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Alex DuValle hid in his bedroom, anxiously waiting for his parents to leave. Had Frank and Stephanie known their son had returned home, they would have been horrified. He was supposed to be at Tommy’s house. Alex’s parents had an active social life and they frequently packed him off to stay overnight with his best friend when they had one of their events to attend or just wanted a little “alone time.” Tonight was one of the former; they were expecting to be gone until the wee small hours of the morning.
Once again, they had dispatched him to Tommy’s, paying for an extra-large pizza, twelve-pack of soda and the new, much anticipated Halo 3 game for Tommy’s Xbox 360 to keep the boys entertained all night. No, it wasn’t because he still needed a babysitter; not at his age, they assured their son, although it was comforting to know Nick and Cora Bradley would be there “just in case.”
“We’re just thinking of you, Sweetheart,” his mother had cooed. “We’re going out to have a little fun tonight. There is no reason you can’t, too. What fun would it be to mope around alone in a big, empty house while we’re gone?”
‘Well, I wouldn’t be alone if Tommy stayed overnight with me, would I?’ Alex thought wryly. ‘I have an Xbox, too.’
Alex knew better than that. They wanted, needed him out of the way while they were getting ready for their ‘event’ and when they returned, as well. It was just easier to send him to Tommy’s for the entire evening. If they had been staying home, they absolutely would have required that he be gone all night.
“He’s much too young to understand,” he had once overheard his beautiful, doting mother telling his father. “We need to protect him from this until he’s mature enough to process it in context.”
Of course, his father had been in complete agreement. They were being overprotective to a fault and Alex resented it. He wasn’t a kid anymore. Besides, it was much too late; he already knew.
He hadn’t suspected a thing in the beginning. Alex had grown up amidst the hustle and bustle of a typical suburban two-income household. His father was a successful money fund manager. His mother had been a “dancer” (she hadn’t elaborated on that somewhat cryptic description) before she married Alex’s father. After Alex had started school, she had taken a part-time position with a public relations firm. Stephanie DuValle didn’t really need to work; her husband made a mid-six-figure income. As she had once confided to her son, she would have been “bored out of my gourd” had she remained cooped up inside their home all day. Still, she had always made time to be with her husband – and him.
A year and a half before, when Alex was still sixteen, he had gone down the street to Tommy’s house for the night when his parents had requested some time alone together. He had returned later in the evening to fetch a video game he and his friend wanted to play. Ever the thoughtful son, Alex had entered the house stealthily and crept up the stairs, not wanting to disturb his folks. If truth be told, he was more than a little curious. He and Tommy had heard all kinds of stories from their friends about what grownups did alone together. Alex acknowledged the dirty little thought; he wouldn’t mind seeing it for himself, just this once, to see if the stories were true.
Noises emanated from his parents’ open bedroom doorway; his mother’s loud, angry voice and a series of soft, whistling noises, each punctuated by a sharp slap. Were his folks actually having a fight and had sent him away so he wouldn’t witness it? As he peeked around the corner of the doorway, all thoughts of Tommy and the video game left him.
Nothing he had heard from his friends had prepared him for this. His father stood naked, spread-eagled, in the center of the room, manacled at his wrists and ankles with padded leather cuffs. The cuffs, in turn, were snap-clipped to chains attached to eye bolts set in the ceiling and floor. His mother was dressed in a skintight, shiny black latex catsuit and knee-high black patent boots with towering stiletto heels. Her face was heavily made up, her hair severely styled, and she wielded a long, thin, flexible leather crop-like object. He overheard her referring to it as a “quirt”. She was whipping his father’s exposed butt, leaving vicious-looking red welts. Alex could tell it hurt; although his father stoically made only quiet grunts as the blows landed, his body recoiled under each impact.
At the same time, Alex’s mother unleashed a string of vile, abusive taunts and invective at her prisoner, intended to belittle and humiliate him. Alex would not have believed his sweet, loving, kind-to-a-fault mother was even capable of such viciousness, much less had the inclination to do so. Time stood still. Alex had watched, astonished, wondering what his father could have possibly done to make his mother so angry at him. For that matter, under what circumstances had Alex’s big, strong father come to be in this position?
Apparently esenyurt anal yapan escort satisfied with the physical punishment she had already inflicted, the demonic Stephanie tossed the quirt onto the bed, seized a huge black latex dildo (the Internet, plus stories from their friends had taught Alex and Tommy what such things were) and stepped in front of her beaten hubby. As she turned, Alex noticed the crotch area of her catsuit was fitted with a zipper, running from front to back. That zipper was open, and little Alex could see his mother’s most private parts for the first time in his life. Those parts were unmistakably wet, glistening!
His mother took obvious delight in slowly inserting the huge phallus into her pussy, right before the eyes of her hapless husband, and proceeded to fuck herself with it, calling it “more of a man than you are” and labeling him a “weak, pathetic excuse for a husband and lover.” She fucked herself to what appeared to be a monumental orgasm, causing her to become weak in the knees and stagger a bit, coming to rest in a seated position on her bedside table.
“I should go out and find myself a real man, a Black man with a man-sized cock,” she spat. “Someone who can make me feel like a real woman, rather than wasting my time on a disgusting, bird-dicked wimp like you!”
Regaining her strength, she rose angrily to her booted feet and advanced. Alex couldn’t see clearly from that angle, but she apparently grabbed his father’s penis and began jerking it with her hand.
“Look at this miserable excuse for a dick,” she growled. “What use is this to me? You can’t even get this tiny thing in me! All it is good for is jerking off while you watch me have sex with a real man. Is that what you want, Sissy Boy? Would you like to beat your little pee-pee off while you watch a big, strong, macho stud fill me up with his twelve-inch tool, making me scream, making me moan, making me whine, making me beg him to fuck me harder? Is that what you want?
Alex had been completely unaware he had his own little stiffie out of his jeans, in his hand, and was stroking it furiously. His fevered brain was fixated on the compelling, overwhelmingly erotic vision of his mother. At that moment, Alex’s beaten, defeated father had repeatedly jerked against his bonds, grunted heavily and cum in his abuser’s hand. Alex came in his own hand at the same instant, struggling mightily to suppress his groans and avoid discovery, even as his own legs became weak and rubbery.
When Frank’s spasms ended, his dominant wife placed her hand to his face.
“Clean up this mess,” she commanded, “Eat your watery piss; every drop. Then lick my hand clean!”
To Alex’s continued amazement, his father hastened to obey his tormenter, laving her palm fervently. Alex, too, licked up his spunk; a first for him, just as it had been his first orgasm. He knew nothing of the phrase “tunnel vision”, yet as he lapped up the thick, slightly-bitter spooge, he had eyes only for the exquisitely-beautiful, erotic siren before him.
If all of that were not enough to totally confound the boy, his mother then released his father from the chains that bound him, helped him to their bed, then lay down with him and held him tightly.
“Was it good for you, Lover?” Stephanie had cooed to him tenderly, as though the last hour had never happened.
“Oh God, yes!” Frank DuValle had gushed. “I came so hard, I saw stars. What about you, Honey?”
“I came like a runaway freight train with that dildo,” his wife assured him. “I came again spontaneously when you did. This has been our best session yet. Now, let me put some ointment on your poor butt.”
Alex had quietly fetched his video game and returned to Tommy’s, avoiding his friend’s pointed questioning: What had he been doing? Why had it taken him so long? The troubled youth couldn’t share what he had seen, even with his best friend; it was too private, too personal. How could he explain what, even now, he himself couldn’t believe he had seen – and done?
From that night on, Alex grew up in a hurry. He needed to know more. He got Tommy to cover for him on those special nights, while Alex sneaked home to watch, and learn, about his parents’ active, unorthodox love life. He learned a whole new vocabulary: “role-playing”, “hotwife”, “cunnilingus and fellatio”, “bondage”, “domination and submission”, “sadomasochism”, “water sports”, “frottage”, “brownies and lemonade” (those last three related items were really disgusting), and others.
The games his parents played varied, as did their roles. Sometimes his father was dominant and his mother, the all-too-willing submissive, but such times were infrequent; both seemed to prefer when his mother was in charge. She could portray a dominatrix, as he had first seen her, or a prostitute, secretary, schoolteacher, nurse, and so many more, it made Alex’s head spin. His father esenyurt escort would portray whatever was appropriate for that “scene” or “session”. There were “toys”, too, though nothing Alex would ever have associated with ‘Playtime’ in the past.
Of his two parents, Alex had always been closer to his mom. Perhaps that was partly due to their uncanny physical resemblance, which others had repeatedly pointed out. They shared the same thick, pale blonde hair, sapphire eyes and small, delicate facial features, set off by those stunningly high, prominent cheekbones and full, sensual mouth. At the same time, Frank DuValle’s career responsibilities left little free time for bonding with his son.
Alex loved and respected his father, yet as long as he could remember, he had felt empathy, a special affinity for his mother. She, as a mom, had always displayed unconditional love and devotion towards her only child. Alex’s friends frequently reminded him he had the “hot mom” in the neighborhood. Only one had ever voiced a snide remark about her “porn star body.” Once his myriad of cuts, bruises and contusions had healed, the jerk had never teased the enraged Alex again. Stephanie DuValle had always been just “Mom” to Alex. He took it as an article of faith; all boys laughed and teased with their moms, exchanged practical jokes and just hung out together whenever they could – didn’t they?
After learning about his parents’ secret love life and his mother’s lurid role in it, Alex perceived her as much more. That first night and first experience had left an indelible imprint on the youth’s psyche, forever associating his mother’s image with sexual pleasure. In his eyes, she had become a truly sexual being, a goddess to be venerated – and emulated.
“Sweetie,” his mother had chimed one day, playfully grabbing a handful of her son’s shaggy, well-over-the-collar hair, “don’t you think it’s time to get that mop cut?
“Mom, I was thinking,” he replied, trying to sound casual about it. “Would it be all right if I tried growing my hair out a little more? Some of the guys in school are sporting longer hair now. I’ve always admired the way your hair looks and wondered if it would look as good on me.”
“Flatterer!” Stephanie DuValle had gushed, hugging her offspring tightly. “Baby, you know I’ve always encouraged you to express yourself. You’re getting to be a big boy now. You’ll be, what, seventeen in a couple of months? Of course we can try this! The thing is, it takes a lot of work to have long hair. If you want to do this, I’m going to insist you take care of it and keep it looking good; I’m not raising some skanky-looking punk here. I’ll teach you how to do it. In the meantime, I’ll put in a good word with your father about this. I’m sure he’ll be fine with it.”
In the ensuing months, Alex’s hair had grown out thick, strong and shiny. Vitamin supplements had helped; so too had nightly brushing and regular trips to his mother’s favored salon for a trim and deep conditioning. He basked in the glow of his mother’s frequent compliments concerning his new style.
“If you’re not careful, people will start mistaking you for my daughter,” she teased with a wink.
“So, you’re saying I should cut it off?” he asked apprehensively.
“NOT!” she fussed, grabbing him around the neck and massaging the top of his head vigorously with her knuckles. “I was just messin’ with ya, Kid. Your hair is gorgeous! You shouldn’t even think of cutting it until you are good and ready to. With that hair and your good looks, the girls at school must be stalking you.”
“Mom, I’m seventeen,” he countered pointedly.
“So?” she taunted smugly. “When I was your age, I was already juggling three boyfriends and flirting with the rest. Get with the program, Young Man; you have a family reputation to uphold! Maybe we just need to change your wardrobe a bit…”
Smirking, she gave him a very obvious once-over.
“… get you wearing something a little… sexier. I wonder how you would look in a skirt and heels….”
Her positive reinforcement fueled his burning desire for more; to look the way she looked, feel what she felt, be what she was.
He had long since explored the deepest recesses of her walk-in closet, dresser, vanity table and night stand. He had found her special things and familiarized himself with all of it. On the evenings his parents went out, Alex had indulged his fantasies and dressed up in his mother’s erotic finery. By that time, he was approximately his mother’s stature, although Alex couldn’t come close to matching her amazing physique; at least, not without a little help.
The Internet became Alex’s friend, mentor, guide and Grand Bazaar. Online dictionaries gave him a working knowledge of words he was unfamiliar with. Search engines helped him locate sites related to the fetish-fantasy lifestyle, suppliers of exotic apparel, toys, appliances and the like. Adult-themed story esenyurt eve gelen escort sites granted him access to a wealth of fetish interests; some even his parents had yet to explore.
Through his readings and research, Alex matured far beyond his years in his understanding of human sexuality in general and Erotica in particular. Although he had always loved and respected his father, Alex’s studies helped him come to understand Frank DuValle as never before. He was, after all, a man – a man with needs. Well, women had needs, too, Alex reasoned, and with the right ‘persuasion’, men fulfilled those needs very nicely. Alex was developing his own fantasy. He found and bookmarked the Internet sites that offered the ‘little help’ he would need to bring his fantasy to fruition. Everything would be in place when the time came. That time would come, he solemnly vowed. In the meantime, there was still much to do…
Money wouldn’t stand in his way. Frank DuValle’s business lived and died on market research. Alex proved his worth in locating necessary data, mostly via the Internet, to his much-impressed father. Frank had given him a part-time job after school and on weekends. The weekend work could even be done from the computer in his father’s home office, with its VPN link to the company server. That position had been made full-time during summer vacation. Alex had saved all of that money, telling his parents he was putting it into his “college fund,” even though he had yet to commit to any of the four universities that had accepted him. Still, his parents had been so impressed with his commitment to his future, they had vowed to match his savings dollar for dollar. He was committed to his future, all right, Alex surmised. This windfall would contribute greatly to it.
Alex’s eighteenth birthday arrived. The actual day fell at mid-week, so his mother decided to “make a day of it” the preceding Saturday, as his father was hosting the annual company golf outing and wouldn’t return until late. She had driven him to the mall, taking him first to T.G.I. Friday’s for lunch. She ordered loaded potato skins, followed by Steak on a Stick for both. That was unusual for her, given her usual fitness regimen.
“We’re splurging today,” she explained, giving him the once-over. “You look like you could use a little meat on your bones, anyway. Have you lost weight, Baby?”
“I dunno,” Alex replied warily, “maybe a little. I’ve been running more, using your elliptical trainer and Bowflex, too. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No Sweetie, not at all,” she responded, patting his hand. “In fact, I think it’s really attractive on you. I’m just being a mom, that’s all. What kind of mom would I be if I didn’t keep an eye on my baby and what was going on in his life? It’s comforting to see you are taking care of your body. So many other boys your age are content to come home from school, plunk themselves down in front of the television, eat junk food and play video games until bedtime…”
She reached over and pinched his cheek.
“I’m just glad you don’t want to be a couch potato like them. You’re too attractive to waste your life away as a spud stud!”
“So, what are we doing this afternoon?” Alex asked, changing the subject.
“You only turn eighteen once,” his mother mused over a potato skin. “I want this to be as memorable a time for you as it is for me. After lunch, we are going to go across the parking lot into the mall. We are going to take our time, enjoy the day, and you are going to pick out a special present; something very private and personal, just between us.”
After lunch, they browsed from store to store. There was the usual; jeans, athletic shoes, sweaters, new video game titles, music CD’s, the latest horror/slasher DVD’s (No kidding; Friday the Thirteenth, Part 47? Man, that Jason Voorhees really has ‘legs’ – and arms, heads, and other assorted body parts!), and so on. All of it was exactly that; the usual. He had all kinds of ideas about something “private and personal” enough to commemorate that special time and link between mother and child, but was afraid to share them. What would she think if he told her what he really wanted?
His heart had beat faster as they stopped in the MAC cosmetics store. While his mother selected foundation, powder, blush, eye makeup, lipstick and a new set of brushes “for a special event your father and I will be attending,” Alex looked around, watching the associates demonstrating new ‘looks’ on their clients, making his heart beat faster still. It had pounded madly in his chest when his mother had stopped in front of the windows of Aldo and Wild Pair to peruse the latest shoe offerings, then again in front of Victoria’s Secret and Frederick’s of Hollywood. He tried to act casual, even bored, although his interest was anything but. How he wished he could confess to her, unburden his soul. That, too, was too private, too personal.
It began as a private joke, a laugh shared between them. Being a Saturday, they were hardly alone on the concourse. There was the usual hustle and bustle; throngs headed in every direction. There was also a better-than-usual turnout of mall rats, flitting aimlessly here and there or just hanging out. A number of genres and personal styles were in evidence, more than a few favoring the Goth/Punk look.
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