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Readers might want to check the previous chapters, but here’s what’s happening: Jerkboy remembers details of his femdom weekend and then barbers his mother-in-law’s hairy pussy, which results in something that explains how he came home so wrecked in the previous chapter.
Sunlight was leaking through the edges of the blinds in Mrs. Landtree’s bedroom. It must have been late Sunday morning. She had kept me up late lapping cunt and ass after her daughter Suzette had gone home.
I was alone in my mother-in-law’s bed. My butt cheeks were sore. My butthole was sore. I had an ache in my abdomen I recognized — it came from my testicles. When they were slapped really hard, the pain was in my guts, not my nuts.
Memories flooded and swirled in my mind. I latched onto one and heard myself bawling and sobbing and scooting across the carpet away from the belt to curl into a fetal position. Sucking my thumb had helped calm me.
I didn’t dare touch the morning wood between my legs. I stared at it and opened my mouth the way they made me when I had to pee. Slack jawed, tongue hanging and panting like a dog — or a human hoping for a warm, hard cock. Whatever the women wanted. My brain was broken.
It was over for me, I guess, when I needed to urinate and Suzette thought up the squatting humiliation. I had no clue how to do it and fell over the first time. The women’s laughter stomped my soul. Family events were never going to be the same — not with my wife, her sister and their mother all knowing what a shamewhore I was. By the second time I was already imagining being ordered to squat and pee at a wedding reception.
My face burned with embarrassment when I figured out how to hold my knees open for balance and I relaxed enough to allow my penis to shoot urine toward them. My emptying bladder felt like it was being refilled with abasement.
“Oh, yes. He hates this,” I heard Suzette say from the patio as I watched any semblance of dignity trickle away in a puddle of pee.
“Stay in that position and pant like a dog.” I couldn’t see her, just the blinding backyard floodlight that was illuminating me for the neighbors. “Come on, doggie, let your tongue hang out.”
That’s how I learned what Suzette called ‘rest position’ inside the house. She showed me a horrendous pic of myself on her phone so I would remember how to do it right.
Fantasies were one thing but seeing myself actually doing things — and knowing evidence was in the hands of someone I didn’t fully trust — amplified and multiplied the fear, shame and humiliation far beyond simple imagination. The feelings were real, deep, and physical.
“How is he able . . . ” Mrs. Landtree had begun to say before I screamed from one of Suzette’s more creative dick-tortures. The four rubber-band snaps on the sensitive part of my glans was the furthest she’d taken me, thank god.
“He’s dissociating, Mom.” Suzette had an undergraduate degree in psychology liked to play Ms. Know-It-All. “You know how you have to get outside your own head to orgasm? Just for a little while?”
“Hmmm. I guess.”
“Come on, Mom. Little fantasies, or pretending you’re someone else, maybe a little more, um, promiscuous than who you really are?”
“Okay. I suppose Sarah told you about some of the things she — she heard last weekend.”
Suzy chuckled. “Umm, yeah. It’s okay, Mom. We’re grown women, and you raised us right. It’s not for me to judge about being a Backdoor Beauty.”
“Gawdammit, girl. You be careful or I’ll whoop your bare ass for him to enjoy.”
I rubbed my penis to make the sting go away. Their voices were more like birdsong than words. Suzette continued holding forth.
“That’ll be the day. Okay, listen: Dissociation can be an erotic device, yet it’s also a coping tool that people use to deal with trauma. It can be triggered by endorphins, like the rush he feels from exposing himself, perhaps.” She turned to me. “Go lean against the wall in resting position, stick your dildo in and play with your stupid doggie dick.”
I heard and fumbled about trying to create the pose while the women talked.
“This isn’t real, to him. It’s sensations and alternate personalities, like someone he’s created called Jerkboy. That’s the danger, Mom. He arouses himself, gets into a dissociative state, and then maybe does things in his unreality that turn out very badly in the real world.”
“So Sarah needs to learn . . . how to properly supervise his unreality.”
“Yeah. Something like that. His need to please or be shamed by maternal figures like you or his wife means he has mommy issues. Hey. It’s not unusual. His typical boob-ogling jackass act is a cover Escort Bayan for the secret, unreal world in his imagination.”
I saw Mrs. Landtree look at me curiously while I squatted onto the pink, veiny dildo. I slapped at my hanging ballsack so she could hear and see my love. The woman shook her head sadly.
“Poor Sarah. He seemed like such a virile, strong man. Just look at him.”
“I know. Mom, a cruel, stupid woman would use his dissociation to amuse herself or feed her ego and revel in power over men. There are a lot of fucked-up guys out there who got involved with psychos because of their imaginary desire for domination.”
“Hmmm. I suppose that can happen to women, too,” Mrs. Landtree said quietly. They looked at each other for a few moments. The only sound in the room was the disgusting shlick shlick shlick of me working my pathetic penis.
“I know, Mom. Him leaving was hard for us girls. But having the wrong father figure is worse than not having a Dad around. We knew what he was doing to you.”
Mrs. Landtree cried out and plunged her face into her Amazon daughter’s lap. I listened to her wails and sobs and locked eyes with Suzette while she stroked her mother’s hair. I was so used to bawling from the spankings that my tears just flowed over my cheeks. I loved those two women so hard at that moment that my heart felt like it was thumping in my throat. Without thinking, my cum squirted without permission.
I blinked at the sunlight filling the colorful, elegantly retro bedroom when Sarah’s mother opened the shades. She trotted toward me, nude, and plunked down on her chest in front of my morning erection.
“I see you’re up, lover. I don’t know if we’re going to be able to do this for long, so let’s make it fun while we can.”
Already trancing from recalling the day before, I pulled my knees up and hoped she would get the hint.
“Good boy. Stroke for me while your Mama watches.”
She smiled with her lively eyes so beautifully, so lovingly, down there with her face directly in my view. I could look at myself beating off and watch her watch me. The exquisite exhibitionism went on while she chattered musically with words I didn’t hear until she said:
“I know I’m really hairy down there and it makes it harder for you to . . . do your job.” The woman sat up and I watched her ample boobs jounce. They had big, dark areolae and gumdrop nipples that were nothing like her daughter’s — my wife’s. I masturbated with joy at the thought of a tribe of women supervising my sexual needs.
“So I was thinking . . .”
I watched her flip her legs forward, pull her knees back and expose her vulva in the full light of a new day.
” . . . that maybe you could give your Mama a trim. However way you would like it to look.”
My hand flew on my meat at the sight. It hurt my sore balls but I didn’t care. Sarah’s mom spreading gloriously for me was like a dozen Christmas mornings. The extreme contrast between my wife’s shaven haven and her mother’s gnarly snatch just made it better for me. I dared to speak.
“Do you . . . like showing your pussy to me?”
“Hmmm. I’m not sure. Why don’t you check?” Mrs. Landtree pulled my hand from my dick and guided it toward her vagina. I watched her wild eyes flutter as I dipped a finger into the warmth. “Sure feels like it, huh, lover? Use me to lube your cock and then go really slow.”
It was nuts. The sight, the smell, the sound of her voice especially. I was edging almost immediately but knew better than to ask permission to come. She might let me and then the show would be over. When I threw my fuckfist away she laughed.
“I didn’t realize I was such a hottie, Jerkboy. You make a gal feel special.”
“You’re amazing. Will you always — show me?”
“That will be up to Sarah, after her sister explains about you.” Her mom adjusted and used her hands to tug and ply at her sex, flashing bits of pink and purple-tinged labia in her furburger while I gazed in yoni-worshiping rapture.
“I’ll let you hack down this jungle, any way you like it, so you can have a good long look for your masturbation memory bank. How about that?”
I said hell to the yeah, of course, and took my naked mother-in-law by the hand into her bathroom. Flat-footed, shyly holding her breasts so they wouldn’t hang too badly, she watched me fold and lay a thick white bath towel on the countertop. It wasn’t necessary for her to sit there — the task could be done easily with a towel on the bed — but it was definitely more embarrassing. This way she would remember when she was in her bath alone.
“Up you go, Francine.” I used her given name and sure enough, Bayan Escort her chin dropped a little and her eyes rolled up at me like a skittish girl while she sidled her mom-bottom toward the towel. I lifted her easily to place her in position. Then I pulled up her feet by her ankles and planted them on each side of her rumpus on the counter. She was splayed indecently and blushing.
“You’ll be all right,” I told her firmly while I rummaged her cabinet drawer for a comb and scissors. I wished I had my electric beard trimmer but it didn’t look right in the small silver purse I had been allowed to bring.
“I can barely breathe.”
“Pretty exhilarating, huh? Being exposed like this. You’re gorgeous, you know.”
“So you’ve told me.”
I walked back to her bed and fetched a pillow to put behind her back. My dick was already dribbling badly so I took a second to smear out the pre-cum. I grabbed a chair and brought it back to the bathroom.
“Okay, let’s get to work. Try not to be too nervous, I’ve done this a lot.” I talked to her while I attempted to comb out the twisted mass of dark pubes. She had a few grey hairs, but those would be gone soon. “I use the beard trimmer on my shaver to keep myself clean for Sarah. Scissors are pretty old school, but I think we can get by.”
“It would be interesting to watch you, uh, do that.”
“A little tricky around the scrotum. Vulvas are easier. Yours, by the way, is a freaking art object.”
That was no lie. My wife Sarah had the classic round peach of an innie-style vulva with fat labia majora and small, dainty minora that stayed hidden in her furrow unless she was wide open. Her mother had an “outie” — full, protruding and crenelated labia minora that opened and stretched into a perfect pink and purple butterfly. I could see her heartbeat in the throbbing of her pubis.
“I’ve never thought about my vulva.”
“Well, that’s fairly obvious. You don’t have a dildo or vibrator, right?”
“You’re getting pretty personal, Buster.”
I raised my head up out of her pelvis and looked into her green eyes. “Really?”
A good laugh eased the tension and then I worked in silence for a while. The comb functioned well to protect her from the scissors in sensitive areas. While I stared at her coursing vagina I said matter-of-factly, “I’ll get you some toys. Just between you and me. You have a ton of sexuality and you shouldn’t deny yourself.”
“If that’s what you want me to do.”
Hmmm. When I worked near her perfect, swollen, Liberty Bell clitoral hood, her tummy quivered.
Close to done, I sat back in the chair and said, “Francine, use your hand and check how it feels now.” She sloe-eyed me and let one arm fall away from clutching her heaving bosom. Her hand had made it, slowly, down to her belly button when I slid forward and placed her feet on my shoulders. This caused her to fall deeper into the pillow behind her. I reached up and grasped her other hand, the one holding her boobs up, and pulled it down. She clenched against my fingers and moaned.
“My tits are awful.”
“No, they’re not. They’re magnificent. Everything about you is pure, incredible woman, the greatest thing in this world. Now reach down for me and see if you like how it feels.”
I knew what was about to happen and I suspected so did she. Mrs. Landtree was an orgasmatron in the sack and I was pretty sure it had little to do with my prowess. More heavy sighs. And waiting.
“I know you’re curious. Just close your eyes . . . .”
And then she touched herself.
“Huh. Huh! Oooohhh . . . Uhhhhhnnnnnnggggggg!”
The howler was back. I listened to her now-familiar guttural cries of joy and release and used my free arm to push back on her thighs so she wouldn’t buck herself off the counter. I got kicked in the ear for my trouble and she tried to crush bones in my hand with her grip. We rode it out together. The fucking and asslicking and pussy eating between us before made it easier for her to let go, perhaps.
“Son of a bitch!” Mrs. Landtree had a charming tendency to talk like a salty sailor when she was worked up. She whipped her hand away from her smoother, nearly downy cunt and covered her mouth for a moment.
“Feels really different, right?” I said with the smile of a proud tradesman.
“Holy fuck, mister, you could warn a gal. That’s, um, I’ve never . . .”
I dared not suggest what it might feel like with my mouth on it, unless I wanted to spend the rest of the day with Sarah’s mom riding my face. Instead, I stood up, pulled her off the countertop and grabbed another towel off the rack nearby.
“Hoo boy,” she cooed happily as I marched Escort her toward the bed.
“Easy now. There’s more work to do, ma’am.” I smoothed out the towel and pushed her down on her stomach. “We’ve still got your bottom to finish.”
“Oh my god.”
I had to tell her to stop giggling and squirming or I risked poking her with the scissors. With her her head cradled sideways on one arm and me pulling her rump open to snip the curlies around her brownie, Mrs. Landtree told me she hadn’t touched herself ‘that way’ in a long time.
“And you did it right in front of me, like a good girl.”
“Ha! Like a slut, you mean. Wow, that tickles.”
“How did it feel?”
“Fantastic, smartass. I’m sure you saw.”
I blew and brushed on her bottom to get rid of loose hairs. “I saw a fantastic woman, exploring her potential instead of living under some sort of arbitrary, outmoded rules.”
“Yikes! That feels so weird.”
I lifted her hips roughly and shoved a pillow under her so I could get at her perineum. What was weird was looking at an episiotomy scar that may have come from birthing my wife. Fucking badge of honor, I thought to myself.
It was extremely tricky with scissors in that area and the comb didn’t help much because of the angle. I told Francine to pull herself open wide with both hands so could I work more safely.
“I guess you’re seeing, ah, everything I have. Are you enjoying yourself? Because I’m dying of humiliation here.”
“I’m a lucky, lucky man. How does the humiliation feel?”
“You bastard. I’m already turned on and this is making it unbearable.”
“Mmmmm.” My eyes feasted on my mother-in-law’s winking sphincter and her proud, primate catcher’s mitt of a cunt. There wasn’t really much hair left to remove. Just hunting strays and using my fingers to get the ones the comb wouldn’t catch.
“You’re touching me everywhere but where I need, fucker.”
The cursing was a dead giveaway. “So give yourself a helping hand.”
“Fuck off! That was an accident in the bathroom!”
I gripped her right hand by the wrist, lied on top of her and shoved her hand under her belly. She tried to fight me, but only with resistance in her arm. The feeling of a man’s weight trapping her and my hard slickened penis nestled in her buttcrack was providing the desired effect.
“You’ll rub it for me, like a slut,” I growled low in her ear. “I want to hear you make yourself come for me.”
Francine wriggled her ass, desperately trying to get my dick into one of her fuckholes. I clamped her palm over her vulva but I didn’t move it.
“Please don’t make me,” I heard a high, girlish voice whine.
“Doesn’t your smooth, soft cunt feel wonderful? Say it. Tell me what it is. Tell me what you are.”
Then I subtly gyrated her hand and it came to life. I reduced my hand’s pressure and hers jammed and rubbed as my wife’s mother mouthed vacantly, then urgently, “It’s – my cunt. I’m a slut. Rubbing my cunt like a slut. Cunt! Slut-cunt!”
And boom off she spun into her otherworld of climax, while I fought the powerful need to plow her from behind. Suzette had forbidden intercourse. And she had taught me quite explicitly and painfully about failure to obey.
I rolled off the wailing woman, snatched her slender calves and flipped her over to see a primal face twisted in crazed arousal.
“Fuck yourself with that hand. Show me! Deep!”
“You son of a bitch! Gaaaah. Motherfucker! Omigod. Omigod. Fuhuhuhhuhuuuuuck!”
All the teasing from the barbering, and the sensations on her now denuded pudenda, and the embarrassing exposure, and the disgraceful masturbation for an audience — her daughter’s husband no less — exploded whatever had been Mrs. Francine Landtree into a billion stars, flashing in her eyes as her filthy, timeless orgasm destroyed her.
Empty-eyed and slack-jawed, she performed for me, lost somewhere in a world of subjugation and degradation. She had to have been there before.
Sarah’s mom was frustratingly trying to fistfuck herself when Suzette appeared in the bedroom doorway. My wife’s tall, broad-shouldered sister mouthed a big O, and then I saw the anger flare in her eyes.
We both heard the grunting animal on the bed say, “Come on! Fuckfuckfuckit. I can do it for you. Damn it! I’ll shove it all the way in, like you and the other men want . . .”
“You total asshole,” Suzette began, surprisingly even-toned. “You mind-fucked my mother, you piece of shit.”
I cowered and covered my dick and balls with both hands where I was standing, watching, at the foot of the bed. Suzette calmly strode next to me and said, simply, “Mom.”
“Jesus Fucking Christ!” The wanton show-whore that had once been Francine scrambled away and covered her body protectively by clutching a pillow. “No,” she whined. “I’m a good girl . . .”
And that’s when my nightmare of punishment and degradation truly began.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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