Humiliated for Mommy
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Humiliated By Mommy free porn video
Humiliated by Mommy by Naughtieboys
© Julian Smith and Em-bare-assed Press 1999-2001. Revised 2013.
THIS STORY IS PURE FICTION (or unpure friction) FOR ADULTS ONLY. NO REAL
CHILDREN WERE HARMED IN THE PRODUCTION OF THIS STORY. BY READING
FURTHER, YOU ARE DECLARING THAT YOU ARE A CONSENTING ADULT.
This work is copyright by the author. Commercial use is prohibited
without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if
complete and include the copyright notice. Archiving and reposting of
this story UNMODIFIED is permitted provided that no fee is charged,
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provided that this disclaimer and credit to the author are maintained.
Humiliated by Mommy by Naughtieboys
CHAPTER 1 Mommy's World: Veggies, Undies, and Spankies
It is a sweltering June evening in Boston. I'm home after my first year
of college at UCLA. Only I am returning to a home I've never known. My
mother moved out of suburbia, into a high-rise over-looking Boston
Harbor.
My mother, Felicia, has just returned from work, a modeling job, and
gone into the bedroom to slip into "something more comfortable".
"Oh, god," I thought. "It's not going to start all over again, is it?
I'm 19 now, she's not going to treat me like she did when I was 16 ...
or 13 ... or 11."
I don't have to wait long to find out. Out she prances, as if it was
the most natural thing in the world for a mother to wear the skimpiest
garments imaginable in front of her teenage son.
"Well, what should we have for din-din?" she asks.
Why does she have to use words like din-din or veggies or undies?
Everything has to be so cutesy.
"Ahhh, I d-d-don't c-care," I stutter an answer. She's already doing it
to me. Turning me into a blithering idiot. A six year old enchanted by
her spell. I'm trying not to gawk at her, but that's no easy task. You
see, my mother is too beautiful to be a mother. There ought to be a law
against it or something. Or there should be a diagnosis for sons
suffering from too sexy mothers. PMS. Pretty Mommy Syndrome.
She's 40, but tells everyone she's 29. She even had a driver's license
and British birth certificate "adjusted" to reflect her imagination.
She's a model. The closest famous person she resembles is Raquel Welch.
My mother has long dark hair, a large bust, and sexy suntanned legs that
go on forever. In contrast, I am skinny, have a fair complexion, and
blonde hair.
I must confess I'm a leg-man. Show me a pair of shapely, tanned thighs,
and I get an instant erection. And right now, my mother's luscious
limbs are on display. She came out wearing a white, see-through
nightie, skimpy bra, and the tiniest pair of panties. The dark tan of
her skin sharply contrasts with the white of her lingerie. There's
something about skimpy white clothes against suntanned flesh that over-
stimulates my brain (and other parts of me). Yes, I have a hard-on in
my tight jeans. I just hope it doesn't show.
She doesn't call attention to the fact that she just came out dressed to
kill. No pirouette, no "How do I look?" That would be too direct. She
broadcasts her messages on subtler channels. Her eyes, her smile, her
body all conspire to communicate: Here I am driving you crazy with
lust, but we're going to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary is
going on. We're going to talk about mundane things like dinner and TV
while I tease you unmercifully with my body.
"Justin, ooooooh Juuustinnnnnn..." she calls out in that sing-songy
voice that I despise. "Honey, do you want mommy to fix you some nice
veggies?"
"Mom, I'm too old to be calling you mommy."
"You didn't. I was just saying *mummy*--it's a British expression. You
don't want to deprive mommy of having her little boy back, do you? It's
just for the summer, and then you'll be back to college."
That set my mind reeling. What did she mean by "having her little boy
back?" Oh no, she isn't going to start playing *the game*, is she?
"Mom, we've got to talk."
"Of course dear, let's sit down and have a nice chat," She replies.
She sits opposite me and slowly and sensuously crosses her legs,
allowing my eyes to feast on exquisite thighs as she hypnotically rocks
her leg back and forth. I am lost in the swaying limb, then quickly
look up, only to see her smile *that* smile. That teasing grin that
accuses: I caught you having naughty thoughts about your own mommy. You
can't help looking at your mommy's legs. You have no control over your
naughty little boy impulses. I control your feelings, your thoughts,
and even where you look. And it's so easy to control you. All I have
to do is show a little skin. Flash a sexy leg, display my panties and
you turn to jelly.
My heart is pounding. Not just from the sexual tension, but from what I
want to talk to her about. I'm scared to death to confront her. Afraid
of how she'll react--fearing she'll be angry. Maybe afraid she'll cut me
off--end the little tease games that I've grown to love and hate. I've
practiced this conversation with my therapist a hundred times. Gone
over all the things I think she might say--covered all the bases.
"Mom, I'm really upset when you come out dressed like that...."
She cuts me off, acting truly surprised, "Ohhhhhhh, OK. I'll go
change."
And with that, she gets up and wiggles her panty-clad fanny into the
bedroom. End of conversation. *That* I wasn't prepared for.
She comes out wearing a long flannel robe that completely covers her. I
didn't even know she owned anything that modest. The rest of the
evening is unremarkable. Dinner, a little light chat and TV, then it's
time for bed.
Mother yawning, "I've had it Justin. Time for me to turn in. Where do
you want to sleep?"
"What are my choices?" I ask very concerned.
"Weeellllll," she drags out the drama. "There is the bathtub or..." she
pauses, then quickly blurts out the alternative, "there's plenty of room
in mommy's bed." She commands, "Now tell mommy where you want to
sleep."
My heart's pounding again. I feel confused. This offer is not about
sex. We've never had sex, and never will. That's too blatant. For my
mother, it's all about the seduction, the tease, the games, the erotic
tension.
I want so badly to be in the same bed with her. But no. I've worked so
hard in therapy to untangle myself from her. Besides, I need to jack-
off, and with her in the same bed, that's not going to happen. "I'll
sleep on the couch," I respond, although my tone communicates little
conviction.
"Oh no you won't," she scolds. "I just had that couch reupholstered,
and I want to keep it nice and clean."
"All right then, I'll sleep in the tub."
"Fine," she admonishes. "I'll get you a pillow and blankie and you have
a good nights sleep."
She quickly gets me a pillow and blanket and adjourns to her bedroom.
I'm holding them, burning with shame, as if I've just done the most
awful thing imaginable. I open the door to the bathroom and see she has
a dozen or so panties hanging from everywhere--the towel rack, the
showerhead, and the knob on the cabinet draw. Panties. Yellow, pink,
purple panties. All silky and small bikini panties. Did she do this
knowing I'd end up sleeping in the bathroom? Is she trying to drive me
mad? I slam the door in anger. I unsnap my jeans and as I'm lowering
them, the door flies open. I look up in shock with my jeans around my
ankles. My penis is stretching my white briefs to the limit. Mother
enters, now in just white panties and bra, with her hands on her hips,
looking very cross.
"All right young man," mother chastises. "You can choose where you want
to sleep, but there will be no slamming doors in my house. Is that
understood young man?"
"Yes, mommy." I meekly reply.
Oh, shit. She did it. She regressed me to a naughty kindergartener.
She switches from flirt to bitch so quickly that my head spins. She
grabs my wrist and leads me out of there. Oh my god, what's she going
to do? She's not going to spank me. She can't spank me. I'm way too
old for a spanking. I have to shuffle to keep up with her because my
jeans are hobbled around my ankles.
"Mommy, I'm too old for a spanking." I whine.
"Oh, mommy forgot all about spankies," she says as she lightly taps my
tightie-whitie clad bottom with two of her fingers. "Mommy just needs
to go tinkle, and you don't want to hang around and watch, now do you?"
Why did I have to mention spankings?
She finishes up and returns to her bedroom, and I slump down in the
bathtub for a restless night. I keep looking at all the panties as I
finally doze off. I haven't gotten more than an hour of sleep when I
awake. There's no clock so I can only guess that the sun is up. I have
a morning hard-on poking out of my Fruit-of-the-Looms. Once again, the
sight of panties mesmerizes me. A pair of leopard-skin panties lies at
my feet. They must have fallen off the showerhead into the tub. But I
don't remember seeing those last night. I vaguely remember that pair of
panties from years ago. They are especially tiny. I can't help myself
as I pick up the panties to examine them more closely. I start to whisk
them lightly over my body. My cock pops out of the confines of my
briefs, and I begin stimulating it against the slick wisp of material.
Just then the door opens. I use the leopard panties to cover up my
dick. My mother walks in.
Cheerfully she remarks, "Good morning sweet'ums. Sleep well?"
She quickly turns her back to me (thank god) and starts brushing her
teeth. She's talking away about what a great nights rest she got in her
luxurious bed, when I notice she's making eye-contact with me through
the mirror.
"Those always were your favorites," she nonchalantly comments. Then she
exits the bathroom--her words, echoing in my brain.
She caught me playing with her panties. Did she know what I was doing
with them? How could she not know? I have them wrapped around my dick.
This is going to be a long summer.
At breakfast, she compromises in terms of her attire. It isn't
diaphanous, but it is short. She's wearing a terry-cloth robe, that
barely covers her panties--and she's wearing the leopard-skin panties.
She must have gotten them from the bathroom after I got up.
"Mom, we really didn't get to finish our conversation last night."
"I put this robe on just for you. I hope it's not too revealing. Have
you seen more than you want to see?"
"No, but it's soooo short..."
"Oh, did you sneak a peek at my panties? Do you know which one's I'm
wearing? Tell me, what color are they? Tell mommy what color panties
she's wearing." She teases.
"Mom, I don't care which panties you're wearing...."
She interrupts, "You seemed to care about them this morning dear."
"MOMMY!" I yell, reacting to the shameful truth behind her remark.
"Don't take that tone with me Justin Sylvester Johnson. You are still a
teenager, and you know what happens to naughty, disrespectful teenagers
in this house," she admonishes.
I sulk away with my tail (or is it my cock) between my legs. Another
failed attempt at confronting her.
Life went on like this for about a week. She is a constant tease, and
when I try to talk seriously with her, she reduces me to a bad boy. I
am "sleeping" in the bathtub night after night. I've probably gotten
all of ten hours sleep in a week. I am delirious from lack of sleep.
On top of that, I haven't come the whole time. I am in a state of
constant arousal and frustration. I'm so worked up, I'm unconsciously
humping the kitchen counter. I'm chewing the pointy ends of my shirt
collar. My libido is leaking all over the apartment.
One night, just after I doze off, she barges into the bathroom. "Out
you go, mommy needs her privacy."
She takes me by the hand and leads me into her bedroom. She gives me a
light shove and sends me face down across her bed. I sink into the soft
bed. My flesh tingles against the silky pale pink satin sheets.
"I'll be back in two minutes. Don't you dare fall asleep in mommy's
bed, you naughty boy," She giggles.
"OOOhhh, can't fall asleep. Can't let her win," I think to myself.
But I'm so tired. I've hardly slept all week. Her bed feels so nice.
So soft compared to that cold, hard bathtub.
I hear her talking above the sound of her peeing. "I'd better not find
you asleep in mommy's comfy beddie-bye."
WHACK! I must have dozed off, but I am startled awake. SMACK! My
body jolts, but I hold my position. My position? I'm on my mother's
bed. She's spanking me! I'm a 19-year-old college student and my
mother is spanking my underpants-clad bottom. SPANK!
"Naughty, naughty boy. You fell asleep in mommy's bed. Wake up. Wakee-
wakee."
She gives a tug on the underside of my underpants and exposes most of my
right butt cheek. SLAP! SMACK! It's all too much--the exhaustion, the
embarrassment, the spanking. I'm reduced to a crying six year old.
She asks, "Where do you want to sleep?"
I reply, "In mommy's bed."
"Oh, so now you want to sleep in mommy's bed? It wasn't good enough for
the big college boy a week ago, but now you want to sleep in your
mommy's bed."
"Pleeeeze mommy, let me sleep in your bed. I'll be a good boy. I
promise." I can scarcely believe those words are came out of my lips.
But they do. Loud and clear, I am begging her like a little boy.
"Well I really shouldn't let you. Don't you think you're a little old
to be sleeping with your mommy?"
She twists the knife both ways. First she breaks me down to beg her to
sleep in her bed, and then she rubs it in that I'm grown-up and too old
to do so.
"I'll be good."
"Well, OK, but under one condition."
"What?"
"I don't want a dirty boy in my nice clean bed, so wash up and you can
sleep in my bed."
"But mommy, I'm so tired," I plead.
SMACK! I get a swat to my behind for an answer. I get up and march
myself back to the bathroom. She follows and turns on the water to fill
the tub. We wait silently as the tub slowly fills. I feel confused.
Is she going to stay and see me take my bath? I don't want her to see
me naked (or do I?).
The bath is full, so she turns off the water. She grabs me by the wrist
and pulls me over to the front of the bathtub. She teasingly grasps the
elastic at the leg openings of my briefs.
She baby talks to me, "Are you embawwassed to have mummy pull widdle
undies down?"
The combination of her baby talk and the feel of her finger gently
tugging and releasing the elastic of my underpants causes me to erect.
I know this is what she wants, just to shame me even more.
"Auuhhh, happy to see mommy? Now is Justie-Wustie going to act all shy
around mommy? Now that you're such a big boy, you don't want mommy to
see widdle pee-nee?"
The more she teases me the bigger it grows. My dick is straining
against the tight confines of my jockey shorts. She lets her fingers
travel around the inside of the leg holes of my underpants until they
rest against my butt cheeks. Then she pinches the elastic and pulls out
and up, exposing my bottom. She lets go and the elastic snaps against
my bottom. The sound echoes in the steam-filled bathroom.
My hard-on hurts it is so engorged. She is driving me crazy--playing
with my head the way she used to when I was living at home. I've worked
so hard with my psychologist to understand what use to go on. I thought
it was all in the past. How many times in therapy had I wondered: "How
could I let her embarrass me like that?" And now, here I am feeling
absolutely helpless--under her magic spell. I'll let her do anything to
me. I *want* her to do more. I am addicted to the teasing torture of
it all.
She firmly grabs the elastic at the waistband of my underpants.
"Tomorrow mommy is going to take you shopping for some pretty undies.
Would you like that, Justin? Hmmm ... do you want to go with mommy so
she can get you nice undies?"
As she describes our shopping trip, she ever so slowly lowers my
underpants inch by inch. She gets them down to where most of my bottom
is unveiled, but my hard-on hooks the front of the underpants, so it
remains covered. Suddenly she yanks my underpants back up and pushes me
into the tub.
My heart is racing from the sexual stimulation, and then I receive the
added shock of extremely hot water. I almost feel burned, but she sends
me a sharp look that tells me I better stay put. She then grabs me and
stands me up. She has a showerhead attached to a long, flexible hose.
She turns the water on so it is coming out of the showerhead attachment.
She takes hold of my now wet underpants, and pulls them away from my
bottom. Then she stuffs the hose in the back of my underpants. The
water is freezing cold. I look pleadingly at her, but she just smiles
back at me. Funny, she flashes the warmest smile that accompanies the
ice-cold water blasting against my bottom.
Her right hand is holding the nozzle close to my anus, as her left hand
lovingly caresses my thigh. She picks up the soap, gliding and swirling
the bar over my thighs, coming closer and closer to my cock, but never
touching it. Then she lathers up the sides and back of my briefs. She
gazes up into my eyes and stuffs the bar of soap into the front of my
briefs, so that it half sticks out and half presses against my rock hard
prick.
I'm close to coming. The intensity of the cold water hitting my butt
and the soap contacting my dick is too much. I gyrate my hips to hump
the bar of Ivory soap that's held firmly in place by the elastic of my
briefs. Her finger tips gentle brush against my undulating hips.
Suddenly, she drops the shower head, and walks out of the room.
"Finish up and then join mommy in bed. You have one minute."
One minute? How the hell can I "finish up" in one minute? I need to
feel release so badly. But I jump out of the bath. Wipe the towel
across my body once or twice. Grab a fresh pair of underwear... Wait a
minute. The only underwear in the bathroom is her panties. It's either
my wet, cold briefs or her scanty, feminine panties. I try not to think
about what a set-up this is, as I pull down my soaking briefs and snatch
the first pair of panties I can find. Oh, God ... they had to be the
leopard ones. The tiny, satiny, leopard-print panties. I can hear her
now....
I slip into the tight panties and rush into her bedroom. I hope I can
make a quick entrance and dive under the covers before she sees what I'm
wearing, but no such luck.
She's sitting in front of her vanity mirror adjusting her make-up.
"Oh, so glad you could join me. My my, look at you. Mister fancy-
panties. Those always were you favorites, weren't they dear? Or did
you have a pair of mommy's panties that you liked even more? Hmmmm?
And you look so cute in those jungle panties. Just like a sexy big cat
in search of game. Are you blushing? Is it embarrassing to be wearing
mommy's panties? Come on, model the pretty panties for me, just like
you used to. Turn around and show mommy how cute your buns look in the
leopard panties."
I do it. I model the panties for her. Just end this night. My head is
spinning, my cock is throbbing ... I feel so ashamed and so turned on.
We both get in bed. I try to get close to her, but notice I can't feel
her naked flesh I so long for. She has an extra sheet on the bed, so she
is separated from me by that sheet. I guess my fantasies of tangling
legs with her are postponed for another time.
Rowan
- 15.06.2020
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