Humiliated by Mommy part 3
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Humiliated By Mommy Part 5 free porn video
Humiliated by Mommy by Naughtieboys [email protected]
© Julian Smith and Em-bare-assed Press 2014.
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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Humiliated by Mommy by Naughtieboys
CHAPTER 5
I am at a hotel near LAX. Mommy is packing her things for tomorrow's
flight back to Boston.
Mommy won. She always wins.
"Justin," she sugarly asks, "Do you want to fly back as a girl or a
sissy?"
"Can't I just be a boy on the plane?" I whine.
"Are we going to have to go over this again? ... I seem to remember
something a certain little boy was saying just a few hours ago in Dr.
Masterson's office. ... As I recall it was something about: I'm sorry for
blaming mommy for my perversions. I love panties. Does that sound
familiar, Justie? I get so turned on by the feel of silky panties that I
can barely stand it. I crave being humiliated by women. Hmmmm? Some of
this ringing a bell sweetie?"
I hate it when she spits my own words back at me.
Mommy doesn't let up. "Well, I'm going to be a good mommy. The very
best mommy I can be for my little boy. So which is it? What will fill
that craving for humiliation? Huh? A pink girlie-girl outfit? Mini-
skirt? Make up? I don't know if that will be humiliating enough for you
because everyone will just think pretty mommy has a cute daughter with
her. What's so humiliating about that?"
"I know. Tight, little Daisy Dukes. Those will show off your shaven
legs. I hope you've soaked up some of those LA rays and your legs have a
sexy tan. The shorts will have little holes in them so peeks of pink
panties show through. Some pink sneakers. A cute top. Adorable.
They'll overlook your flat chest. They'll presume you're a late bloomer.
Everyone would think you're a tarty, little girl, except for one thing."
"W-w--what?" I reluctantly stutter.
"You didn't shave this morning, did you Justie?"
"No, I was running late, I didn't even have time to ..." I stop in mid-
sentence.
"To change out of your velvety panties? Well, you were in a hurry,
weren't you? I don't mean to change out of the velvet panties; I bet you
were glad to keep those on. I mean you were in such a rush to your
appointment, you left that horrid man stubble on your face."
Mom continues on, "By the time we board the plane, you'll be past 5
o'clock shadow. You'll have man fuzz all over your chin. Will that be
humiliating enough for you, hon? Everyone will know you're a sissy. A
sissy holding mommy's hand all the way down the aisle of the plane."
I reached my breaking point hours ago. I'm way past that. I start to
hysterically sob. I'm uncontrollably crying, alternating with
hyperventilating trying to catch my breath.
Mommy turn around and bends over, giving me a peek at her black
diaphanous panties, as she reaches into the hotel mini-fridge. She takes
out a miniature Absolute Vodka and pours half of it into a glass. Then
she goes into the bathroom and comes back with a pill.
"Open wide for mommy," she instructs.
I open my mouth to ask what it is, but as I start to form the first word,
she pops it into my mouth. Then puts the glass to my lips and tilts it
backwards.
I'm not much of a drinker, so I start coughing as mommy empties the glass
into my mouth. I feel the liquid warming me as it descends from my
throat down into my chest, and then the fiery sensation reaches my belly.
"There's a good boy. Justie's had such a wuff day. Haven't you sweet
'ums? Mommy's going to go out shopping and pick up a few things for the
trip. If you're a good boy ... mommy's special boy, then I'll let you
shave. OK, honey? Mommy isn't heartless. Mommy's just giving you what
you need. A little embawassment that makes you all tingly." As she says
tingly, she tweaks my nose.
The rush of alcohol to my head is accompanied by a rush of blood to my
groin. Mommy smiles at me like she sees right through me, and knows I'm
stiff as a board.
"You'll be a good boy while mommy's gone?" She waits for my reply. She
repeats it in a much stricter tone, "I asked you if you promise to be
mommy's good little boy while I'm out."
There's no ignoring mother when she uses that tone. "Yes mommy," I
unconvincingly reply.
She must have picked up on my lack of genuine resolve (we both knew what
she was referring to).
"Well, I don't believe you. Come here."
I reluctantly zombie-walk towards her. She gets out her designer handbag
and rummages around in it as I approach, until I'm within arm's reach.
Mom pulls out her hot pink lipstick and sexily twists it. My eyes are
glued to the phallic pick protrusion as it slowly, sensually grows out of
the gold metallic container. Mommy vigorously grabs my wrist and yanks
me right up to her legs. I am still feeling the lightheadedness from the
alcohol, which combined with her authoritarian aggression, excites me. I
feel flush with shame. I presume she is going to put lipstick on me,
although I can't fathom how that will keep me a good boy while she's out
and I 'm left alone to my own devices.
The thought of being left alone excites me. I've been under supervision
all day and I'm so horny.
Mommy puts down the lipstick and roughly unbuckles my belt. Then she
yanks my pants half-way down my legs. Before I can figure out what's
going on, she daintily picks up the lipstick and starts writing across my
purple velvet panties and stomach.
I'm in such shock it takes me a few moments to look down at what she had
written. The writing was in an elegant script. (Especially considering
how difficult it must have been to write with lipstick over the bumpy
surface of the bulging panties and my stomach.
She wrote: momma's boy
This didn't bode well for my outfit on the plane or for my getting any
relief after mommy left. She marked me. Talk about a creative chastity
device, effective with no need of lock and key. Physical restraints like
that were too vulgar for mommy. No, she found a way to make sure I
wasn't going to jerk off. And, if I did, she'd know. She'd know if I
took down my panties, and she'd know if I came in them. She also didn't
even have to threaten me what would happen if I was a naughty boy.
The "kindness" of a chastity belt is it takes away the choice. It's
physically impossible to do anything. It restricts the act and prevents
an erection. The deviousness of mommy's method was I had to control
myself. I was painfully throbbing, but I had to control myself.
"See hon," she sweet-talked. "Isn't that so much better now? Now mommy
can go shopping and mommy can trust you to be a good little soldier."
The more she talked like that, the harder I got. I wanted to hump her
leg, hump the couch, hump the rug. Anything. Oh, god."
Mother gathered her things and left me with my pants at half-mast while
stretching the velvet, plum panties.
I tried to get my mind off the electric fire in my snug, soft panties. I
turned on the TV, only to see some Gilligan Island rerun. MaryAnn in
those cutoff shorts. I was always more into MaryAnn than Ginger. It
should be a part of every psychological test for men - MaryAnn or Ginger.
MaryAnn's tan legs in those pre-Daisy Duke short-shorts drove me wild
with lust.
I can't watch this. She's making me crazy. Teasing, Exposing herself.
Running around all innocent, but sexy flirty teasing. I imagine my face
against those legs. Running the cheek of my face over her thighs.
Stop it! Stop it! I'm going off the deep end. I can feel my cock
twitching against the velvety smooth panties.
How long as she been gone? Time is so slow.
I try to sleep. No luck. I eat some of the gross snacks in the hotel
refrigerator. That didn't kill much time. I pace incessantly
An hour or two later I hear the door unlocking. Finally, she's back. I
feel so angry at her like I could strangle her, and yet I'm so grateful
she's back, I want to run and greet her like a loyal puppy dog.
She doesn't check my panties. She knows I wouldn't dare be disobedient.
She pulls a razor out of her shopping bag. She's going to let me shave!
I don't have to expose myself as a momma's sissy boy on the plane.
"Be an angel and shave your legs," mommy says in that saccharine tone.
With my hand shaking I take the pink razor, but my legs are frozen. I
look pleadingly and fearly into mommy's eyes.
Strictly she orders, "March young lady."
As if powered by the authority of her voice, I robotically make my way to
the hotel bathroom. After three quarters of an hour of soaking and
shaving my legs, I emerge to find my mother gleefully smiling at her
victim and her victory.
She's packed, and laid out on the bed my outfit for the plane ride.
Thankfully there is a long trench coat to cover myself from the skimpy
outfit. Just as she had promised: cut-offs with holes in them, pink
panties, pink socks and sneakers, and a tight T-shirt.
I get dressed and clutch the trench coat around me, terrified of exposing
the sissy concealed underneath. We catch a cab to LAX. Mommy tells me
it's going to be just like old times. She sold the high rise condo and
moved back into the suburban house I grew up in.
I am a nervous wreck at the airport. I was afraid mommy will make me
take the trench coat off, but she is silent.
We line up to board and uneventfully walk onto the plane. The stewardess
that greets us is beautiful, and smiles at me. "Can I take your coat,
sir?" That is the last thing I want to hear. No, actually mother's
reply is the last thing I want to hear.
"Oh, how sweet of our stewardess. Hand her your coat, honey."
Mother knows how fear immobilizes me in these situations, and with a line
of impatient travelers behind us, she peels off my protective covering.
I am in shock as I reveal to the stewardess' eyes my sissy clothes.
The stewardess' face displays a rapidly changing kaleidoscope of
reactions-surprised, disbelief, nervous, and finally settles into a
smirk.
"What an adorable outfit," she exclaims.
Mommy gently shoves me down the aisle. My eyes alternate from side to
side as my exposed sissy-self is seen in all its shameful glory to row
after row of shocked first class passengers. As we enter the coach
section, I see a large number of teenage girls. By their T-shirts, I
surmise they attended a Southern California volleyball tournament. They
wore luminous orange gym shorts. Their impossibly long, athletic legs
made me start to stir down below.
Mommy had to push me to get me going again as I make my way past the sexy
girls. One has her back to me as she is stretching on tippy toes to put
her belongings in the overhead bin. I try to squeeze past, but my
smooth, bare legs slide across the back of her muscled, yet feminine
thighs. She stops and turns, her gaze making its way from my whiskered
face, darting down to my pink sneakers, then slowly up my clean-shaven
legs to my shorty-short jeans. Her penetrating vision locks onto the
pink panties that are naughtily displaying themselves through the holes
mommy had strategically cut in the denim.
In a reverse kundalini, the energy of the humiliation electrically rushes
down my spine into my cock. We both watch in wonderment as the front of
my shorts protrudes out and pokes her sun kissed tan thigh.
Not missing a beat, the tall teen asks, "Would you be a dear and help me
with my luggage."
I grab hold of the suitcase, both my arms high above my head. I could
feel the warmth of her leg pressing against my own flesh. My boner jabs
at her luscious skin.
Out of nowhere, she lets out an ear-piercing shriek, slaps my face, and
calls me a perve. A stewardess makes her way past the line of stalled
passengers to see what all the commotion is about. My hardon fearfully
wilts. My mother seems to be enjoying all this.
"What seems to be the problem?" the airline hostess inquires in a tone of
voice that could only come out of a corporate training program for crisis
situations.
The volleyball competitor disgustedly says, "This pervert was humping my
leg with his little thingy."
My mother, now registering that this situation has devolved from a game
to mortify me into a potentially disastrous crime that could
inconvenience her, masterfully takes charge.
"I saw the whole thing and my son was just trying to help this girl. I
sure if anything happened it was just an accident and I'll make sure
nothing else happens."
And with that, mother takes me by the hand and escorts me to the back of
the plane, where we take our seats. Prior to landing, mother has the
flight attendant retrieve my coat.
The only tense moment occurred when my accuser was in line for the
restroom and spotted me. "Cute pink panties" she hissed at me. I
pretended I was asleep.
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