of her mind, making her cunt grow wetter and wetter, moistening the front of her lace panties.
For her son had resumed his slow, adoring feeling up of his mother's heavy, shapely, nyloned thigh. And his little hand was pushing the hem of her skirt up high, explosing a large expanse of her smooth, firm thigh flesh, dark and glossy in her fine-denier nylon hose.
Her young son's trembling little hand was now reaching the bunched, rolled welt top of the stocking and the clips of her garter suspenders. Bobby's palm prickled deliciously as it rubbed hissingly on the tight, silky mesh of the sheer nylon, also feeling the warm, satiny flesh beneath the filmy gauze.
Barbara was seething inside, using will power to keep still in the theatre seat. But her child's hand on her thigh was sending little, persistent electrical thrills through her. She wanted to grasp the boy, crush him to her, wrap her body around his.
She didn't, however.
Instead, she placed a soft warm hand on her son's stroking hand. She felt him tremble. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, trying to convey all her * love and understanding in the gesture.
Bobby stopped trembling. Instead, his little hand slipped into hers.
Now mother and son watched the movie.
"UHHHHH-I-I-GOSH-UHHHHHHH-" the teenaged den chief groaned, deliriously, as he drove his sweating, shaking body down, forcefully, on the body of the middle-aged den mother beneath him, plunging his bloated, stiff penile shaft to the root into her creaming, spasming mount of Venus. The lad collapsed totally atop the erotically clad woman. He began to groan even louder now as he felt his organ begin to jolt and jolt inside her, and he felt the white-hot fluid shoot from his quivering little balls and spurt into her womb- 'OOOOOOHHHHH-OOOOOOHHH-" Stella screamed, piercingly, her body in a series of spasms, as the lad's copious cum in her triggered her own explosive orgasm. She bucked and heaved, like a wild mare, carrying the adolescent boy with her. Streams and streams of boiling semen spilled inside her from her jerking, shuddering virgin cock.
"YES HONEY-CUM IN YOUR MISTRESS-CUM-CUM-OOOOO-OOOOOOOHHH-"
"UHHHHHH-MISTRESS-I-I'M CUMMING INSIDE YOU-UHHHHHHHH-" Her glimmery, dark stocking-sheathed legs wrapped around the teenaged boy's jolting, sweating body, they rocked and rocked on her spacious mattress, cumming and cumming...
CHAPTER SIX
It was a hot, muggy day that Saturday.
But the air conditioner in Mona Washington's newly built duplex apartment was quite efficient. Thus, the brightly wallpapered, pleasant little living room was cool and comfortable.
Although Stella Hartley had promised her daughter to take her grandson Bobby out to get a haircut, she had made a quick detour to Mona's place-as prearranged in her office. And the proceedings within indicated that detour would be well worth while.
At that moment, the action was taking place in the living room. Both her little grandson, Bobby, and Mona's son, Rufus, who was around Bobby's age and size, were sitting side-by-side on the low-slung, red velveteen couch. Rufus, like Bobby, was small and skinny and gawky in his adolescence, his skin the same deep ebony shade as his mother's. If anything, his Negroid features were a bit more pronounced than his mother's, with his kinky-haired little head, broad-splayed nostrils and thick, but immature lips. Like his white school chum, he was dressed in the usual T-shirt, sneakers and jeans.
The little white boy and the little black boy were sitting side-by-side quietly on the couch. Their eyes were closed, their heads slumped forward, both deeply entwined in the powerful hypnotic trance Stella had just put them under.
"That's the way, boys... Bobby... Rufus... sleep... sleep... obey your Mistress and sleep... " The middle-aged grandmother's soft, warm, but firm voice droned.
Her grandson and her black girl friend's son slumped even further on the couch, deeply entranced.
The buxom, middle-aged black teacher whistled, softly, from where she sat on a recliner covered with the same fabric as the couch. "God, Stella, you sure know your stuff! You're faster than a hypnotist I saw in a cocktail lounge once. It's like you're talking with your Bobby and my Rufus one minute, and-pow!-the next minute you put them under. Girl, I'm impressed!"
"Why, thank you, Mona," the mature white woman replied from where she stood in front of the couch. "But I learned under real experts at the University. Besides, as I told you, young boys are so impressionable and malleable. They're categorically easy to hypnotize and manipulate. And, remember, I've had Bobby under hypnosis before."
"I know you have, girl," Mona replied with a smirk. "You know, I can hardly believe it. You balling your own grandson! It's so-so kinky!"
Stella laughed, musically. "Yes, and you and your little fantasies about little white boys! And you admitted you've had 'kinky' thoughts about your own son, here."
Mona laughed, too. "Uh-huh! You're right, Stel-we're both a couple of horny old bitches!"
"No argument there."
Stella surveyed the two sleeping boys on the couch with a glow of satisfaction in her intense black eyes. Her mature, fulsome, statuesque figure was wrapped tightly in a sleeveless, midi-length, light pastel-green spring dress. Her glossy black hair was again done up in the severe bun at the back of her head, and skillfully applied makeup made her dark, mature, somewhat wrinkled features provocative. Beneath the hem of the clingy dress, her nice knees, shapely calves and trim ankles were sooty and sleek in sheer black nylon stockings, and her large but shapely feet were poised in her glittering, black patent-leather pumps with the wicked spike heels.
Mona's shorter, but ripe and curvaceous mature black form was wrapped in a long, loose, pink quilted housecoat. But her hair was carefully brushed back flowingly over her shoulders, and heavy make up accented the dark beauty of the middle-aged black woman's heart-shaped face.
At this moment, the middle-aged black woman was staring, hard, at the sleeping, adolescent white boy seated next to her son, with moist, lustful eyes.
"I guess I am sort of trading my son for sex," she murmured. "And what we're doing would get us in jail for a long time if anyone found out-not to mention our jobs at school." Now, she licked her thick, red-painted lips, her eyes still on Bobby. "But I've always wanted a young white cock to play with, ever since I started teaching in the integrated schools. Damn, Stel, my panties are getting wet right now just thinking about having your little grandson in bed with me. And, hell, I have to admit it-the thought of you and my son together makes me kind of horny, too!"
Stella nodded. "I know just what you mean, Mona. I've found there's nothing better than a sweet little innocent trembling lamb of a boy to turn me on. And I've always had rather an itch for young black meat. So, you see, dear, we'll be making each other's fantasies come to life. And that's when you have great sex, Mona. Believe it."
"Don't I know it. And your having the boys hypnotized makes it a lot better, it seems to me. They won't really be conscious of-of-t;his, and-" here she gave a little shudder of excitement-"they'll do anything we want. They'll sort of be our sex slaves!"
"That's right, Mona. You could call it icing on the cake."
"Mmmmmmm, and white cake, too," Mona sighed.
Now she stood up. "Say, girl, let's get this show on the road... before my panties get soaking wet!"
Stella smiled devilishly. "You're not the only one with wet panties around here. And I agree."
So saying, the mature, white woman turned to her sitting, sleeping grandson. "Bobby, dear," she cooed to him.
"Yes, Mistress," the lad muttered back.
"You're going to go now with your other Mistress, your new Mistress, Mona. And you will obey her just as you obey me. Do you understand, dear?"
"Yes, Mistress," Bobby replied.
"That's a good boy. Now, dear, I want you to stand up and go to her."
Slowly, the little white boy opened his glazed eyes and stood up. With slow, hesitant steps, much in the manner of a sleepwalker, he made his way to where Mona sat. The mature black woman now stood up herself at his approach. She was now quivering visibly with excitement, and her dark eyes were humid with hot, lewd lust for the little adolescent white boy.
"That's right, Bobby, sweetheart," Mona murmured to him huskily. "Come to your Mistress. Come to me."
"Yes-yes, Mistress," Bobby answered her.
Mona sighed, soulfully, as the lad stopped in front of her, very close to her. Her tremors of arousal were quite apparent now, and her eyes seemed to flash with passion. She reached out with a shapely black hand and softly stroked the white boy's forehead.
"Sweet little white honey-child," she sighed, her voice catching with her arousal. "My darling little boy. We're going to have lots of fun today, sweetheart. Aren't we?"
"Y-Yes, Mistress," the thoroughly hypnotized and dominated white child replied, submissively.
"You darling," she cooed to him.
Now her elegant, long-nailed black fingers began to unbutton the shapeless thin house dress. A heartbeat later, she shrugged it off. It floated to the carpet.
The hypnotized white boy began to tremble as he stared with wide, glazed eyes at his black Mistress.
For her mature, shapely, ebony body was erotically enhanced by a skin-tight, frilly satin corselette of a deep burgundy red hue. The black lace fringed bra cups of the tight, form-fitting foundation garment held the quivering fullness of her jumbo-sized, perfectly shaped breasts tightly, with the hilly upper mounds of her black breasts exposed. A pair of burgundy red satin panties just as tightly gripped her loins, and the Negro woman's big, protuberant cunt visibly protruded from the front of them. Underneath, thin, shirred, burgundy red garter suspenders stretched down from the corselette hem, down her heavy, shapely black thighs, down to where they were attached snugly to the welt tops of a pair of cobwebby, full-fashioned, opera-length black fishnet stockings. The tight net mesh of the sensuous hosiery was a deeper black than her smooth skin, and thus deliciously outlined and enhanced the middle-aged black woman teacher's long, shapely legs. The high-heeled pumps on her largish, stockinged feet were the same color as her shiny tight corse\t and panties.
"Do you like your Mistress in her sexy underthings?" Mona asked the now trembling little white boy.
"Yes-ohhhhh, yes, Mistress," the fetishistic lad replied, fervently. "I really do... gosh... " His wide, staring, ogling eyes confirmed his words.
"Oooooooh, darling, I guess you really are a little panty freak," Mona teased him.
"I-I guess so, Mistress."
"Well, Mona," Stella, who had been watching this interchange with glittering eyes, called out, "do you accept our little arrangement?"
"Umm-hmmm-you bet I do girl-to hell with the consequences!" Mona took Bobby's band. "Let's go, sweetheart. Let's go beddy-bye."
"Yes, Mistress."
Stella watched the middle-aged black woman teacher eagerly lead her adolescent white grandson to one of the two bedrooms down the hall. Then she turned to the still sleeping, little black boy, sitting on the couch.
"Now Rufus, dear... She began...
A little while later, the bizarre arrangement was off and running, much to the two women's satisfaction.
The voluptuous middle-aged white woman was standing beside the bed in the bedroom next to the one Mona and Bobby occupied. Beside her stood the skinny, adolescent little black boy. Rufus was naked now, his clothes neatly draped over a nearby chair. His thin, gawky, childish body glistened blackly, already forming a sheen of sweat. In fact, the Negro boy was trembling slightly, his big eyes round with wonder. He had just helped the taller, mature white woman slip off her dress, which was also folded over the chair. He was devouring the immensely arousing sight of buxom, fleshy white form adorned with a well-packed, black lace bra, skimpy black lace panties, thin black elastic garter belt, and long, sooty, glossy black nylon stockings on her long, beautifully shaped legs with her feet shod in glittering black open-toed, spike-heeled sandals.
"You're trembling, darling," Stella murmured to the black lad. "Do you like your Mistress like this? Do my underthings make you excited?"
"Yes... yes... " Rufus sighed, his eyes traveling slowly up and down the white woman's lovely legs, so smooth and sleek in the filmy, dark-tinted nylons.
"Ohhh, you little darling. Your Mistress understands your thing for sweet, lacy women's undies. They do make everything so sexy and exciting, don't they?"
"They-They do... they do... "
Now Stella reached behind her. "Let's get a few things off, dear, and we'll have all sorts of fun."
Her nimble fingers quickly unhooked the back catches of the bra. It seemed to jump from her bosom, so tight was it, and she slipped it down her arms. In a micro-second the black boy was staring at the older white woman's naked breasts as they quivered and bounced on her chest when she dropped the skimpy black lace bra on the chair.
And Stella was staring lustfully at the little Negro lad's boycock, so small and smooth-fleshed and hairless. It wasn't quite so small now; it was swelling, stiffening, erecting. Stella felt her loins tingle as she saw how she was turning Rufus on.
"Now my lacy little panties, dear," she murmured. She reached down and pushed the tight, skimpy garment down, from her wide splayed hips, down, down, over her protuberant buttocks. Rufus' eyes widened and he gasped as he stared at the mature white woman's hairy cunt, the furry triangle nestled between her smooth white thighs, with her pink labia glistening wetly amidst the curly black pubic hair. The Negro child also watched her gossamer panties slip sleekly down her long, heavily curved legs in the glittering black nylons and become a black lace puddle at her high-heel shod feet.
Now the middle-aged white woman was standing before the trembling little adolescent black boy, naked save for her black garter belt, sheer black stockings and open-toed spike heeled sandals. "Now, honey boy," Stella murmured lovingly. "Shall I take off my nylons, too? Hmmmmmm?"
"No... please... please... k-keep them on... " Rufus panted.
"Ooooooohhh, that's so sexy, darling," Stella replied softly. "Then I will. We'll have even more fun that way... "
Slowly, Stella sat down on the bed, her big, naked ass sinking deep into the mattress. She smiled warmly at Rufus standing before her, his little black, childish body shaking, his black boycock throbbing and throbbing, getting harder and harder.
"Come here, darling," she murmured.
On unsteady, rubbery legs, the hypnotized boy obeyed. Now he was but inches from where she sat.
"Touch my breasts, darling," she breathed, staring into the Negro lad's glazed, agitated, hypnotized eyes.
Rufus gasped, began to tremble more.
"Go on, dear. I know you want to."
Slowly, Rufus' small, black hands reached down. Gingerly, they closed on her huge, discoid, white breasts. Those small black hands tried to cup the heavy, meaty white milkbags, but they were too large. Instead, he ran his hands over the buttery soft, firm but yielding white orbs, stroking the white woman's tits softly. Stella moaned at his childish touch.
"Ohhh, yes, dear... they feel so good, don't they? Feels good to me, too... see how you're making my nipples get big and hard?"
The black boy's wide, glazed eyes riveted on the white woman's big black teats. The nipples were swelling, visibly, the tips beginning to erect, standing out like pencil erasers. Now, she kicked off her spike-heeled sandals.
Now, with another deep, soulful moan, Stella's heavy white arms wrapped around the child's skinny black body. She pulled him down, down, her lips finding his. Now, they rolled together on the bed, the naked, little adolescent black boy and the middle-aged white woman, naked, too, except for the black lace garter belt and glittering black nylon stockings...
Meanwhile, the middle-aged black teacher, Mona, and the little white boy, Bobby, were on the bed in the adjoining bedroom.
Mona was groaning and moaning with ecstasy, nearly insane with passion at having her burning sexual fetish for little white boys being fulfilled so deliciously.
She held little Bobby in a tight embrace, kissing and kissing him passionately. Her thick, Negroid lips were fused with his thin little ones, in deep, hot contact. Her tongue was languidly exploring inside his mouth, wandering all about. Now it met his little tongue. She moaned and moaned as she French-kissed the white boy.
Her shapely black hands were roaming over Bobby's white, smooth, hairless flesh, rapturously, caressing him all over. Then her arms gripped him in a tight embrace, pressing her corset-clad body against him again and again. And the mature black woman continued kissing and kissing the adolescent white boy, nearly breathless with heady excitement.
Bobby began to moan and moan, too, at the big black woman's intoxicating kisses, and the feeling of her satin corset-covered black body, so firm and yet so soft, engulfing his like a warm, fleshy blanket.
Mona broke off that soul kiss, and murmured softly to the little white boy in her arms, "Ooooohhh, baby, that's so good. I'll bet your grandma taught you to kiss like that, didn't she? Mmmmmmm. I'll bet she taught you to do other things real good, too... "
In response, Bobby moaned. A small, white hand began to roam over one of the middle-aged black woman's heavy rounded thighs, stroking that firm, satiny flesh and the cobwebby fishnet stocking that encased it.
"Feel good, honey?" Mona breathed. "You're really turned on by hose and heels, aren't you? Your grandma has such beautiful legs. Tell me, are my legs nice, too?"
"Yes-yes, Mistress," the lad sighed, and he continued to caress the tight mesh that was a second skin on that shapely black thigh.
"You little flatterer," Mona replied, huskily. She pressed her thick, red-painted lips against the thin, small lips of the hypnotized white child. Their tongues played.
Meanwhile, her hands were busy. One softly caressed the smooth, hairless babylike flesh of the boy's small, naked buttocks. Her other shapely, black hand stole down his flat tummy. Now it grasped his little white cock.
Bobby broke off the fiery kiss and groaned urgently, as he felt his organ begin to throb hard in her soft, warm grasp, swelling, hardening with rut.
"Ooooooohhhh, that's what turns me on, sugar," Mona whispered in his ear. "Little white cocks. Hard little white cocks. And yours is already so big and stiff. And I know your grandma taught you how to use it... "
The middle-aged teacher's black hand was now sliding up and down the length of that white, childish penis, frigging it softly. She expertly manipulated the supersensitive organ, with small squeezes and strokes, inflaming it, making it throb and swell and stiffen more and more.
Mona stared at the pulsating white prick in her hand, her eyes glittering with hot lust. She licked her thick lips, slowly, lewdly. "Mmmmmmm. You have such a sweet little cock, baby boy. I've just got to kiss it."
Bobby moaned. He continued moaning, and trembling, as the erotically clad mature black woman slid down on the mattress, and began to kiss all over his thin, hairless little chest, worrying his tiny nipples with her tongue. Now she kissed his flat, hairless belly, and kissed lower, reaching his loins. A heart beat later, she smoothly, softly kissed his erect penis as it flopped about on his belly, throbbing and throbbing. Now she took that childish cock pole into her mouth.
"Uhhhhh-Uhhhhhhh-" Bobby groaned, desperately, bucking his loins at the hot, wet contact of his cock and her mouth.
Mona moaned, the sound muffled boy the boy's cock in her mouth. She held the little organ entirely in her moist oral cavity, a moment. Then her thick, painted lips began to stroke wetly, up and down, up and down that little cock pole, her lips squeezing around it. She began to suck, her cheeks collapsing inwardly with the effort.
"Uhhhhhhh-Gosh-uhhhhhh-" her little white boy slave groaned and groaned.
Mona's black head was bobbing, her eyes closed, her cheeks fluttering, as she continued sucking the child's erecting penis. The little fleshy pole glistened with her saliva as her pressing soft lips worked up and down it, slowly, exquisitely. She reached the small, flaring cockhead, then lowered, taking the cock meat entirely into her mouth. Then she reached the hairless root of his cock. She repeated the process.
The adolescent, naked white boy lay back on her bed, shaking hard, sweat popping out on his skin, groaning and groaning at the intense pleasure that consumed him. The middle-aged black woman's lips were a ring of fire around his prick, inflaming it, making it swell and grow and stiffen into nearly painful erection. It made him think of the many times his grandmother had sucked his cock, and the hot thought made his organ jerk spasmodically in Mona's steaming mouth.
And the pedophiliac, middle-aged black woman felt her head roaring with intense pleasure, her guts rumbling already with gratification. The trickle that had started between her mesh-stockinged legs was a steady stream of hot love liquid. She reached a hand to softly masturbate her drooling cunt hole, nd she continued sucking that throbbing little white cock.
For a little while, the heavy, bizarre love-play continued with the little naked white boy and the middle-aged black woman, her ebony beauty enhanced by the burgundy red erotic corset and the tight-mesh, fishnet stockings...
"AHHHHH-GEE-UHHHHHHH-"
"OOOOHHHH -THAT'S THE WAY DARLING-OOOOHHHHH-IT'S SO GOOD-YOU LEARN SO FAST-OOOOOOOHHHHHH-" Mona's son, little black Rufus, was moaning and moaning, too, as he was now losing his virginity to the sexily clad, middle-aged white woman beneath him.
He was pressing down on the soft, yielding body of his Mistress, sweating and straining, his childish mind completely befogged by the new, ecstatic sensations buffeting his nerve-endings.
His little black hands were gripping hard at the white woman's wide-splayed, fleshy hips, just below the stretched taut black lace bandeau of her garter belt. His kinky-haired little black head was resting on her large, firm, naked white breasts.
And his pinched, hairless little black bottom was pumping, jerkily, between the mature white woman's raised, enclosing, glossily-stockinged legs. He was thrusting his adolescent black boy cock, hard and heavily, in and out of her squishy middle-aged cunt hole.
"OOOOOOHHHHH-THAT'S THE WAY, HONEY-" Stella called up to Rufus, passion hoarsening her voice. "KEEP PUSHING IT IN AND OUT OF ME-OOOOHHHHH- OOOOHHHHHHH-IT'S SO GOOD, ISN'T IT-OOOHHHHHHHH-THAT'S THE WAY TO FUCK YOUR MISTRESS-OOOOOHHHHH-OOOOOHHHHHHH-" Rufus only moaned in reply. His eyes were closed and his mouth was panting as his sweating little black body seemed to work mindlessly, humping and humping against hers, pumping his hard, engorged cock in and out of the grasping, burning, moist hole that massaged and inflamed his organ, sending hot flashes up and down his spine, making his head swim. In his hypnotized mind, the adolescent virgin was obeying his Mistress, although the fantastic pleasure threatened to engulf him.
Stella was nearly engulfed herself by the delicious experience of balling the adolescent black boy. Although his movements were awkward and clumsy, that very fact caused the lewd lust fire to blaze in her loins. His stiff little black cock was working frenziedly in her womb, making her steaming cunt fluid flow like lava and stoking the orgasm that was building up inside her. She nearly crushed the lad against her in her pleasure, laying back her head and moaning- " O O O O O OHHHHH-HONE Y-THAT'S THE WAY -OOOOHHHHH-KEEP FUCKING ME-KEEP FUCKING YOUR MISTRESS UNTIL YOU CUMMMMM-OOOOOOHHHH-OOOOHHHHHH-" At that very moment, in the adjoining bedroom, Mona was moaning, too, as she fucked and fucked with Stella's grandson.
She had pulled the little white boy on top of her, and now his thin little hairless chest was pressing against the slinky satin of her burgundy red corset. She was hugging his scrawny, neck, holding him in a tight clinch, and the little boy was hugging her, too. His flushed little face was dripping sweat onto her shoulder, where it was resting, and his panting breath was caressing her neck. She was panting, too, nearly out of her mind with pulse-pounding gratification as she felt his little white boycock stab and stab into her drooling, clutching, seething cunt hole, probing into her womb, fucking her with practiced skill. Stella had certainly trained her little white stud to fuck, and that was for sure!
His small, white bottom kept pumping steadily between her long, lovely black legs sheathed in the tight meshed fishnet stockings, his little belly slapping against hers, his little hairless white ball sac smacking against her black inner thighs, driving his stiff little white penis to the root in her hungry black cunt hole.
"OOOOHHHHHHH-BABY-SWEET LITTLE BABY-OOOHHH-GIVE TO ME-OOOHHHH, GOD-I NEED IT SO MUCH-" Mona was heaving her abdomen up, spasmodically, meeting the little white boy's pelvic plunges resoundingly, their hips and thighs smacking wetly together as they coupled and coupled. Her shapely black legs undulated beneath the mesh of the erotic fishnet hosiery, her stockinged feet pressing into the mattress with the effort. Bobby's throbbing little white cock was plunging to the root inside her squirming pussy sheath, the delightful friction driving both woman and boy insane with feverish passion. Their bodies jerked and shook as they heaved and bucked together, the small, skinny little white body and the larger, mature black female body in the burgundy red, form-fitting corset and the black mesh stockings. Bobby's hairless, small white buttocks were pumping even faster between her stockinged legs now, spearing his boycock even harder and deeper into her drenched, sobbing cunt hole, making her gasp and groan with red-hot sexual torment and making him squeal with burning penile inflammation.
"YES-YES-SWEET WHITE BABY-HONEY CHILD-MORE-OOOHHHHH-GOD-GIVE ME MORE-OOOOHHHHH-"
"UHHHHHH - GOSH - OHHHHHHH-MISTRESS-I-I-SO HOT-UHHHHHH-" Bobby was groaning desperately now, as he felt the hot pounding at his loins, his thumping penis, so stiff and swollen, becoming itchy with inflammation. His mind completely blown with immature passion, the white child began to thrust and thrust wildly into the fiery hole of the middle-aged black woman beneath him. His small white ass cheeks clenched and clenched with agitation as they now pumped crazily between her trembling, raised shapely black legs in the cobwebby fishnet stockings, pounding his body against hers frenziedly, jackhammering his bloated, glistening white boycock to the quivering depths of her womb, again-again-again- "OHHHHHHHH - FUCK ME HARDER-HARDER-YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE YOUR MISTRESS CUMMMMMMM-" Stella Hartley was nearly shouting up at the little sweating black boy on top of her, the tremendous blowtorch of passion searing her brain. Rufus was overcome with passion, too, gasping and groaning helplessly, his thin black body jerking with spasms. He kept gripping the white woman's hips, slamming his body with all his might down on her soft, white, yielding body. His childish black penis, now rock-hard and swollen with inflammation, was spearing breathtakingly into her bubbling cunt hole, on and on. His small, pinched black bottom was bounding and rebounding between the middle-aged white grandmother's encircling, lovely, glittering black nylon stocking-sheathed legs with almost blinding speed.
"UHHHHH-AHHHHH-OHHHHH-" the little hypnotized black boy cried, out of his mind with sexual pleasure as the new feelings and sensations transformed the meek child into a rutting animal.
"GOOOOOOOD' HONEY-OOOOOHHHHH-" Stella moaned up at her little black boy slave. "IT'S SO GOOD' ISN'T IT, SWEETHEART-SOOOO GOOOOOD-JUST A LITTLE MORE-OOOHHH-AND WE'LL HAVE A NICE BIG CUMMMMM-" She hugged the sweating, panting little black child tightly, adoringly, loving the way the act of enslaving him inflamed her libido. She thought of her grandson now balling this boy's mother in the other room, and it made her hotter. She sank her largish, stockinged feet into the mattress, upheaving her abdomen, carrying Rufus up with her, again and again. In response, the little black boy groaned and pounded down harder against her, his stiff black cock slicing into her moist, grasping, hot cunt tunnel like a knife through butter. For several moments their bodies continued bucking and coupling on the bed insanely, the little black boy and the larger, middle-aged white woman, as naked as he save for black garter belt and long black stockings-Then the entire apartment was filled with screams and cries of ecstatic pleasure as the two bizarre couples began to cum...
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Say it," Stella Hartley commanded her daughter.
"I-I want to fuck my son," Barbara replied, monotonally.
"How badly do you want to fuck your young, adolescent son?" Stella prodded.
"Badly-very badly," Barbara muttered.
The two of them, the middle-aged woman and her mature daughter, were alone in the living room. Bobby was still at school, and Miles was out of town for a few days, attending an insurance underwriting seminar. It was the first afternoon that her son-in-law was gone on the short trip, and Stella had decided to move ahead with her depraved plans for her daughter and her grandson. Her little tete-a-tete's with Ronnie Brown and Mona Washington had worked out beautifully, and the voluptuous hypnotist/psychologist felt encouraged to carry on her psycho-sexual campaign.
She was sitting beside Barbara on the living room couch. The younger woman had easily succumbed once again to her mother's masterful hypnosis, and was now deep in the trance.
"I see, my dear," Stella was telling her now. "And, of course, I know how much your sweet little son, Bobby, wants to fuck you. You know it, too, don't you?"
"Yes... yes. I-I've noticed how he-he looks at me... at my body... at my legs... he's even tried feeling up my legs. He's-he's infatuated with me... "
"And you like that, don't you?" Stella went on. You like him ogling your body. In fact, you encourage it. You give him lots of nice things to look at. In fact, dear, to be blunt about it, you cock-tease your son-don't you?"
"Yes-yes," she replied haltingly. But under her mother's hypnotic control, she could only obey.
"Well, then, I think it's high time you and your son share the love you feel for each other. Do you agree?"
Barbara trembled visibly, but she replied, "Yes. Yes. I want to."
"That's fine, my dear. I want you to, too. And you will do what I want, won't you, dear daughter?"
"Yes-yes M-Mother... I mean, M-Mistress."
"Good, dear, very good. I am pleased. I want you and your wonderful son to be happy, and you won't be until you consummate the passion you both feel for each other. Do you understand me, dear?"
"Yes."
"I'm glad to hear you say that, dear. Now I want you and little Bobby to get together tonight. You will seduce him." At this point, Stella had to pause to suppress a thrill that ran through her at the thought that it was going to happen at last. "Here's what I want you to do, dear," she resumed, bending over her daughter as she began to talk in detail...
Hours passed. The little family, sans father, had spent a very ordinary evening of eating supper, watching television and reading, doing dishes and other small chores, and Bobby going up to his room to do his homework. Now it was late in the evening.
The little boy had just finished giving his face a lick and a promise and making a pretense of brushing his teeth. Attired only in his pajamas, he was padding on bare feet to his bedroom when he heard his mother call to him from her bedroom. Obediently, Bobby stepped into his parents' bedroom.
He saw his mother sitting on the edge of the large, king-sized bed his parents shared. He stepped deeper into the room, blinking his eyes because the room was lit only by the bedside lamp, creating a semi-gloom of long shadows in the room. He passed the slightly ajar closet door as he did, without giving it any attention. That was fortunate, for if he had, he would have seen his grandmother attired only in her nightgown sitting in the large closet on a straight chair.
From her ringside vantage point, Stella shivered with excitement. Yes, it was perfect. Now, she was going to view one of the best live sex shows imaginable! She quickly collected herself, keeping absolutely quiet as she watched her grandson walk up to his mother.
Little Bobby stopped a few feet short from where his mother sat. She sat on the edge of that bed wearing a long white terrycloth robe. Her face was carefully made up, and her thick, glossy black hair was brushed flowingly down her shoulders. Instinctively, the fetishistic boy glanced down, to his mother's feet. His eyes widened as he saw that, beneath the long hem of the robe, her trim ankles were sheathed in glittering dark nylon and her shapely little feet shod in shiny white leather spike-heeled pumps.
"Hello, Son," Barbara said warmly.
"H-Hi, Mama," he replied uncertainly.
She softly patted a spot on the mattress beside her. "Come and sit down here."
"Yes, Mama," the little boy said.
Gingerly, he stepped across her and rested his small bottom on the firm but yielding sheet-covered mattress.
Bobby was sitting, close, very close, to his mature, beautiful mother. His nostrils caught the scent of her light, bewitching perfume. He realized it was the same as his grandmother Stella's. He shivered, although he felt very warm. He felt his mother's body heat radiate toward him, enveloping him.
Barbara stared down at her pajama-clad little son, her eyes warm and moist with love. "I'm glad I caught you, son," she murmured, softly. "I'm glad we can be alone. We need to have a little talk."
Bobby looked up at his larger mother. "We-we do?"
"Ohhh yes, dear, we do." Barbara stared hard at her son. "Remember when we went to the show last week?"
Bobby trembled, casting his eyes downward. "Y-Yes, Mama."
"I'll bet you do, dear." Barbara paused a moment. "That was a very naughty thing you did, putting your hand on Mama's leg."
"I-I know, Mama."
"Why did you do it?"
"I-I really couldn't help it-I-I-" the lad began to stutter, his voice nearly breaking with anguish.
"Ohhhhh, you poor honey," Barbara murmured, stroking her son's hot forehead. "I know you couldn't help it. You've been looking at my legs for some time now. And-and Mama has been a naughty girl herself. I-I've been letting you look at them."
Bobby jerked his head up. "Really?"
"Yes, dear. I have. I liked you admiring my body, my legs... I sort of led you on, I guess. So you became so excited you had to feel me-isn't that right, darling?"
"Yes-yes, Mama."
"Did it feel good, dear? Feeling my legs, I mean?"
"Ohhh, yes, Mama."
"You little panty freak. I'll bet you loved feeling my nice, smooth legs in silky nylon hose... Ill tell you a secret, dear. I liked you feeling my legs."
Bobby gaped at his mother. "Wha-wha-?"
"Yes, Son, it's true. You see, you make me feel real sexy-just the way I make you feel sexy."
"But-but, Mama-"
"Don't worry, dear." Barbara went on stroking the boy's now-sweating forehead again. "No one will ever know about this. It'll be our own little secret. Just you and me."
Bobby was staring up at his mother with wide, wondering eyes. "I'm glad, Mama. You mean-you mean you're not mad about what I did at the show?"
"Why, no, dear," the mature brunette beauty murmured warmly to her little son. "In fact-I'd like you to do it again."
As she spoke those fateful words, she slowly crossed her legs. The hiss of gossamer nylon brushing gossamer nylon was loud in the dim bedroom. Both Bobby and Stella, from the ajar closet, watched as the white cloth of the robe slipped on the smooth nylon of his mother's sheer stockings, exposing her long, shapely, dark stocking-sheathed legs that contrasted erotically with the white high-heeled pumps, up to her rounded thighs.
The little boy now stared with glazed eyes at his mother's exposed, beautifully stockinged legs. His youthful fetish was gripping him hard.
"Yes, honey... that's the way... take a good, long look at Mama's legs... look all you want, darling... we're alone now, and no one will bother us... Mmmmmmmm, how do you like these stockings, dear? Your grandmother gave them to me. I thought you'd like black nylons. Do you?"
"Yesssssss," Bobby sighed as his youthful eyes raked worshippingly over his mother's lustrous, inky, black stocking-sheathed legs.
"I'm so glad, darling," Barbara replied, softly. "Why don't you put your hand on my legs?"
Almost involuntarily, as if it had a mind of its own, the boy's small hand lifted up, up. It settled on one of his mother's shapely, nylon-clad knees. Bobby sighed as he stroked his mother's nice knee, caressing her smooth flesh and the taut, silken gauze that sheathed it so thrillingly.
"That's it, darling," Barbara murmured to him softly. "Now feel Mama's thigh."
Bobby obeyed his mother, sliding his small, white hand up, up, her thick, rounded, black nylon-sheathed thigh, his palm prickling deliciously on the whispy mesh fabric of the black stocking there.
From the closet, Stella sighed, and her hand slipped beneath her nightclothes, where her furry cunt was twitching madly with arousal and beginning to bubble with love fluid.
The middle-aged grandmother watched her grandson stroke her daughter's stockinged thigh a moment. Then she heard her daughter say, "My darling son... my only one. We're all alone here tonight. No one will ever know. I want you to sleep with me tonight. Mama will teach you the way a man loves a woman, the way they make love. You'd like to make love to me, darling. I know you do. I can tell."
"Ohhhh, Mama-I'm-I'm so excited. I-"
"Hush, dear," Barbara replied, putting her hand over Bobby's mouth. "Your grandmother is already asleep. We mustn't be too loud."
"Yes, Mama."
Stella grinned inwardly. A nice touch. She had instructed her daughter well.
Now, Barbara rose from the mattress. "Take off your 'jammies, darling, and get into bed."
"Yes, Mama."
Both Barbara and Stella watched with lustful eyes as the adolescent child haltingly unbuttoned his top and shrugged it off. His chest was so thin, so hairless, so adorably childish. Now the lad was skimming off his bottoms. They made a pile at his tiny feet. He stepped out of it.
"Oooooohhhh, darling... you're such a cute little lover," Barbara breathed to her son, her eyes feeding on his think, gawky, hairless legs, his diminutive loins, and, in particular, his small, hairless cock. From the closet, Stella stroked her dripping pussy at the sight of her grandson's erecting penis, thinking of the times she had played with it.
"You're already getting hard for Mama," Barbara sighed. "You sweet boy. Now, get on the bed. Mama will be with you in a moment, dear."
"Yes, Mama."
Bobby climbed on the bed, its large dimensions dwarfing the child as he crawled onto the white sheet covered mattress, propping his head on a pillow. His wide eyes riveted to where his mother stood, still wearing the white robe.
"I think I'll take off my robe now," Barbara murmured to her little naked son with a warm smile. "Would you like that, dearest?"
"Yes, Mama," Bobby replied, simply.
Smoothly, Barbara untied the belt of the robe, letting the ends fall. She shrugged her shoulders, softly, and the robe parted, slipped a bit. She shrugged her shoulders again, and the lightweight white robe fell from her body with a slight whispering sound. It crumpled into a white rug at her high-heel-shod feet.
From the closet, Stella sighed. From the bed, Bobby gasped, his eyes wide. His little boycock began to visibly jerk and jerk with arousal as his eyes raked over his mother's body. She was a lovely, white-skinned goddess, a Venus to the naked little lad. Her large, meaty breasts, furry, puffy, black-haired cunt, were all exposed to his adoring eyes. His beautiful, mature brunette mother was naked, in all her glory, to him-almost.
A thin, lacy black garterbelt gripped her trim waist, the taut, thin black garter suspenders striping her creamy, rounded thighs. The glittering chrome tabs held up a pair of filmy, skin-tight, full-fashioned black nylon stockings over her long and exquisitely curved legs. The white high heels on her stockinged feet provided erotic contrast to the sensuous, fetish-arousing black lingerie.
"How do I look, sweetheart?" Barbara murmured to the naked little boy on the bed.
"Gosh -ohhhh -gosh-Mama-you're so-so-pretty-" Bobby gasped, his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets, his boycock now fully erect and throbbing urgently. "I'm-I'm so excited-ohhhh-Mama-"
"Ooooooohhh, my little man, my sweet love-child-my only son," Barbara hissed back, her lips nearly snarling with passion, her nostrils flared wantonly, her eyes glittering with naked lust for her nude, adolescent son. "Stay right there, darling. Mama's coming for you."
Her nylon-sheathed thighs brushed swishingly together as she walked to the bed. She quickly, eagerly, climbed onto the bed and wrapped her arms around her little son's neck, just as his arms encircled her waist. The naked little boy and his mature, nearly naked mother sank down deep into the pillows, as their lips met, and clung... endlessly... Mother and son kissed and kissed passionately...
A few minutes later, a very aroused Stella Hartley was frenziedly fingering her sopping cunt from the close confines of the bedroom closet, nearly falling out of the chair with her erotic masturbatory spasms as she watched her daughter softly stroke her grandson's stiff, throbbing little penis. Little Bobby had been stroking his mother's big hairy pussy, and it was evident that she was as wet as he was hard. No time for any more foreplay.
Barbara pulled her panting son on top of her pounding, nearly nude body, the both of them sinking deep into the mattress with their combined weight. Now Barbara's hand grasped her son's swollen, stiff prick and guided it toward her steaming, drenched cunt hole. His little white buttocks lowered between her raised, black stocking-sheathed legs, as his boycock speared into her bubbling, hairy hole...
Mother and son fucked. Very soon, they came, loudly, spasmodically. They were joined by Stella in the closet, who yelled and yelled as loud as they, as her busy fingers sent her into a delirious cum...
That night Stella finished putting the finishing touches on a section of her thesis dealing with incest, pedophilia and garment fetishism. She felt sure her professors would accept it-the research and analysis was outstanding, she knew. And, of course, as a practicing psychologist, she didn't have to reveal her sources.
Now, Stella sat back from her typewriter, with a satisfied sigh.
Not that she was finished with her research... not at all. She still had an entire scout den to hypnotize and seduce, not to mention a bevy of little boys at school. And there were certainly many hot nights ahead for her daughter and grandson and son-in-law.
