Path: not-for-mail
NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 07 Mar 2005 19:46:22 -0600
From: Arnold Smith <Nowhere@at.all>
Date: Mon, 07 Mar 2005 20:46:20 -0500
Newsgroups: alt.adult.stories
Subject: Her Son's Girlfriend - F/f, BDSM
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===================
A young girl is taught the ways of sexual submission by her own
boyfriend's mother.
Cheryl picked up the phone absently.
"Hello, is this Cheryl?"
Cheryl's heart skipped a beat, recognizing the voice.
"This is Cheryl," she said.
"This is Mrs. Foster," the voice said.
"Uh, hi, Mrs. Foster," she said.
"Cheryl, I'd like to see you this morning, if you don't mind."
Cheryl's stomach twisted and turned. "Uhm, why?" she asked.
"It's something I'd like to discuss in private, if you don't mind.
Can you walk over now? It shouldn't take long."
"Well, uhm, I have to work later."
"This won't take that long," she said firmly.
"Well, uhm, okay," Cheryl said helplessly.
What could she know, Cheryl thought frantically. Had she found
something she had left behind? But no, she'd been very careful to grab
her underwear as well as her clothes. Could she possibly know that she
and Matt - but how could she? Matt wouldn't have told her! Maybe it was
something else entirely, something about Matt. Surely he wasn't sick?!
She was dressed much as she had been the other day, in jeans and
tank top as she hurried down the street towards Matt's house. But her
stomach was churning as she ran through the possibilities of why Mrs.
Foster wanted to see her. Surely she hadn't seen her there under the
bed the other day!? The thought of that was so horrifying it stopped
Cheryl dead.
But no, if she had noticed her then she and her husband would have
stopped doing what they were doing. They wouldn't have carried on like
that knowing she was watching. And she'd been blindfolded almost the
whole time. How could she have seen anything? No, it must be something
else, something to do with Matt. Maybe she had spotted her clothes
there when she'd seen Matt out, and then thought she had left or… maybe
Matt really was sick?
The thought of facing Mrs. Foster, though, after what she'd seen
the other day, was daunting. How could she ever look her in the eye
after what she'd seen - and heard!? Somehow she would have to manage.
She was very nervous and anxious as she arrived, and knocked
somewhat timidly on the door. She planned for a hundred possibilities,
even though some didn't bear thinking on, and only hoped it would be
something small, some silly little thing which most people would have
simply told her about on the phone. It was only because Mrs. Foster was
so - .
The door opened and she stiffened. "Uhm, hi," she said.
"Come in, Cheryl," Mrs. Foster said, her face and voice giving
nothing away.
Cheryl stepped in nervously.
"Come with me, please."
Cheryl followed her diffidently, amazed as they reached the
basement and started down.
"Uhm, is this about Matt? He's all right, isn't he?"
"Matt is fine," Mrs. Foster said over her shoulder.
The basement was large and finished in oak paneling. There was a
plasma screen TV at one end, and leather chairs and a sofa around it.
"We had a little get-together for some of our intimate friends last
night," Mrs. Foster said.
"Uhm, oh?"
"We were showing a little home video we made. Our friends, these
friends, at least, appreciate that kind of thing. They make home
videos, too."
"Videos?" she asked, entirely confused now.
"Yes, take a look."
With that she picked up a remote control and pointed it at the big
screen TV. Cheryl gaped at the sight of Mrs. Foster, naked - or more or
less so, wearing just a halter and blindfold. It was clearly taken in
her bedroom, and, as Cheryl stared in shock, clearly was from the
previous day. The camera had been sitting in the far corner, and she
could see Mrs. Foster crawling across the floor to Mr. Foster's feet.
And then, to her utter horror, because the camera was low, she
could see past them to the bed, and see herself squirming closer to the
edge to watch. The blood left her face and she felt the room swimming
around as she saw herself staring, noted that her body - her naked body
- could be clearly seen, and then watched herself beginning to
masturbate.
"Let me zoom in for you," Mrs. Foster said, adjusting the controls.
The camera zoomed in towards the bed, and now Cheryl filled the big
screen TV, her body, in all its glory, wriggling, her chest heaving,
her eyes wide as she began to finger herself.
"Turn it off!" she blurted in horror.
"But we haven't gotten to the best part yet."
Mrs. Foster fast-forwarded, then stopped, and Cheryl saw herself on
her knees, raising her bottom, very obviously masturbating as she
ground her hips back against her fingers. Her face looked glazed, her
jaw open as she thrust her fingers into her own pussy.
Desperate, Cheryl turned to leave, and Mrs. Foster grabbed her
wrist, yanking her back, swinging her around hard so she sat down -
hard, on the sofa, then slapped her face.
Cheryl gasped, her head rocked back.
"How dare you!?" Mrs. Foster demanded, face angry.
"I-I-I - ."
"You sneaking little peeping tom!"
"I-I wasn't! I mean, I didn't mean to!" Cheryl cried.
Another slap to the side of her face rocked her head back, and she
gasped in pain.
"You didn't mean to watch my husband and myself in a private,
intimate moment?! You moved up to get a better look, you little slut!
And then masturbated while you were staring!"
Cheryl's face was burning with humiliation, and she could not
possibly think of what to say. And when Mrs. Foster slapped her face
yet again she simply rocked back in the chair, gasping.
"I will leave aside what you doing in there naked," Mrs. Foster
growled. "Obviously you were fucking my son."
She moved in closer and leaned over to the stunned, horrified girl.
"I think your parents and I need to have a little talk," she said.
"About safe sex, peeping toms, and privacy. Maybe this little video
would be worth a thousand words."
"You can't!" Cheryl cried, shocked at the very thought of her
parents hearing what she'd done, unable to even imagine them seeing her
like - that.
"You don't think you need to be punished for what you did?" Mrs.
Foster demanded.
But there was something in her stern voice, and something in her
dark, penetrating gaze, something which made Cheryl's churning stomach
twitch and jerk in a new direction.
"P-Punished?"
"Don't you think I deserve to punish a nasty, dirty little girl who
spied on me when I was making love with my husband? A nasty little girl
who fingered her little pussy to a come while she watched me?"
The words hit Cheryl hard, driving her even deeper into shame and
humiliation. But they did something else, too, they opened a small
door. No, they opened the possibility of a small door into - something
else.
"Y-You could punish me," she said in a shaking, quivering voice.
What did she mean by that! What would Mrs. Foster do? God! What
could she do?! What if Matt found out!? What - .
"Take off your clothes."
The words hammered into her and she gaped up at the woman, who
glowered back down.
"I-I don't - ."
"I think the best way to punish a nasty little girl is a bare
bottom spanking," Mrs. Foster said.
Cheryl's eyebrows nearly climbed past her hairline. Given the
nature of what she had seen the other night it seemed likely to her
that Mrs. Foster was proposing more than mere punishment. But surely
she wouldn't! Surely Cheryl was mistaken! But what else could she do
and - .
"Now!"
"I-I - you want me to - ."
Again Mrs. Foster slapped her face, and Cheryl gasped in pain,
rocked back in the chair.
"I could go no slapping your face, I suppose, but Matt might notice
the bruises."
Cheryl gaped at her.
"Stand up. Stand up!"
Cheryl stood shakily as Mrs. Foster, shorter than her, looked her
up and down.
"Strip."
Numbly, face flaming, she peeled her tank-top up and off. Her mind
was reeling with the immensity of what was happening, with the frantic
search for a way out, and for what really was going on, what the woman
intended. She undid her jeans and pushed them reluctantly down, then
kicked off her shoes and stepped out of them, standing up very
nervously in front of the woman.
"The underwear too, dear. I've seen everything you've got already,
you know, just like you've seen everything I've got. We girls have no
secrets from each other."
Cheryl blushed even deeper, if that was possible, as she removed
her top, then cringed as she pushed her thong down and off. She stood
up, naked, hands half covering herself until Mrs. Foster slapped them
away.
"So this is what my son is fucking, is it?" she asked harshly.
She moved slowly around the trembling girl, then gripped her hands
and impatiently lifted them up.
"Put your hands behind your head. Now!"
Cheryl didn't have time to think, to make any kind of decision
about what to do, how to respond, and so she obeyed, gulping in air as
the woman looked her up and down.
"Nice breasts," the woman said, running her hand casually over
Cheryl's taut breasts so that Cheryl felt another jolt of confusion and
embarrassment.
"Though not as good as mine. Nice little ass on you, too. My
husband thought it was nice but I guess I didn't really notice before."
Cheryl yelped as the woman slapped her bottom
"Bend over the chair," Mrs. Foster ordered.
She turned the girl abruptly and thrust her against the back of a
large, heavy leather chair, then pushed against her back so that she
bent forward.
"Extend your hands. Grab the front of the seat," the woman said as
she moved around her.
Dazed, her frantic mind fluttering like a bird in a cage and still
unable to catch up to the speed of events, Cheryl bent forward, further
and further over the back of the chair, until she could grasp the front
of the seat. Mrs. Foster was in front of her there and she looked up at
her as the woman bent over. She had a leather strap in her hands, and
as Cheryl stared, she slipped it around her wrists, and yanked it
together.
"Wha-what are you doing!?" Cheryl gasped.
Mrs. Foster snorted. "This is what you were watching. This is what
turned you on. If you watched me you deserve to feel it yourself."
"B-but - ."
Mrs. Foster tugged on the strap, and led the other end over the
edge of the seat and down the front part of the sofa, and there she
managed to strap or tie it in place somehow. When she stood up Cheryl
found her wrists strapped tightly in place. She stared at them in
disbelief, pulling feebly against the leather.
The woman moved around behind her and Cheryl's face continued to
burn with fresh fire, knowing just how shamefully and obscenely open
she must be. Then she felt a leather strap go around her right ankle,
and a moment later it was bound in place at the side of the chair. Then
her right ankle met a similar fate, and she was locked tightly in
place, her bottom raised and her legs spread.
"Now for your general information, little girl," Mrs. Foster said,
"I don't generally allow my husband to treat me like that. I'd lost a
bet, you see. And so I had to take what was coming to me. It was
embarrassing, but at least I thought we were in private, my husband and
I. I didn't know a slutty little girl was staring and rubbing her
pussy."
Cheryl gasped as she felt the woman's hand cup her sex and squeeze.
"D-don't!" she cried.
"Oh I'm going to do a lot more than that, Cheryl dear," Mrs. Foster
growled.
She moved away briefly, and Cheryl pulled at the straps testingly,
her mind still spinning. This was wrong, all wrong! But what was she
supposed to do? It was in her nature to do as she was ordered by
adults, especially people like Mrs. Foster. And there was no arguing
she had done a terrible thing, a humiliating thing for which there was
simply no defense, no argument, no way to plead innocence or offer
excuses.
But this was wrong! And yet how could she argue against it? She was
thoroughly intimidated and shocked and mortified, helpless before the
strong-willed older woman's stern and angry behaviour.
The woman came back, and stood beside the chair, then reached under
and cupped one of Cheryl's breasts.
"Don't!"
"Why not? This is what my son is fondling and groping, isn't it?
This is what he sucks on? Does he pinch your little nipples, Cheryl?
Does he lick and bite them?"
The shock and humiliation kept hammering at the girl, and then she
cried out in pain, twisting and pulling against the straps as Mrs.
Foster took her hand away and left - something - a kind of clamp which
bit and pinched at her nipple terribly.
"Oww! Ohhh! Stop! Take it off!" she cried.
"But you have to get the whole feel of what was going on, Cheryl,
dear. It turned you on to watch it when it was happening to me, after
all."
And as she spoke Mrs. Foster moved to the other side of the big
chair and snapped a second clamp on her other nipple. Again Cheryl
squealed and jerked and twisted helplessly, but realized almost at once
now that the more she moved the more they hurt. Looking down she saw
that the two small clamps had inch long chains attached, and small
weights hung from them, weights which dangled and twisted and pulled as
she moved.
"I'm going to punish you by making you feel the same pain I did,"
Mrs. Foster said, which sort of sounded almost reasonable to a mind as
frantic and confused as Cheryl's.
And yet it was wrong, all the same, for even as dazed as she was
Cheryl could sense the sexual backdrop to what Mrs. Foster was doing,
and suspected this was not mere punishment.
Her eyes went wide and she gasped, her head twisting around to try
and see behind her as she felt - something - rubbing up and down
against her sex. Then it began to push into her body.
"What are you doing!? Stop it!"
"Don't worry, dear, you'll probably like this."
"Oh! Oh! Don't!" the wide-eyed girl cried as she felt her sex lips
parted, felt something cool and solid sliding deeper into her pussy.
It felt hard and yet - soft, was round and thick and - and it began
to buzz and shake, and she realized abruptly that it was a vibrator.
"You have a nice, tight little cunt," Mrs. Foster said casually. "I
bet Matt likes it. Do you know how to use it? Are you a good bed
partner for my son?"
How could Cheryl even think of answering such questions! She could only
gasp and tremble and moan low in her throat as the buzzing thing was
thrust deeper into her sex, almost to the very bottom.
"Oh! Stop! It's too deep!"
"Nonsense. You just have to get used to it. My husband has a very
long cock. I bet Matt does too. You wouldn't refuse to let him get it
all inside you, would you."
With that she slapped Cheryl's bottom hard, and thrust the vibrator
forward, giving it an upward twist as she did. The nose of the vibrator
seemed to grind past some sort of obstruction, and then she felt
something curved and thin against the mouth of her sex. It was like a
little curving arm at the base of the vibrator which hooked onto the
outside of her sex, right over the top, or really, now, in her present
position, the bottom - right where her clit was.
"There, you've got the whole thing in your tight little pussy
now," Mrs. Foster said, her open hand rubbing against the base of the
vibrator, demonstrating that it was flush with Cheryl's tightly
clinging sex lips.
"Now for this little hole."
And again Cheryl felt a hammer blow to her psyche as something
pressed against her anal opening. She knew there was no point in
protesting, but she did anyway, and was ignored, as she'd expected, as
another round something pushed in and out of her anal opening. It
seemed to be slick and slippery, and each time the woman pushed it
deeper. She knew it was a dildo, just like the one Mrs. Foster had had
in her own bottom the other day.
She slumped weakly, helplessly, submissively, knowing she could do
nothing, her mind still throbbing and spinning with confusion and
shocked indecision.
And - something more. For despite the horrific embarrassment there
was something perversely exciting about this now, something she had
been feeling in the background almost since she had stripped and Mrs.
Foster had first touched her, something which was now growing and
becoming more noticeable. She was starting to feel less and less like a
girl being punished and more like this was a sexual assault, like Mrs.
Foster was doing lewd and obscene things to her for her own pleasure.
And as the woman worked the dildo deeper into her bottom, slapping
her buttocks from time to time when her sphincter clamped down too
hard, she became more convinced of that. She still didn't know what to
do about it, though, or what to say. She was far too intimidated to
challenge the woman no matter what she did.
And then, when the dildo was jammed deep, so that cramps rippled
through her abdomen, the woman came around to the front of the chair
and sat down on the coffee table facing her.
"Let's talk, little girl," the woman said, her eyes stern.
Cheryl gaped at her.
"I-I don't - ."
"Then I will talk and you will listen."
Mrs. Foster reached in and flicked her fingers against one of the
weights dangling from Cheryl's nipples, and she gasped in pain.
"My husband and I have a very special relationship," Mrs. Foster
said. "It is a loving relationship which takes into account that both
of us are very strong-willed and dominant individuals, and that we both
have a particular interest in bondage and sadomasochism. That means we
have sex not just with each other but with other people."
Cheryl didn't want to hear this, not at all!
"We have been married for almost twenty joyful, happy years, unlike
most couples, and we are far from bored with each other. Our sex life
is incredible, and a major reason why we continue to enjoy each other
so much. We would like our son to have an equally pleasant and
enjoyable sex life. So we have an interest in who he is sleeping with."
She reached forward again, for Cheryl's head was sort of hanging
down, her face on her extended arms, and with a fistful of hair, lifted
her head upwards until they were face to face. It hurt, but not that
much. It was the casualness with which the woman simply grasped her
hair and pulled which sent another shock through the girl.
"So I ask again, are you good in bed?"
Cheryl stared at her, gasping, panting, and then cried out weakly
as the woman tugged harder, more sharply on her hair.
"I asked a question, little girl."
"I-I don't know!" Cheryl cried.
"Well, maybe we should find out."
The woman let her head go and Cheryl grunted as her face dropped
onto her arms. Then she moved away, going behind her. She disappeared
for a minute, and when she came back she was wearing a strange looking
contraption which shocked Cheryl yet again.
It was a cock, a long, fat, very realistic looking erect cock,
complete with balls, and it was strapped somehow to Mrs. Foster's
groin. Her naked groin, for the woman was now otherwise naked, her full
breasts jiggling slightly as she moved, her pierced nipples very
obviously erect.
The woman reached down and twisted a long length of Cheryl's hair
around her hand and then lifted her head up again. This had the effect
of pulling up on her scalp and almost instinctively causing her mouth
to open. The woman pushed the "head" of the dildo in through it and
Cheryl's eyes bulged.
"Let me see how you perform fellatio on my son," Mrs. Foster said.
The woman was insane! And a pervert!
Cheryl could not twist her head away, and could not speak, and when
she did nothing the woman slapped her dangling breast hard enough to
sting.
"Suck. Show me how you perform," she demanded.
Helplessly, Cheryl closed her lips and began to suck.
"That's it, little girl, at least you can do that much. Suck that
cock," Mrs. Foster ordered.
Cheryl could only moan in response. And then the woman began to
pump the dildo in and out in slow movements. She did that several
times, and then slapped at Cheryl's breast again.
"Don't you know anything?" she demanded. "You suck especially hard
as it withdraws, and lick it and let your mouth ease up a bit as it
pushes forward. Don't fight it as it comes through, idiot."
Cheryl's scalp hurt, stinging as the woman continued to hold her
head up by the hair, but she ignored it as she tried desperately to do
as the woman wanted, to suck harder when the cock withdrew. But now the
dildo, which seemed to be filled with some kind of jell to soften it,
was pushing deeper, and she had to fight not to gag.
The woman slapped her breast again, and Cheryl squealed around the
dildo in her mouth.
"Are you telling me you don't even deep throat!?" she asked in an
incredulous voice. "What kind of a useless little slut are you anyway?
I can't believe my son would even date a girl who didn't know how to
deep throat him."
She pulled the dildo back entirely and Cheryl cried out as she
lifted her head up and back so that she was staring far up into the
standing woman's glaring face. "You listen to me, you selfish, lazy
little slut. My son deserves to have a woman who puts the effort into
learning how to deep throat. I won't tolerate anything less. You are
going to learn how to deep throat a man or my son is going to find
another girlfriend."
From the ebook Her Son's Girlfriend - by Argus. Argus novels have been published
by Nexus, Olympia, Beeline, Silver Moon, Star, and Chimera. His ebooks can be
downloaded at <http://www.ebookblue.com>
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