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More by Cherysse St. Claire 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, 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 fourteen, 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 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? TELL ME!!!!" 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: 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 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... fifteen 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. 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 fifteen," 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...." "Mom!" 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 him 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 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 - "off the books," owing to his age. The weekend work could even be done from the computer in his father's home office, with its direct 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". They 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. Then came Alex's sixteenth birthday. 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 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 and using your elliptical trainer. 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 sixteen 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. In addition to trash clothing, tattoos and extreme makeup effects, mother and son took note of the dizzying array of facial piercings; multiple ear rings and studs, eyebrows, cheeks, noses, lips, the filtrim between nose and mouth, chins, even tongues. The pair tried to be discreet as they pointed out each new 'look' that presented itself, but when they began envisioning various looks on each other, a fit of giggles erupted. "Oh, that look would work so well on you," Stephanie had teased, pointing out a girl with a row of tiny studs along the outer edge of each ear, in addition to her dramatically made up eyes and lips. "You don't think that would be too much?" Alex had teased back, brushing his hair back and fingering his own ear in mock coquettishness. "Not at all!" his mother had dismissed. "That looks so... how do you say it, 'off the hook'! You should go for it." "Welllll," Alex mused, pretending to consider it, "if you really think so..." "Excellent!" his mother gushed, "but not here. No shopping-mall- boutique bimbo with a stud gun in her hand is good enough for my baby. I'm taking you to a professional. Let's go!" She seized his hand and led him out of the mall and to her car. Alex wondered if it was all just a gag, or if his mother had taken leave of her senses. He wasn't against the idea - far from it - but this was so atypical of her usual cloyingly protective stance towards his upbringing. A half-hour's drive took them downtown - to the Boulevard. Alex had been to the usual shopping and entertainment areas, but this area, well down the street from the usual haunts, was completely new to him. Being a Saturday afternoon, the lots were full and the streets were lined with parked cars. After cruising the neighborhood for ten minutes, a car pulled out of a metered space just ahead of them and Stephanie claimed the vacated spot for her own. It was two blocks >from their destination, but the pair were content to take their time and window shop along the way. And what shops! Each successive window yielded a new vista of fetish clothing, shoes, lingerie and accessories. His mother was in full 'tease' mode, asking "What do you think of that one?", or "Oooh, wouldn't that look sexy on you?", or "Wouldn't you love to have a pair of shoes like that?" He kidded along with her, trying his utmost to mask his growing excitement, not able to tell her how much he had enjoyed seeing her in such attire and yes, he would very much adore owning and wearing clothes and shoes like that. They arrived at the door of the tattooing and piercing parlor. His mother smiled at him coyly, her eyes dancing. Was she really going to follow through with this? When she saw the questioning look in her son's eyes, Stephanie DuValle burst out in a peal of warm, melodic laughter. "You're not gonna chicken out now, are you... Sissy?" she teased, tucking her hands into her armpits and flapping her arms. "Bwaaaaaaak, bwaak-bwaak-bwaak-bwaak, bwaaaaaaak!" She seized his hand and led him through the door before he could respond. Once ensconced in the chair, the piercing gun poised at his ear, the two gazed into each other's eyes and burst out giggling again, both remembering their shared amusement at the mall. The first pair of studs snapped home with more surprise than pain. From that point on, the session became a bizarre, continuing game of 'Dare'. "I dare you to get a second pair," his mother had challenged, grinning broadly. "Only if you do, too," Alex taunted. For the sake of a dare, she would - and did. They goaded each other to a third pair, then a fourth. The amused technician was kept busy for a half-hour. Towards the end, Alex was adorned with two piercings in each ear lobe, a row of four along the outer edge of each ear, plus one each at the very tops of his ears. His mother had matched him piercing for piercing, not wanting to be outdone by her son in daring. She had even challenged him to a delicate, sparkling diamond- like stud in the side of his right nostril, then did the same for herself. Both were on the ragged edge of an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "Let's do one more," she urged him, trying to stifle her mirth, "something really nasty this time. How about a ring in your lower lip?" "Eeeewwwww, that's gross!" he exclaimed with disdain. "I can just see me accidentally hooking it with a fork while I'm eating and ripping the whole thing out. I would sooner get my tongue pierced than put a ring in my lip." "Done!" his mother crowed triumphantly, grinning from ear to ear. Both left with identical gold ball studs piercing their tongues, in addition to their other decorations. The ear and nasal piercings were not much of a concern, but their tongues had already begun to swell a bit. Gazing at their reflections in the first window they came to, Stephanie DuValle finally lost it. She doubled over in laughter, clutching her side desperately to stave off the ache. Alex followed suit. "Seriously," she began, recovering her composure a bit. "I was just thinking about this the other day. I have seen so many kids your age, both girls and boys, with ear rings and other pierced body parts and wondered how it would look on you - and if you were even into it. To be honest, I thought you would look scrumptious with a pair of pierced earrings. "Then we had so much fun with our little game at the mall, I just wanted to see how far you would go. Once I got you into that chair, I guess I just got carried away with it. Now that we've done it... well, it is attractive on you, Sweetie - in a kind of lurid, trashy way. Look, it's not something permanent, like a tattoo. You can take a piercing out and the hole will eventually close up. If you don't want to do this, it's okay. I just thought... " "What are you trying to say, Mom?" Alex inquired. She paused for a moment, gently stroking his cheek with the palm of her hand. "Baby, you are growing up so fast," she mused, misty-eyed. "I'll only have you, this, for a little while longer; then I'll have to let you go. You can't possibly know how much I cherish this time with you. I've spoken with enough mothers to know what we have is the exception these days, not the rule; that makes me feel doubly-blessed. "So, humor your old mom. Don't be ashamed to be seen with me in public, the way your friends are with their moms, and if I do something a little crazy like this from time to time, understand where it's coming from." He hugged her tightly. "Not so old," he disagreed, "and definitely nothing to be ashamed of. I would be seen with you anytime, anywhere, Mama. She cupped his face with both hands, on the verge of tears. "Baby, you have no idea how special it is to hear you say that. I think that's the first time you have ever called me 'Mama'. That may sound like such a little thing, but it's what I used to call my mother. She and I had a really close relationship, just like you and me. It's almost like I am re-living my childhood through you. No one can put a price tag on moments like this. So, will you be a dear and leave the piercings in for a while? I want to enjoy this moment as long as I can." She wanted to enjoy it as long as she could? Mischievously, Alex turned back to the window, pulled his T-shirt out of his jeans and rubbed his taut, toned stomach. "I dunno," he mused, turning to face his mother. "What do you think? Should we go back and get matching belly rings?" "You nut!" his mother chided, taking his hand in hers. "Let's get back to the car!" There was an arcade along the way. Alex hadn't really paid attention to it before, having been captivated by the displays in the other store windows. "Come on, we have to do this," Stephanie chirped, dragging her son inside and straight to the ladies room. Bolting them securely in the last stall, she seated her son on the toilet, then straddled his lap. For the next half-hour, the seemingly-possessed woman made up her astonished son's face, using the cosmetics she had purchased earlier at the mall. Apparently satisfied with her work, she stood, removed her styling brush from her purse, pushed him over at the waist so his hair dangled down in front of him, and brushed it out vigorously. Seizing his collar, she snapped his body upright, tossing his hair over his head. She then fluffed it out even fuller. Then, she repeated the process for her own hair. "That will do nicely," she chirped. "Mama, what -" "Just trust me, okay?" she interrupted. She packed up everything, then unbolted the door, leading her confused son out of the stall. "Ta-da!" she announced proudly. "Welcome to 'Punk for a Day' - and you are today's guest of honor!" Alex gaped in astonishment at his reflection in the mirror. If his mother had been going for 'punk', she had missed the mark by a country mile. The flawless complexion, Cobalt Blue shadow, ebony eyeliner heavily-mascara-ed lashes, blushing cheekbones, and glistening, ruby-red lips screamed 'porn star' instead. Actually, it did resemble the makeup worn by the girl his mother had pointed out in the mall. His heart threatened to burst from his chest. "It's - it's..." he stammered. "... gorgeous on you," Stephanie finished. "Don't wimp out. Let's go!" She seized his hand and pulled him out the door before he could protest, pulling him to the instant-photo booth. "I want to immortalize this on film, Sweetie," she insisted, "before we come to our senses and yank all these piercings out." She seated them inside and posed him so his new piercings would be prominently displayed. "Be sure and smile wide for the camera," she admonished as she fed coins into the slot. "I want your tongue piercing to show up, too." After the impromptu 'photo shoot', his mother had pulled him out onto the sidewalk and towards the car, without benefit of re-tying his ponytail, for the whole, wide world to see. Alex was humiliated to his very soul. At the same time, he was more thrilled than he had ever been before in his young life. His mother had insisted on taking her time, window-shopping all the way back to the car. They had gotten stares, to be sure. It took him a little while to realize; most seemed to perceive him as just another overdone, underdeveloped teen girl. He had played along with her little joke after that, trading teases about what would look good on who - not letting on that this was the best birthday present he had ever had. Later, in their driveway, his mother had had to dab tears of laughter from his eyes, as well as her own. "This has been one of our best days ever," she avowed. "I will remember my 'little punk' until the day I die - and have the photos to remind me. Look, if you do decide to keep the piercings for a while, I'll... smooth the way with your father. I mean, I got the same ones, didn't I? I don't think we'll have to mention the part about all the makeup, do you? That will be just between us. For now, we'll just tie your ponytail a little different to cover your ears. Try to give him your left profile only and keep your mouth shut - literally!" Alex had 'humored his mom', leaving his makeup and hair done the rest of the day. She had ordered a pizza for dinner and had teased him at the table how he should join a band. "You have the right 'look' now, Sweetie," she had jibed mirthfully. The girls will adore you - maybe some of the boys, too!" They had watched a video together afterwards, just enjoying each other's company until she had hurried him upstairs to clean up when they heard his father's car pull up. With considerable regret, Alex used the makeup remover as his mother had instructed and cleansed his face of her loving efforts. In the days that followed, the conspirators frequently giggled to each other in shared amusement. Alex's mother complimented his "rad" appearance and for being such a good sport about her little tease. Of course, he had no intention of removing any of his piercings any time soon. There were many more memorable days for Alex that his mother didn't know about, as the parts and pieces of his fantasy took shape, leading up to THE memorable day. It had been over a year and a half since that first awkward, amazing night; at last, he felt ready. *** His parents had fussed around more than usual that night, darting >from bedroom to bathroom and back, a couple of times going down the stairs to the first floor, then returning. Alex suspected those trips downstairs were to mix drinks at the bar, indicating their level of nervousness. Whatever they had planned for the evening, it was something big for both. Alex had to remain in his room. He would have loved to take up station in the linen closet across from his parents' bedroom door. He could have gotten a view of what his mother was wearing, even overheard what their plans for the evening were. With the way they were moving about, it was just too risky. Well, maybe he would be able to hear them discussing it when they returned. In the meantime, he had already begun preparing for his own 'party'. As it was, he could only hear the murmuring of their voices through the common wall. His mother seemed more animated than ever. That wasn't all he heard. He closed his eyes and trembled with delight as he could make out the click-click-click of his mother's stiletto heels on the bathroom tiles and hardwood floors. Closing his eyes, Alex thought back to that first evening, watching his mother fuck herself before his very eyes. That image had had a profound, lasting effect on him. While visualizing himself in his mother's place, he now penetrated his freshly-enema-ed and lubricated 'pussy' with the thick ten-inch black dildo he had purchased online. It had taken months to train his puckered hole to accept that monster so readily. He could feel shockwave after shockwave rolling over him as the massive member stimulated his hypersensitive prostate, triggering a massive full-body orgasm. As a result of his rigorous 'pussy training', Alex didn't have to touch his little thing anymore. He could now cum as many times as he wished, gobbling down as much, or as little, ejaculate as he might produce. The operative words seemed to be "as little" of late. It seemed he wasn't getting as big or hard as he had been that first night, either. Was it possible his pussy-training was actually making his 'clit' smaller, more feminine? Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on his part. Rather than dampening his resolve to follow through on his plans, the now-limp appendage merely reinforced it. His soft, harmless 'clitty' was easier to hide away, making him feel more womanly. He heard them in the hallway, outside their door. He detected the mixed aromas of Shalimar, hair spray and an Eve 120 cigarette. Ordinarily, his mother didn't smoke, having given up the habit long ago. She did on these special nights. His father, like so many other men Alex had read about on the Internet, had a fetish for smoking women. She also smoked during their 'scenes' because, she had confessed to her husband, it made her feel "wicked." "Okay then," his mother sighed. "Go to the club, have a couple of drinks, relax, and wait for me to call. Don't try to call me or come looking for me; I plan to be... busy. Got it?" "Yes, Honey," his father acknowledged. Just then, Alex heard a horn honk in the driveway out front. "There's my cab," his mother chirped. "We have been working up to this night for a long time, Lover. When I walk out that door, we are committed. If you have any last-minute doubts, say so now. Once we start this, I may not be able to stop. You know how I get." "I know," Frank assured her. "I want this; for both of us." "All right," his mother expressed with a note of caution. "As long as you are sure, we are going to do this just the way we planned. Whatever you see, hear, and experience, remember I love you, always have, and always will. Got it?" "Got it," his father agreed. "I love you too, Stephanie." "Stephanie?" Alex's mother questioned with an air of bemused confidence. "Who the hell is Stephanie? My name is Jasmine... Sugar. See ya around; know what I mean?" He heard the sound of her heels on the stairs, then crossing the floor saucily. He could clearly picture in his mind the confident, almost arrogant attitude of the woman who owned that self-assured strut. Men found her irresistible; they would do anything, give anything, to sample her charms - and she knew it. The front door opened, then closed, and she was gone. Shortly after, he heard his father make his way downstairs, through the kitchen and out into the garage. The automatic garage door opened and his father's S550 roared to life, then backed out. The garage door closed - and Alex was alone at last. They wanted him to "have a little fun, too", did they? Well, he was going to do exactly that. He made a beeline for their bedroom. To save time, he had attached his DD-cup silicone breast forms to his hairless chest with aerosol medical adhesive, then donned the matching, heavily-contoured silicone 'pussy panties' while waiting for his parents to finish their own preparations and leave. The custom-made prosthetics, color- matched to his skin tone, had cost a huge portion of his 'college fund'. They had been worth the expense. With the use of some Dermablend, he erased any trace of seam between latex and flesh. His lush, inviting curves were the equal of his sexy mother's, as he had always dreamed. Now, if only for a few brief hours, he would finally become her. He couldn't believe his eyes. It was sitting atop her dresser, in full view, instead of hidden away in the bottom dresser drawer as usual. His hands trembled as he fingered the tissue-paper wrapping. Alex had been completely enchanted with the black calfskin corset the moment he had first discovered it a month before. His mother must have debated wearing this foundation tonight, then opted out. On the one hand, Alex was sorry for that. He had never seen her wear this corset. It's crisp, unblemished folds indicated she never had. On the other hand, he was thankful she had left it behind. It had been his first choice in foundations for this most special of nights; now, he would be the first to wear it! He had been practicing regularly, using another of her waist cinchers to get the feel of corseting, training his figure to accept tight-lacing for extended periods of time and learn how to reach behind his back and lace himself up, unassisted. The classic corset- training had resulted in reduced appetite, weight loss, and a visible re-contouring of his torso. Alex had almost choked on his potato skin when his mother had noted his diminutive physique at Friday's. He now wrapped the sensual leather garment around his already-slender form, fastened the front busk, then reached back and began cinching the laces, top and bottom toward the center, just as he had done so many times before. In due time, he had cinched the laces down to the stops. He had a literally breath-taking hourglass figure. The lacy shelf cups lifted his pendulous boobies and pushed them together, giving him a deep, luscious cleavage. The heavy steel boning compressed his waist and spread out his hips and tush even fuller, just like his sexpot mother's. Stockings were next on the agenda. Alex knew which drawer held his mama's hosiery. His target tonight was a pair of sheer black full- fashioned stockings with reinforced toes, French heels and back seams. They fit his long, shapely legs like a gentle caress. Using the palms of his hands, he adjusted the flimsy material so his back seams were arrow-straight. He had taken his time with the pedicure the night before, making sure it turned out just right. As he had hoped, his ruby-red polished toenails with gold nail art and gold toe rings were just visible through the dark, reinforced toe of his stockings. The budding 'bad girl' opted not to don panties, as they would "just get in the way for a girl like me." He had read that phrase in several Internet porn stories and it had always made him hot. With his little cock tucked safely away inside his tightly-restrictive, yet oh-so-alluring pussy pants, he presented a tantalizing hint of a mons under his otherwise flat front. The folds of the inner and outer labia looked amazingly life-like, and the tip of his little thing was perfectly positioned where his 'clitty' should be. The bizarre garment was open in back, allowing access to his wet, inviting 'love canal'. He sat down at his mother's vanity table, opened the appropriate drawers to locate the appropriate cosmetics and accessories he would need to make up his pretty face. The MAC logo on the small boutique bag captured his attention immediately. Was this the same makeup his mother had used to make up his face that Saturday afternoon? Browsing the bag's contents, he realized it was, and would be exactly the right 'look' to bring his fantasy to life. Alex knew the routine well. He had spied on his mother at first while she did her makeup. He had then studied makeup techniques through books and videos he had purchased on Amazon. Then he practiced in his bathroom whenever he knew he wouldn't be disturbed, honing his skills. There was one effect in particular he truly adored. He had seen it several times on the Internet, downloaded the pictures and enjoyed them in private. His mother had even done the look on occasion, especially when enacting her 'hooker' persona. It was risky; there might be recriminations the next day. Alex now taped one of those downloaded pictures to his mirror for reference. With pounding heart, he took a pair of tweezers to his eyebrows and began plucking. He would deal with the fallout if and when it happened; nothing was going to spoil this night from being perfect. At last he achieved the desired effect; his forehead was smooth and hair-free. He applied a light coat of foundation, blending it in evenly with a wedge-shaped sponge. Using a large brush, he set the base with a light dusting of translucent finishing powder, giving him a flawless, glowing complexion. Alex then applied a pair of thick, curly false eyelashes with an ease born of practice. To be daring, he added a pair of lower lashes to heighten the dramatic effect. Using the picture as a guide, He penciled in exotically-high, razor- thin, sharply-angled brow lines. His hours of practice showed; he got exactly the right look on his first attempt. Continuing in the 'hooker' vein, he brushed a heavy application of Cobalt Blue shadow into his lids, extending it upward and outward towards the corners of his eyes. Using a fine brush, he applied a thin line of blue under his lower lash line, extending it along the rim to meet the previously applied shadow. He added shimmering pearlescent white highlights below the brows, blending the contrasting colors together into a smooth, gradual transition from dark to light. Wide swaths of black liquid eyeliner traced his upper and lower lash lines, extending beyond the corners of his sapphire eyes into sharp points. A careful application of black mascara expertly melded his own lashes into those he had applied, framing his bewitching eyes in rich, ebony fur. A dusky rose blush with pearlescent highlights accentuated his naturally-high, prominent cheekbones. He outlined his plush, pouty lips in burgundy, smudging the lines into his lip flesh to soften the look. He filled in with dark, luscious Ruby Red, then added a coat of clear, wet-look gloss to make his oh-so-kissable mouth glisten like real rubies. In homage to the hairstyling 'tip' his mother had taught him, he bent forward, allowing his long, thick, flowing pale blonde hair to cascade over his head, touching the floor. He brushed it out, spraying liberally with lots of sweet, sticky hair spray. Then he snapped upright, flinging his hair over his head. He teased it out even more, then locked the full, fluffy mane in place with even more hair spray. She hadn't shown him that part, that day at the arcade, but he had watched her style her own hair in that fashion several times before and since. He would have loved to have a big, fluffy, curly perm, but this would do nicely for tonight. So little of 'Alex' remained, he noted, gazing dreamily into the mirror. The best was yet to come. His heart leapt; his dream dress - a butter-soft black lambskin bustier minidress - hung on a hanger from the hook inside his mother's closet door. He and his mother had seen it, and the companion black calfskin motorcycle-style jacket now hanging on the hanger behind it, in the window of a high-end specialty leatherwear shop the afternoon they had gotten their piercings. This was the dress his mother had teased would "look so sexy on him." He had been captivated by it then, hoping his quiet gulp and trembling weren't noticeable. When it had shown up in her closet soon after, he had been ecstatic, guessing his mother had been as enthralled with it as he. What had been a hazy, soft-focus image of what he would wear, how he would appear on this special night, instantly sharpened into crystal clarity. This was The One; it set the tone for the 'look' and persona he would assume. That the dress, jacket and corset had all been left out made sense; Alex had instinctively known the three were meant to be a complete outfit. It was confirmation his mother had considered wearing the ensemble that night, then chosen another. What a break for him! He gazed longingly at the dress for a moment, running his fingertips reverently down the smooth, supple hide. Then he removed it from its hanger, unzipped the back zip, and wriggled into it. It took so long to work the tighter-than-tight creation over his enhanced curves, then zip the zipper closed. Seeing his form in the full-length closet mirror, he knew he had gotten it right; what he saw before him truly did justice to the exotic, erotic slutwear. The dress's bodice barely concealed his protruding nipples and areolas, exposing a deep chasm of cleavage. The back was cut to the shoulder blades, yet covered the upper edge of the corset beautifully. The snug handspan waist flowed into full, wide hips and a firm, round bubble butt. The hemline ended above mid-thigh; short enough to reveal his stocking tops, garters, and a flash of creamy thigh if he sat or moved the right way, yet was restrictive enough to hobble his gait. A special dress required a special pair of shoes. They sat before him on the closet floor, right in front; black calfskin ankle-strap sandals with rapier-thin six-inch stiletto heels. These shoes had no platform soles; the wearer was subjected to the full effects of the sky-high heels. Although they had appeared in his mother's closet long before the dress and jacket, they were the perfect compliment; one more indication this outfit had been one of his mother's options tonight. That she had chosen not to wear it was very likely because of these same shoes. Alex knew full well the extreme arch of the feet and legs imparted by the fetish footwear inflicted severe pain and cramping to the inexperienced wearer. Only the most dedicated and foot-trained high-heel devotee would enjoy the experience to the fullest. Alex was exactly that. He had been practicing in those shoes since they had first appeared, refining the short, sure-footed heel-toe- heel-toe gate, swiveling his hips in an exaggerated fashion, keeping his back straight, head up and shoulders back, as dictated by the fabulous fetish footwear. He donned them now, shivering just a bit as he wrapped the thin straps behind his heels, then around his trim ankles and buckled them in place. For the umpteenth time, he marveled at how all his mother's footwear were so perfectly mated to his feet. The tightly-laced corset was a godsend! It kept his posture firmly erect, making it easier to navigate on those extreme heels. The jewelry was next. A quarter-inch ring sat atop each ear. A row of four similar rings snaked down the outer edges. A one inch loop, nestled against a thin, attention-grabbing four-inch hoop, filled out each earlobe. The small diamond in his right nostril sparkled in the soft lighting. Within his mouth, the gold ball flashed as he moved his tongue. Neck chains followed; eight of them, in progressively-longer lengths, arranged in a cascade that dipped into his cleavage, calling attention to his prolific pulchritude. A like number of heavy gold bangle bracelets were slipped onto each dainty wrist, where they would jangle musically as he walked. His mother had a treasure trove of rings in her jewelry armoire. He slipped delicate gold rings on each of his fingers and thumbs. The final piece was a slender gold chain which he double-wrapped around his trim left ankle, signifying he was 'available'. Then came another of those special touches that would set him apart >from so-called 'respectable' women, identifying him as a true slut. He had found the site on the Internet. The nail technician who operated the business offered custom-made press-on nails to order; anything from mild to wild. Alex had opted for the latter, and now laid out a perfect set of two-inch, curving, square-tipped talons, polished Ruby Red with glittering gold nail art. The instructions called for a single drop of Krazy Glue if the wearer only wanted the nails to hold for an evening's revelry. Alex didn't see how that could possibly be secure enough. He applied a thin sheen of the super-strong adhesive to each nail before pressing it onto the appropriate nail bed and holding it in place until the glue set. He was amazed how ultra-feminine they made his small hands and long, slender fingers look. He now spritzed himself with his Mother's Obsession; behind each ear, at his throat, in his cleavage, on the inside of both wrists and behind his knees. He then spritzed the air above his head and allowed it to settle over him in a fine mist, just as he had seen his mother do. Beholding his image in the mirror, he could see no trace of 'Alex' at all; 'Alexis' was born, full-grown and ready to play. She had fetched the black calfskin clutch purse from the closet along with the shoes. Anticipating a future need, she now filled it with the makeup items she had used to transform her face, plus wintergreen breath strips, her mother's purse-sized Obsession spritzer, companion hair spritzer and brush. She also selected a pack of her mother's Eve 120 cigarettes from the carton in her mother's dresser, plus a butane lighter and slipped both into her purse. There was just one more small detail to make everything perfect.... Alex's parents had hidden another secret from their progeny. To make their special role play nights more intense, they maintained a stash of recreational drugs. That, like their supposedly-secret sex life and his mother's smoking, was no secret from their offspring at all. It was Alexis' long-standing fantasy to emulate her favorite of her mother's fetish personas; that of a whore. If that meant becoming a full-fledged 'coke whore' for the evening, so be it. She had never done drugs before, but had watched her mother do them 'in character'. Alexis now knew exactly what to do. She retrieved the stash from her mother's bottom vanity drawer, drew out two lines on the little mirrored tray with a razor blade, just as she had seen her mother do. With a bit of trepidation, she used a diminutive straw to snort one line in each nostril. Afterward, she tapped the sides of her nose with her pinkie finger to dislodge any crystals that might have clung. She couldn't put into words the sudden, intense rush of well-being that suffused her senses; a more intense 'brain freeze' than she had ever received from a Slurpee. Her mother had acquired a special 'prop' for her hooker persona. It was an ornate sterling silver container with a screw-on lid, similar in dimensions to a small pill bottle, for carrying her 'stash' while she was 'working it'. Alexis noted with a brief twinge of sadness; the bottle was snug in its velvet-lined box in her mother's top dresser drawer. If it was still there, what role was her mother playing tonight? Alexis had hoped... well, never mind. She snatched up the 'stash cache' and unscrewed the lid, noting the long-stemmed diminutive silver spoon affixed to the underside. She filled the container from the plastic bag of brilliantly white powder, then resealed it and stuffed it into her purse. She then put everything away and cleaned up the vanity. Rising to her feet, she sashayed expertly to the closet, fetched the jacket >from its hanger and slipped it on, leaving it unzipped with the halves of the wide waist belt dangling for effect. At last, she was ready! She admired her reflection in the full-length closet door mirror for a time, turning this way and that, then decided to indulge herself a little. Making her way downstairs, she slinked sensually into the recreation room, turned on only the low-wattage 'party lights' behind the bar, then laid her purse on the counter. Stepping over to the entertainment unit, she turned on the stereo, found a station playing an extended Techno party mix, then stepped out into the middle of the room and danced sexily to the hypnotic beat, arms raised gracefully over her head. After a while, she left the 'dance floor' and made her way back to the bar. Mixing herself a Scotch and soda - her mother's favorite drink - she sidled around to the front of the bar, perched delicately on her high-backed stool, crossing one leg over the other with a subtle rasp of stocking-on-stocking, which sent a little chill up her spine. She lit a cigarette, then held it aloft in her upturned arm. As she admired herself in the mirror behind the bar, she took in the ambience of the 'night club' and imagined the conversations she had with the men who were even then coming on to her. Alexis contemplated going out, actually stepping outside the door, maybe going for a little walk. A hooker in this neighborhood? That would be scandalous! What if Tommy Bradley was looking out his bedroom window at that moment and saw her strutting her stuff on the sidewalk? She still hadn't confided a word of this to him - and with good reason. 'Poor Tommy', she mused. 'He is still such a child. If he saw me, his hormones would kick into overdrive - and he wouldn't have a clue what to do about me. He would probably jerk off, watching me through his window.' Alexis giggled at the absurdity of her own argument. Tommy was still such a child? They were the same age! Still, the lurid 'ing?nue' felt she had aged an eon since first discovering her parents' private predilections. Tommy was too young for her, she decided. She wanted a real man, just like her mama. She sipped her Scotch, then took a drag on her cigarette, noting the traces of lipstick on the filter and how sensual the slender white cylinder looked in her feminine, ruby-taloned hand. As good as this evening was turning out, she felt vaguely empty. Was this all there was? She hoped not; she wanted more. Was it too soon to do another line or two? She fished the silver bottle from her purse, tapping it lightly on the bar. A chain-of-association thought led her back to her 'working girl' ruminations. What would she do if, while walking down the street, a car slowed, pulling to the curb next to her? Could she find it within herself to sashay up to the window, lean down, smile, flash her boobies and ask the driver if he was looking for a 'date', as she had read in all those Internet stories? Little Alexis with the big tits; a real hooker at last! The thought was tempting; oh, so tempting... "Lookin' good, Girlfriend!" Startled, Alexis sat bolt upright. In the mirror, she caught the reflection of her mother - in the company of four very large, well- muscled Black men. 'Alexis' was so busted! If she had been straight and sober, she might have tried to make a dash for the stairs, then her room, slammed the door and sat with her back against it, pretending the whole thing was just a bizarre delusion on their part - and hers. Yet the setting, her attire and makeup, plus the power of the alcohol, cocaine, nicotine and her own fantasies conspired to envelop her in a warm, comforting cloak of inevitability. It was too late - much too late. She couldn't pretend she wasn't sitting here, looking the way she did. She couldn't outrun their eyes, much less their feet; therefore, she wouldn't try. How did the lyrics to that old song go? It's time to "face the music and dance." How appropriate! Buoyed by liquid and crystalline courage, she swivelled her stool to face her appraisers, took a deep drag on her cigarette, then exhaled it towards the ceiling, smiling a small, bemused smile. Her mother approached her, a smirk on her lips. The more mature woman was spilling out of a glistening red latex minidress with long, off-the-shoulder sleeves, a deeply-scooped neckline and hemline as short as Alexis' own. Black fishnet stockings hugged her shapely legs all the way to her red patent sandals with two-inch platforms and seven-inch stiletto heels. Her makeup and hair were every bit as provocative as that of the other 'hooker' in the room. The outfit was topped by a matching waist-length red latex motorcycle jacket, alluringly open like Alexis'. Once reaching Alexis' side, she gave the younger version of herself a long, lingering once-over, lovingly drinking in every luscious detail. Noting the drink and silver 'cache' on the bar, as well as the cigarette held daintily aloft, the twinkle in her eyes and smile on her lips cranked up another notch. "Lookin' very, very good indeed!" she murmured appreciatively. "I'm Jasmine, and you are...?" "Alexis," the younger woman filled in. "Of course!" the elder woman intoned. "It suits you perfectly. It's so lovely to meet you, 'Alexis'. May I call you 'Lexie'?" "Uh, sure." "May my friends and I... join you?" Without waiting for a reply, 'Jasmine' slid onto the stool next to her 'sistah', lit a cigarette, and smiled alluringly. Her four 'friends' filled in the space around the pair. She snaked her arm around the man hovering at her left shoulder and drew him closer to her. He had a monumental bulge making its presence known inside his pants. Jasmine massaged it suggestively with her free hand. "David here is my main man tonight. We... hooked up downtown. Know what I mean? Anyway, it turns out he has these three really sexy friends. This is Robert, Leo, and William. Boys, say hello to Lexie." They exchanged greetings. Lexie shivered in anticipation as the four men sized her up like wolves to prey. "David was wondering if I could fix them up with some of my friends, so we could all party? Well, I was kinda strapped; none of my usual girls were available on such short notice. It was looking like I would have to take them on all by myself. Then I suddenly remembered; I had a really special girlfriend with very special qualities, who was home all alone tonight, and she just might be up for a little party..." Lexie gave an involuntary start. She knew? Jasmine leaned forward and whispered into the younger girl's ear. "I see you found your birthday present. Do you like it? It looks fabulous on you - just as I said it would!" Lexie's eyes grew as big as saucers. Her companion chuckled at her discomfort. She cast a casual glance at the 'cache' under Lexie's fingertips. "Oh, goodie!" Jasmine exclaimed. "You brought the 'party favors'. That was something I forgot when I left to go to work tonight. I really need to powder my nose..." Sliding the bottle from the leather-clad beauty's grasp, 'Jasmine' unscrewed the cap, placed a spoonful of powder to her right nostril and inhaled deeply, then repeated the process for the left. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. "Mmmm, that is so dreamy," she purred, opening her eyes. "I'm sorry; that was rude of me. Would you like a hit? I mean, you're a big girl now - aren't you?" She repeated the ritual with Lexie, steadying the girl's head with her other hand each time. Lexie closed her eyes, inhaled deeply and smiled a Cheshire smile. "Yes, you certainly are a big girl now," Jasmine complimented. "All grown up and ready to party with me and my friends, just like I knew you would be. Baby, I have already collected a thousand dollars from each of them. We are bought and paid for; their 'bottom bitches,' to do with however they choose all night long. Doesn't that sound like fun?" As if on cue, two strong, yet gentle pairs of hands began caressing the leather-clad lovely. In her chemically-altered state, Lexie shivered with delight. "The boys and I have already rented a room down on the Boulevard where we can get more... comfortable," Jasmine briefed. "After that, who knows? The night is young and so are we. So, let's get this party started!" Strong hands helped both women to their feet. After shutting off the stereo and lights, the sextet made their way to the front door, two pairs of metal-tipped high heels clicking smartly. The group loaded themselves into a silver Bentley in the driveway; Jasmine in front, between David and Robert, and Lexie in back, between William and Leo. David keyed the silky-smooth V-12 to life and they were off into the night. Lexie's head was spinning; in part from the intoxicants she had consumed, in part from the exciting, erotic tableau unfolding before her. Jasmine was alternately making out with her two male seat-mates. At the same time, William and Leo had their hands all over the nubile young minx between them. She kissed one, then the other, massaging the raging hard-ons of both through their slacks. A quick stop along the way yielded a bottle of Scotch, mixers and a stack of disposable plastic cups. Their 'Honeymoon Suite' was at a nondescript motel a couple of miles and a world away from the glitz and glamour of the entertainment district. It wasn't a hovel; nor was it the Ritz. It was what it was; a no-frills shelter from the storm - king-size bed with utilitarian mattress, bathroom that got the job done, television, sans remote control, bolted to a wall bracket, ice and vending machines a few doors down - which rented by the night, but was seldom occupied that long. In recognition of that fact, the door to the linen room next to the motel office stood open. Within, the overnight housekeeper sat, engrossed in the images on a smallish television screen, just waiting to be pressed into service. 'Get in, get out, get on with business,' Lexie mused to herself with a little shiver of anticipation. 'That's us, too.' Once inside, William and Leo led her over to the bed without preamble. The nascent nymph slipped off her jacket and wriggled out of her dress, draping them over the back of the room's only chair, then lay down on her back, smiling invitingly. Any lingering doubts she may have had were well hidden as she spread her legs for her soon- to-be conquerors. William stripped in a flash and assumed his position on the bed between her limbs. Lexie noted with wonder; his angry tool was nearly the equal of the phallus with which she had trained herself these many months. "Allow me," Jasmine purred smoothly from beside the bed. Grasping his manhood gently, she guided it forward, located the younger blonde's love button, and held the throbbing club in position as William eased it home. Lexie's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. She sighed expressively as inch upon inch of dark meat filled her. "Yes indeed," Jasmine murmured appreciatively, a little smile on her lips. "You are all grown up now - and I was here to share it with you. Your mama should be so proud of her little darling. Are you still hungry, Baby Girl? You look like you are. Leo, this little slut still has another hole to fill. Would you like to do the honors?" Moments later, Leo was straddling her shoulders, holding the girl's head with both hands as he fucked her mouth. She clutched his buttocks with crimson-talon-ed hands, emitting muffled gurgles, an expression of true bliss on her face. Soon, Jasmine had taken her own place on the bed next to her companion. Lexie glanced over as David prepared to take his just due. For the second time that evening, Lexie's eyes bugged out. She had on