From: an356608@anon.penet.fi

   Reply-To: an356608@anon.penet.fi

   Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

   Subject: I Meet Toni's Mom, II (rev)

   Date: Wed, 20 Sep 1995 09:36:52 UTC

   Organization: Anonymous forwarding service

   Message-ID: <094319Z20091995@anon.penet.fi>

   I Meet Toni's Mom, II

   Still, I'm glad I'm erect.  I don't have the world's smallest penis, so
I'm hoping Frieda is impressed, even if she isn't mentioning it.  It's not
exactly that I expect to attract her.  Even though she's an artist, I'm
pretty sure she doesn't get off on the beauty of men's bodies.  It's our
visibility she likes.  I'm seeing that.  But in some muddled way I'm still
thinking she'll want me around more if my penis is impressive.

   Frieda looks thoughtful.  "Tell me what you're feeling," she says.

   I'm at a loss for words.  Or I just don't want to say.  "I'm feeling
pretty good," I say.  I'm an ass, I realize, so I emend it.  "I'm feeling
wonderful," I say.  Frieda says nothing for a while.  I realize

   she's waiting for more.  "This is great," I contribute, nodding my head
emphatically toward my lower body to show that I mean the way I'm naked
there.

   "He's not very articulate," she says to Toni.  The girl shrugs.

   "Let me explain something, boyo," Frieda says.  "I want you to
understand what I'm into.  You're a young man and I'm a woman.  Every
schoolgirl knows men are made to serve her.  She knows they're under her
control.  That's why they have the organs they do, stuck onto their bodies
in this clumsy way [Frieda gestures toward my genitals] - so she can see
them and arouse them and, if necessary, hurt them.  Every schoolgirl knows,
and I don't have to tell you that every boy knows it, too.  You can dress,
but you can't hide.  Isn't that so?"

   "That's exactly true, ma'am."

   "Everything about you males is made to be visible to us.  But I'll hand
it to you.  You do manage to get around the plain facts.  I mean, look at
your testicles.  With hardly an effort, a woman can cause them excruciating
pain.  They say you're only as strong as your weakest link.  Links don't
come any weaker than a man's balls.  So what do you men do?  You make your
testicles your symbol of power, your sign of virility.  I admit it, it
takes balls to do a thing like that."

   I think, the woman is not only beautiful, she's quick and brilliant.  I
wouldn't mind the excruciating pain at all if she were the one causing it.
But she's not done with the lecture.  Maybe later.

   "The point is, just because you're meant to be out in the open for us,
you dream up these ingenious ways to hide.  You put us women to a lot of
trouble.  You're full-time work.  If we let you up off your knees, you
immediately feel big.  We give you an erection, and you say, 'Look at me!'
Quite a bunch.  Well, if a girl looks sharp, she can figure out ways to
keep a whole platoon of you under her thumb.  Do you think we can't wait to
see you naked?  To us, you're always naked.  We strip you for your own
sake, not ours.  To save you energy, to keep you from wasting your own time
and making US feel sorry for ourselves because you're all we have.  It's
beneath a woman's dignity to have to spell these things out.  'Hey, fella,
stand up straight, you're already see-through, kapish?' So we strip you
down and you look a little silly, but at least you stop putting on airs you
don't look good in."

   I gaze down at my penis.  "She's talking about you," I think.  I do look
silly.  A penis and testicles have little to recommend them aesthetically.
They're tools and that's it.  Women's tools, but stored on our bodies
because women's bodies are too beautiful to be cluttered with such things.
I also have the thought, as I see my erection quiver, that Frieda's words
ought to be shrinking it, but they're not.  It's loving the abuse, a fact
which proves one of her points or another.

   "What I ask of a man," Frieda says, "is that he be naked in mind as well
as body.  I'm not going to let him show me his hairy body if he's going to
hide his overgrown mind.  I want to have a picture window on his heart.  I
want him to be thinking, 'Frieda sees.  My penis is the least of it.'"

   Suddenly she's giving me a very earnest look.  I want to give her one
back, to show her how affected I am by what she's saying, but when I try to
do it my eyes lower.  Frieda says, "I want YOU to think this.  Frieda
sees." And I am thinking it, I realize, which is why I've dropped my eyes.

   "I can see this is gonna be a long afternoon," Toni interjects.  "I'm
outta here, going shopping.  Okay, Mommy?"

   Frieda catches the style.  "Go for it, Tone.  Your boy and I can manage
things by ourselves."

   I don't want Toni to leave.  If I can't check out her look, how will I
tell how I'm doing?  She hasn't exactly been protecting me, but I still
feel safer with my junior mistress on hand.  Maybe I don't really want
Frieda to open all my windows.

   "Before you go, honey," Frieda says, "could you get your boy cleaned up
a bit?" Toni says yes and tells me to follow her.  "Get up?" I ask. 
"Unless you can follow me sitting down," she says.  I follow her to the
bathroom.  I ask her what gives.  "Mom has a theory about people," she
says. "She thinks nature left us all a bit unfinished, but with hints so we
can complete the job.  That way we partly make ourselves." I say it's a
good theory.

   Toni says, "So we women have hair on our legs, but only a small amount,
not like men.  And that means we're supposed to shave our legs, but men
aren't supposed to shave theirs.  But with pubic hair it's different.  Ours
conceals us, and it's a perfect triangle anyhow, and that means we're
supposed to keep it.  But yours..." - she gestures toward my pelvis -
"...yours doesn't hide a thing, especially the hair on your penis and
scrotum.  So you're supposed to shave it off.  Mom thinks your penis and
testicles should be bare and smooth.  She thinks the rest should be thinned
out maybe, but not shaved off completely because you need to be reminded
what a failure all your ways of hiding are."

   Toni's been talking fast.  She's in a hurry to leave.  I find what she's
said very sexy.  I've actually never been shaved, or thinned out, or
whatever, before, and I'm excited by the prospect.  She's holding a
disposable razor, and I'm not even afraid of being cut.  It's routine to
her, I guess.  I ask her if she knows how to do this.  Oh, yes, she tells
me, she's been doing her brother for years.  She has some translucent
lotion in her palm.  She says shaving cream just makes the hairs hard to
see.  When she applies the lotion to my penis and balls I find it so
thrilling I think I'm going to add some gobs of my own manufacture.  I
groan.  I say her name.

   "Don't come," Toni says matter-of-factly.  "Just don't.  It's not a good
idea.  You'll see." She gives my penis a special squeeze that's meant to
stop a man from coming.  It usually works - Toni isn't crazy about having
me come - but the lotion makes her grip insecure.  It's okay, though.  I
won't shoot.  I understand that Frieda wouldn't want me to.  Toni finally
shaves me.  The sides and underside of my penis, then my scrotum, all the
way under to my perineum.  She shaves a little from my thighs, a little
from the very top of my pubic patch, and then she runs the razor lightly

   across the rest of the patch, thinning it down without actually touching
my skin.  She's completely businesslike and I'm rock-hard.

   Toni hands me a towel, telling me to go back to her Mother's studio when
I'm clean.  "I'll be seeing you," she says, her favorite valediction.  I
steal a glance in the mirror.  My organs look incredibly naked, even though
they themselves don't have all that much hair on them to begin with.  (In
Frieda's "theory," that's why they need to be shaved.) The hair around them
is now scant enough to be transparent, and it has just the effect Toni
promised: it looks like a pathetic attempt to cloak my pubis.  I hurry back
to Frieda who quickly reviews her daughter's work and tells me to get back
down on the floor just the way I was.

   We're alone now, and I feel the difference.  The air is full of peril.
Usually you feel more naked in front of two women than in front of one, but
this time it's not that way, because Toni was protecting me.  That's how I
saw it, even if she didn't.  Now my mistress is gone.  I'm stripped of my
mistress.

   Frieda takes up where she left off.  "I'm going to help you be
transparent to me.  You may have trouble at first, but I can tell you it's
the most wonderful thing a young man can feel.  It's more wonderful than
that erection.  It's more wonderful than having your penis stroked...." To
my shock, she leans down and takes my penis in her hand.  It's the first
time she's touched me at all.  Her hand is beautiful and cool.  Her grip is
firm in a way, but feminine.  She knows I'm near the edge, so she doesn't
move much, just some light, still pressure.  The shaving has made a
difference.  My penis feels very bare, as though it's been taken out of
protective wrapping.  Frieda strokes it tenderly a few times and lets it
go. I'm sick with yearning.

   "I can do what I like with it, can't I?  she asks.

   "Oh, yes," I say.

   "I have you in a fragile state, don't I?" I nod vigorously.  I'm
enthralled, a fragile state.

   "I know my daughter puts you into this state as well, and you tell her
you're her slave." I nod again, a little less certainly.  I don't see what
she's getting at.  Is she saying I'm disloyal?  But that's not it.  "You're
young," she says, "and Toni is younger.  A young girl needs to have men
serving her.  She needs to see it.  I mean in men other than her Dad and
her brother.  But what does it amount to?  She gets you worked up and you
kneel and tell her you're her slave.  You obey a few orders and when she
leaves, you masturbate.  You're young, it's romantic, this ceremony of
enslavement.  I did it myself not so many years ago.  But I want, and Toni
is going to want, something even deeper.  I want to own your entire being."

   Frieda reaches down to my penis again.  I see her doing it but I still
jump.  She pulls back her hand.  "It's at a point where you'd do anything I
ask for just one more minute of that, isn't it?" "Yes," I whisper.

   "I'll touch your penis for five more seconds if you crawl across the
floor on your belly," she says.  Without a pause I roll onto my belly and
crawl.  I crawl back and assume my posture.  Frieda reaches down and
strokes my penis and it's heaven.  "There," she says, withdrawing her hand.
"Thank you, ma'am," I say.

   "But what I want," Frieda goes on, "is to make your whole being as
greedy and grateful as your penis.  I want your mind to yearn for my touch.
I want your thoughts and dreams begging for my glance." She looks
thoughtful.  There's great feeling in what she's saying.  I'm sure she's
said it before to other men, but there's nothing mechanical in it.  For a
few moments Frieda is silent, thinking still.  I look into her face, her
lovely face, and hope I have it in me to give her what she wants.

   At last the words come.  But it's as though she's left out a lot.  She's
decided it's all too complicated.  She'll just give me my orders, her
wishes.  She says, "I want you to try to tell me everything that's in your
head right now.  That's what I meant when I asked what you're feeling.  But
everything.  You know how good it felt when you put your male pride at
Toni's feet.  You became a better man for it, a more honest man, a friend
of women and their servant.  What I'm asking of you will make all that even
deeper and more lasting....Tell me."

   I try.  I try to do it.  Do I even know what I'm thinking?  I want to
say the right thing.  But I really don't want to lie.

   "I'm thinking that you're very beautiful, ma'am."

   "What's beautiful about me?" she asks.

   "Everything.  Everything about you." I get ardent.  I mean it.  "Your
eyes, your hair, your mouth." I stop.  She tells me to continue.  I zero
in. "Your skin, your forehead, your beautiful cheek-bones." I'm going to
have to descend from her face soon.  I adore her legs, so lithe in their
nylons.  Why don't I mention them?  They drive me mad.  And her elegant
feet in their heels.  I'm thinking it but not saying so.  Frieda tells me
I'm not letting her see.  She asks what I'd do if she allowed me to touch
her.  I say I'd kiss her.  I would, of course.  But the process is slowly
starting to work.  I say I'd love to be held naked in her arms while she
stayed dressed.

   "Deeper," she says, "go deeper into yourself."

   I try to go deeper, but it frightens me.  "Give yourself to me," she
says.  "I don't care what's in there.  Give it." Her words are almost
hypnotic.  I want her to keep speaking, to inject me with the truth-serum
of her words.  I stammer.  "Give me...," she says softly.  It's as though
her words are deftly stroking my mind the way her hand did my penis.  I
think she wants me to show her the part of me that keeps rebelling against
her power.  The male part of me that understands only aggression, that
turns even my slavery into aggression.

   "I want to know what your vagina looks like," I stammer.  "I want to
kiss your vagina.  I want to worship it.  Your vagina." I shudder to say
the precious word.  My gruff male voice has no right to name the sweet
magic of woman.  I'm revealing an unforgivable thing.  I'm forcing myself
to say it.  I'm risking everything to obey Frieda's command.  Yet I truly
am imagining Frieda's vulva, wondering if any man has known the blessing of
planting his lips upon it.

   "I'm your slave, ma'am...," I say and hesitate, sick at heart for the
desecration on my lips and sure that I'm damned for it, "because you're a
woman and you have a vagina." I pause, terrified.  "Because you have a
cunt," I add for good measure.  "Please forgive me."

   "Go on," she says calmly.  "You don't need to be forgiven.  You just
need to go on.  To give up all your secrets, to put all your dreams at my
feet.  No, I won't fulfill them.  But I'll own them.  Go on."

   end of part two