Chapter 4

Gary and I fucked every afternoon after that. I discovered that I liked the security blanket that the ropes provided and Gary obliged me. He tightened them at my request so I couldn’t slip my hands out. I liked the feeling of being trapped, held against my will and forced to do things—though I really wasn’t. I don’t know why I liked it so much but didn’t waste much time wondering about it. It felt good and that was all I needed to know.

The day everything changed, I was facing the headboard, blindfolded and muzzled by the mask I had devised of stretchy material with a grip on the back so Gary could hold my face up from the bed without hurting my hair. My arms were stretched behind me and my wrists securely tied. The soft rope looping around my neck was yoked to my knees, tucking them up tightly to my chest and forcing my ass up high. Two more lengths of soft rope started at the rope around my wrists and branched off to hold my ankles up. I felt helpless yet strangely, and blissfully, in control because my feigned plight seduced Gary into forcing huge lunges upon me from behind. We had done this before, working up from gentler scenarios, and we both loved it. It was a prelude to something else I had discovered, or more accurately, Gary had shown me that I liked: anal sex.

About a week or so after we had first fucked, and Gary had started tying me up more securely, he began playing with my asshole. First, he worked me up until I was so horny I would die just to get his cock inside me for even a minute, then he put his lubed finger into my little pucker. Oh, I didn’t like it and let my feelings be known but Gary persisted. Soon, I grew used to his finger’s presence, and then his thumb, and after a lot more teasing of my quivering pussy lips, a second finger.

Gary rubbed his shaft along my pussy and nudged it in a bit several times but he wouldn’t shove it all the way in. When he finally forced it into my ass, I welcomed it. It took some getting used to, let me tell you, but by the time his cock was fully inside my ass, I was grooving on it.

The next day, Gary pounded me from behind for several minutes before suddenly pulling out. I wiggled my ass in the air until the first teasing probe both relieved my angst and stoked my fires to new heights. Fifteen minutes of teasing circles around my pucker and sudden plunges inside ensued. When I thought I couldn’t stand it any longer, Gary blessed my ass with his stiff cock. I was so hot it must have felt like a furnace.

So, getting back to that fateful day a week later, as I was saying, Gary had just pounded me from behind, me all tied up, and had barely started stroking my butt, when everything changed.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

I heard Gary cry out as he was yanked roughly off me and turned my head just in time to hear the sound of a fist crack followed by a body crashing into the wall behind me so hard the bedside lamp fell off the table. Several more fist cracks followed.

“You little bastard!”

“No, John, don’t,” I yelled but the mask muffled my cry.

Bang, bang, crash.

“John ... John, oh my God, Gary,” I whimpered, rubbing my face in the pillow, first trying to rub the mask up over my chin so John could hear me and, after that failed, trying to dislodge it from the top so I could at least plead for Gary with my eyes. But I couldn’t get the mask off and despite rolling off the bed and crashing into John’s feet, the beating continued.

When John finally untied me and removed the mask, Gary was lying in a fetal position beside the bed.

Our world had ended.

Gary’s stay at the hospital was short —his injuries were slight and mostly surperficial— but his return home was equally brief. He hid in his room and wouldn’t come out, not even to eat. It was worse that when I’d started. Eventually, he returned to the institution.

Getting the charges initially laid against John was another ordeal —we obviously couldn’t explain what had happened— but eventually we got past that too. All that remained was for us to deal with the remorse and sense of failure. Depression awaited. John and I stopped having sex. He was too guilty and I couldn’t bring myself to be with him. Neither of us was capable of dealing with Gary’s situation though I did broach the topic with John one evening without success. He flat out didn’t want to talk about it so that’s what we did, lived our lives as if we didn’t have a son.

I didn’t go out much anymore but one day I was sitting in the food court of a mall —not the one I usually patronized because I couldn’t face meeting anyone I knew— when I encountered Sandra’s son, Jeff. He was such a sweet boy and the brief conversation I had with him turned my life around.

Hope is an amazing thing. Hope leads to plans, and plans lead to action, and actions can succeed as well as fail. Jeff didn’t stick around to see it but when I left that mall, I was a different woman from the one that walked in. There was a firmness to my step, borne of purpose and determination. I had done the impossible once, I could do it again.

The plan formed in my mind on the drive home. I went straight upstairs and then up into the attic. There, I opened all the boxes and trunks, made my selections, and spent the rest of the day doing laundry and taking things to the dry cleaners. Several days later, I had the wardrobe necessary to execute the first part of my new plan, convincing my reluctant husband to become a willing if not fully functional member of the team. Then, we could tackle Gary again.

I was in the kitchen in when John came in. As usual now, he didn’t come in to see me or call out to say hello, he simply sat down and turned the TV onto the evening news. I smiled. Things were going to be different now and, though I was nervous about this first encounter, I was also confident of success. After all, Vanessa did have my mother-in-law’s personality but I looked like her, especially now that I was at the age she likely had her greatest influence on John. I had examined John’s family pictures and confirmed this to be true. I also knew a lot about my mother-in-law and the strange relationship she had with her son, one I suspected was far more complicated than I previously thought.

I stirred the pot, relishing the delicious feeling of female power that welled up inside me and readied myself for the challenge ahead of me. I wasn’t afraid, I was looking forward to it. My earlier triumph with Gary had taught me to enjoy the battle while it lasted. I now understood why men repressed their wartime experiences yet thrived on their memory, the most intense moments of their lives. I felt alive!

I turned the pots on simmer and poured John a glass of wine, refilling my own as well. Holding both glasses, I walked seductively toward the living room, loving the snug feel of the long, grey tweed skirt around my hips and legs and how tight it felt across my buttocks. Its high waist and the wide black belt accented the narrowness of my waist and tugged the fluffy white blouse down tightly over my breasts, nicely pushed up with the special bra I had also found among John’s mother’s things. She had a surprising amount of special underwear for such an austere woman.

I rounded the corner and walked directly to John’s chair.

“Here you are, dear,” I said, handing him a glass of wine. “Did you have a hard day?”

Instead of waiting for an answer, I turned to look at the TV, standing in front of John’s chair but to one side so I wouldn’t block his view if he decided to keep watching the news. However, by the way his eyes flickered toward my bottom as I turned, I was confident I would win over the TV. I held my pose for a moment, then let my left knee bend forward, forcing my right buttock up to press tightly against the skirt, accenting my bottom. The rustle of my nylons scraping thigh on thigh sent a shiver up my spine and I hoped it had the same effect on my husband.

“That’s a nice outfit, Joan. Were you shopping today?”

“No.” I didn’t turn to look at John. “I’m so bored of shopping. I can never find exactly what I want. Your mother always dressed so nicely&mash;I almost choked on those words—so I went up to the attic to look at her stuff for ideas and found this outfit. I hope you don’t mind, it fits me well, don’t you think?”

I twisted my hips to emphasize the fit over my butt which I knew had a tendency to stick out a bit.

“No, I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.”

“But, does it fit me nicely?”

“Yes, it fits you perfectly.”

“Thanks honey.”

Holding my wine glass out to the side, ostensibly so it wouldn’t spill but really to accentuate my figure,

I sauntered back to the kitchen.

Later, when we had finished dinner and just started eating the sumptuous apple pie I had bought at Andres but claimed to have made, I set the stage for the next few weeks.

“John, do you mind if I wear some of your mother’s other things? I just love this outfit.”

“Mind? Of course I don’t mind.”

That night, John waited for me in bed while I undid my fifties-style hairdo and appeared to remove my makeup but in reality simply adjusted it to fit a more intimate setting. I was wearing one of his mother’s more demure nightgowns, far less racy than some of the stuff I had found. John was perky when I finally slipped under the covers, as he should have been after the long meal I had made of removing his mother’s clothes in front of him, but I was cool. I wasn’t, however, as off-putting as I had been the past few months. I wanted to encourage him, but not much, yet.

For the next two weeks, I wore John’s mother’s clothes. During the day, I repaired some outfits and took others that were beyond my ability to a seamstress. From her, I got ideas for clothes of a similar design and commissioned several new outfits, for a play I was involved in, I explained. I really liked the feel of these old style clothes. They covered so much yet I felt sexier in them.

I gradually moved John closer and closer to more intimate interactions but did not renew any sexual activity in bed. I could tell John was getting frustrated which was perfect, just according to my plan. When I asked John to move into the spare room because I needed time to myself, he balked, but wasn’t overly upset. After all, his most intimate interactions with me occurred outside the bedroom.

Using pictures to guide me, I had re-decorated the spare room to be as close as could be managed to John’s bedroom at home when he was young. Those pictures had shown how fond John was of his mother. There were pictures of his mother on the wall and on the table beside his bed which was strange, I thought, for a teenage boy. I put similar pictures up but they were of me, dressed in his mother’s clothes, which I had a photographer come to the house to do. I also had other pictures taken of me wearing some of her racier underwear. It excited me to wear them and it showed in the pictures, something the photographer picked up on because he propositioned me. As I said before, hope is a funny thing. I’m sure it’s why he offered me such a good price on the pictures, even though I turned him down.

It was after a long dinner at which I wore an elegant gown that I moved John into the next stage. He followed me into the living room, no doubt staring at my ass moving freely under the fabulous dress as I purposely swayed slowly ahead of him, but I stopped him short.

“John, would you be a dear and let me enjoy my wine in peace? I’d like to watch a romantic movie and that’s one of those things a woman likes to do alone.”

Before he could answer, I moved into the living room and sat in his chair, leaning back and crossing my legs, forcing the split, black gown to expose my legs far up my thigh.

“You don’t mind, do you, sweetie?”

I could see that he did but he shook his head and turned to go upstairs, hanging his head and shuffling like a spoiled little kid who, having been caught being naughty, had just been sent to his room.

‘Sweetie’, that’s what John’s mother called him. That, and ‘Johnny’. I had painted a juvenile sign on the door of his new room, ‘Johnny’s Cave’, something else I had discovered in an old picture in one of the trunks.

I turned on the TV, put any old movie on, and sipped my wine, biding my time for the next movement. After forty minutes or so, I drained my second glass and started up the stairs.

Let the show begin.

I took a deep breath, knocked on Johnny’s door, then quickly opened it before he even had a chance to answer.

“Johnny, how many times have I told you not to do that!”

John was shocked not only by my abrupt entry but also by my use of a name he probably hadn’t heard for many years. The trauma was so complete it immobilized him and he was caught sitting up in bed with the covers pushed down almost to his knees and his shorts dragged down below his balls so he could hold his cock, which was fully erect in his hand, with one hand while the other held a picture of his mother in the other—actually me in her racy underclothes. I had placed those photos in the top drawer where his socks were knowing he would find them.

I walked quickly to the bed and snatched the picture from John’s hand.

“John Edward Robinson, I know you won’t go blind but you shouldn’t be doing that.”

I stared at the picture, then tossed it onto the bed, upright and facing John so he could still see it.

“Not by yourself, anyway. It’s a bad habit to get into,” I said, my voice softening. I sat down on the bed, hitching the elegant dress high enough that it opened sufficiently to display a healthy expanse of bare thigh. “I’ve told you before.”

I grasped John’s wrist and tugged his hand off his cock. It was amazing that it remained hard, sticking up proudly though I knew John must be cringing inside. Cringing, and wondering what the hell I was up to. I had surmised that such a surprise may well have happened to John when he was young. I hoped I was right because so much depended on how he reacted and the closer this was to an actual memory the better. I replaced John’s hand with my own.

“Johnny, Johnny, what am I to do with you?” I said, squeezing my hand up and down his shaft. I looked behind me at the open door. “It’s a good thing your father went to bed so long ago. He’s probably sleeping.”

I hoped that rang true because if it did the delicious sense of danger might seduce my husband into going along with this fantasy and maybe even convince him to immerse himself within it. After a few strokes, John relaxed. He was over the initial shock and was probably beginning to feel good, even better than before I crashed through the door. His eyes, however, were still wide open.

“There, there. That’s better, isn’t it,” I cooed. “That’s it, just relax.” I scooted back and pulled John lower in the bed by his cock, pressing on his chest with my free hand. “Close your eyes and just relax.”

John closed his eyes just as my free hand slid down his chest to close around his balls. They fluttered open but closed again as I tickled his nuts and stroked his cock with long, firm strokes.

“Shhhhhh. Just relax.”

It was only a minute later that John starting humping his hips off the bed, thrusting through my tight grip. He started moaning and I could only wonder what movie was playing in his mind. Was it me jacking his cock or his mother? Did he picture himself bending her over the edge of the bed, or me? I hoped it was her.

His body jerked on the bed and he gasped for breath to fuel the exertion. He came, erupting in a steady flow that oozed from his cock for half a minute.

“You disgusting little brat,” I chastized him in my best imitation of his mother’s commanding, superior voice. “How many times have I told you to warn me? I wiped my hand on his blanket and stood up, smoothing the dress down over my thighs. “Clean yourself up and wash your own blankets. I’m not cleaning up your filth, do you understand?”

John opened his eyes and nodded. He looked petrified.

I turned and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

So far, so good.

I didn’t knock the next night but John was waiting for me. He might not have been sure of himself as he looked because the covers were pulled up to his waist, hiding his private parts which the lump in his lap indicated he had been touching. I was wearing a robe, open to display the suggestive nightgown underneath. Though it wasn’t low cut, there was a peek hole beneath the ribbon tying it under my neck that provided a window onto my cleavage, and my breasts were loose underneath. The nightgown was long but not full length, falling to only a few inches below my knees but when I sat down the hem would rise above them. I had practised to be sure it did.

I partially closed the door and walked to the bed, ‘accidently’ brushing my robe away from my breasts as I hitched the nightgown up my legs before sitting down. I spoke in a hushed voice.

“Your father’s barely asleep but I couldn’t wait any longer.” I turned around and looked at the door to heighten the illusory suspense.

John was smiling with anticipation when I turned back to look at him, his eyes on the bodice of the demure nightgown. I held my elbows in close to my sides and arched my back slightly to buff up the target of his gaze. I chatted with him about things I knew he had done with his parents as if it had just happened rather than so many years ago. John seemed to more than accept it, he seemed very pleased and eager to hear more, leading me in directions I hadn’t thought of and supplying the necessary details to make it more real. Things were going so well I almost forgot what I was here to do.

As nonchalantly as I could, I leaned toward the bedside table and opened its narrow drawer. John watched me but didn’t stop talking. I retrieved what I had placed there earlier in the day. As John continued his remonition, I casually squirted the thick lubricant in my palm and began working it into my hands, my fingers writhing around one another. John was mesmerized but continued talking. Finally, I stopped and drew my hands apart and held my arms in front of him, palms turned upward.

“Well,” I said. “Shall we get started?”

John nodded but didn’t do anything, obviously not knowing what was expected of him.

I looked down at his lap and nodded. His gaze followed mine, then he looked up at me for a confirming nod, and pushed the covers down, revealing a bare erection unhindered by either pajamas or underwear.

“Johnny, I’ve told you, it’s disgusting to be naked in bed. You’ll have to change your sheets tomorrow and you can wash them yourself.”

“Sorry Mother.”

His response thrilled me. The fact that he didn’t just say ‘sorry’ told me he was really buying into this fantasy and it rolled so easily off his lips that my confidence in my portrayal of his mother surged.

“It’s all right. Come on, push them down all the way. Let’s get this over with.”

John pushed the covers down to mid-thigh, allowing his stimulated rod to spring up in eager expectation.

“Johnny, you haven’t been touching it yourself, have you?” I said in an admonishing tone.

“No Mother, I haven’t, honest,” he lied.

“Well, then,” I muttered, and closed my slick fingers around his shaft.

“Ohhhh Goddd,” John cried.

“Quiet, or you’ll wake your father,” I snapped.

“Sorry Mother.”

“Alright, just let me know if the light comes on in the hallway.”

John looked past me to the dark hallway beyond his door. I had been careful to turn all the lights off. For the first time, the sound of distant snoring wafted into the room. Perfect, I thought, proud of my timing. You can find anything on the web, including soundtracks of snoring.

John’s chest heaved in reaction to the exquisite sensations my lubricated fingers were imparting to his now slick cock. As my hand rose up to his tip I squeezed it over the head and slowly twisted. On the descent, I paused halfway down to allow my trailing thumb to brush sideways across the underside as my other hand massaged his balls. Despite my instructions to watch for the light, John closed his eyes. His whole body trembled under my ministrations. The only sound in the house was the faint recording of snoring emanating from my bedroom and the wet, gooey sound of my hand squeezing and stroking his cock.