Humiliated by Mommy part 3
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Humiliated By Mommy Part 10 free porn video
Humiliated by Mommy by Naughtieboys [email protected]
© Julian Smith and Em-bare-assed Press 1999-2001. Revised 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.
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Humiliated by Mommy by Naughtieboys
CHAPTER 10 I Got the Irresistible Blues
I played in mommy's panty draw when I was five years old, and then
stopped for years. It wasn't until I was eleven that my fascination with
panties returned. I remember the incident that hooked me for life. My
mother purchased some "irresistible panties" from Jordan Marsh. They
were blue jean panties--that Levi's blue color with red stitching that
gave them even more of a blue jean appearance. However, they were very
brief, ultra-soft, cotton panties.
My mother bought two pairs of blue jean panties, and gave one pair to
Debbie Stone (my mother's best friend's daughter, who was in my 6th grade
class) and mailed the other pair to Marcia (my cousin, who was a year
younger than me). Debbie was cute as a button, but on the chubby side.
I would see her at the swimming pool and I loved her full round buttocks
and perky breasts in her red bikini. In contrast, cousin Marcia was
tall, but extremely thin. Sexy in a different way.
The panties were only available in a girl's size small--and they were
quite petite. I didn't know any of this at this point in time (I wasn't
with my mother when she purchased them), but later my mother told me all
about it in teasing and tantalizing detail.
Weeks after she bought them, I was in the hallway passing her room, when
she stopped me.
My mother asks with an inquisitive grin, "Justin, look at these. Aren't
they just the cutest thing?"
She holds up a pair of the tiny blue jean panties. She then explains the
whole story, and adds that Marcia returned her panties because they were
too small for her, but Debbie kept hers.
Mother laughingly comments, "Now how can Debbie fit into panties that are
too small for Marcia?"
I'm already a nervous wreck. My mother flirtatiously holds up the
panties and teasingly stretches them back and forth between her fingers,
her long, hard, red fingernails seductively scratching the soft blue
cotton. I'm mesmerized by the panties. There's something so wrong about
a mother displaying girl's panties to her son. And, to add to my
torment, she is asking a question that conjures up images of my cousin
and classmate in these very same panties. Like a panty fashion show
staring Debbie and Marcia as scantily-clad undies models in my perverse
imagination.
"I dunno," I nonchalantly answer, trying to hide my attraction to the
"irresistible" panties.
"I'll just have to return Marcia's pair to Jordan's," she says.
Two more weeks pass and the panties remain on top of my mother's dresser.
They lie exhibited on top of the Jordan Marsh bag with the receipt poking
out. I know, because I visit them every time mommy leaves the house. I
go into her room and look at or touch them. I long for those scrumptious
panties. I try and leave them just as I found them. I'm afraid mommy
will notice if I disturb them. Those blue jean panties are so adorable.
I burn each red stitch into my brain. I can't believe how soft they are.
Every time I fondle them, I replay in my mind the story my mother told me
about them. It only adds to the panties allure and mystique. I imagine
Debbie squeezing into them. I feel like I'm there as Marcia
disappointingly folds the panties into a manila envelope and laments,
"What a shame these panties are too small, they're so innocent but sexy
and wicked."
Irresistible. That's how my mother described them. She couldn't resist
buying them. Two pairs. Irresistible. It is impossible to resist them.
I keep hearing my mother's voice ringing in my ears as I pick up the
panties. "Irresistible." "Blue jean panties." "Aren't they the
sweetest thing?" I hear my mother's voice as I gaze at the panties. Is
it mommy's voice or are the panties enticingly calling to me. I ache to
feel the panties caressing me. Their tender softness, their wicked
erotic energy, snuggly wrapped around my penis.
I wish my mother would just return them. They are tormenting me.
They're screaming at me when I'm at school. I obsessively daydream about
them when my mother's home, because then I can't hang out with them. I
dream about them at night. Those stupid panties have captured my soul
and won't give it back.
Why am I so obsessed with those blue jean panties? They're just a pair
of silly girly panties. Girly panties. Girls in panties. Girls teasing
me with their panties. Pan-tease.
Last night I dreamt I was wearing them and skipping around the house.
Mommy came home and saw me. I ran down the hall to change out of them.
She stormed into my room before I took them off. "Oh, my sweet sissy son
loves his blue jean panties? Hummm? Show mommy how adorable you look.
That's it, turn around. Aren't you the cutest little sissy? Wiggle your
hips for mommy. Show mommy you can be a girlie-boy. Good boy."
The next morning, after that dream, my will power melted. As I walk
past my mother's room, they magnetically suck me in. I can't resist them
any longer. I strip out of my pants and underpants and I step into those
panties. I work hard to tug them up my legs because they're so tight. I
squeeze my equipment into them. They are so soft as they hug my penis.
The panties conquer me, and I surrender to them. I'm not wearing the
panties, the blue jean panties are alive and I'm just an appendage to
them. They're wearing me.
They tickle and hug and caress me. I feel energy tingling through my
whole body. As my erection grows it sensuously glides over the delicate
fabric leaving me gasping for air.
Why did I resist so long? I've never felt so alive, so animated, so
turned on.
I can't help but look at myself in the long mirror that dominates my
mother's bedroom.
I imagine I'm Marcia examining the fit of the panties. Seeing how small
they are, but falling in love with them because they're so adorable. I
begin to wiggle my hips in front of the mirror, transfixed by the
reflection of the girl wearing the irresistible panties. I begin to run
my hands over my legs and up against the downy-softness of the cotton. I
see I'm stretching the panties out of shape, but I can't stop. I pull
them down in front, so I don't stain them, and shoot the most intense
ejaculation of my young life. My cum ejects out in forceful streams and
splatters the mirror. I have a mind-shattering orgasm. My body twitches
and even my toes are electrified by the thrilling sensations cursing
through my young body.
I hypnotically gaze at the cum slowly descending down the mirror. I see
my reflection through the jizz splattered mirror. The spell is broken
and I feel a rush of fear and shame. What a sissy I am. Why did I try
them on? I carefully take off the panties and run to get some tissues to
clean off mommy's mirror.
Mommy's mirror. The mirror she looks at when she's in panties. I feel
her disapprovingly staring at me from the mirror. Mommy seeing her
naughty, little boy in all his shame. Spent penis shrived in fear at her
disgust. Panties, and penis, and cum .. oh my.
I meticulously examine every inch of the panties. Thank god they didn't
get stained. I try and smooth them out, but they're stretched where a
girl would never stretch them. I can't think about it. I can't deal
with it. She shouldn't have left them out so long. Mommy teased me with
them. Dangling them under my nose while she wove magical stories of how
cute the blue jean panties are; conjuring up images of girls slipping
them on. Why didn't she return them, like she said she would? I can't
be held responsible--they are too irresistible. Stupid blue jean panties.
I hide out in my room and wait for my mother to get home. I try not to
think about her finding the out of shape panties, but I can think of
nothing else. I imagine mother inspecting the panties. I see her
expression as her eyes lock onto the protruding region. Did I leave an
impression of my penis and balls in the panties? I panic. I can't
remember how badly they were stretched. In my inner vision I see mommy
holding up the panties and looking at an exact indentation of my cock and
balls. Like my erect member and balls are still in the blue jean panties
and she now has them captured in the undies. She owns my cock and balls
now, not me.
She has all the power. She can tease me about it. She can get me to
agree to anything. She could tell Marcia or Debbie. She can force me to
wear them or she could take them away forever and I'll never see them
again. She can leave them on her dresser where they can torment me more
than they already have. My fate is entangled with the panties, and it's
all in her hands.
She doesn't say a word to me about the panties. The next day, the
panties are gone, but I know she didn't go into Boston, so I know she
didn't return them. She must have seen they were unreturnable because
they were so stretched out of shape. She must have thrown them out. She
must know it was me who tried them on.
The shame burns into my soul. Why couldn't I resist the irresistible
panties?
I feel so embarrassed knowing my mother knew that I had tried on those
tiny blue jean panties. I'm embarrassed, but it also fuels my sexual
fantasies for years. Those panties. My mother seeing they were
stretched and putting together that her son must have snuck into her room
and snuggled into the irresistible panties.
She must of thought: My son likes to wear panties. He snuck into mommy's
room naked and put on girly panties. My sissy son got so excited from
the soft panties; he got a raging hardon that molded his image into the
panties. What a little sissy my son is. I knew he wasn't much of a man,
but I never thought he was a sissy wearing pantyboy. My son the
pantyboy.
I imagine her holding up the panties, staring directly at the mold of my
prick and balls in the panties. Maybe she tried to smooth out the
wrinkles. Pressed her hand over the bulge in the panties. Giggled as
she thought about my penis permanently trapped in the panties, and now in
her hands. She might have tickled the panties with her long fingernail.
Tickled the impression of my erect dick. Toyed with her new toy, her
son's imprisoned hardon.
She doesn't say anything, but soon after that things change around the
house. Up until that time, she had not yet become the seductive,
teasing, shaming, bitchy mother. I think she gets off on the control she
suddenly realized she had over me. She begins wearing less and less
around the house, as she observes the erotic spell lingerie holds over my
young psyche. She possesses the secret of the blue jean panties that she
holds over my head. She exploits my silky fetish-- leaving her panties
and stockings draped from the towel rack of the bathroom - my bathroom.
The bathroom that I use, not her private bathroom off her bedroom. She
refers to the bathrooms by their color. Hers is the "the pink bathroom."
(As in: "Justin, can you get mommy's stockings out of the pink bathroom
and bring them to me?") The other bathroom, that I use, is "the lavender
bathroom."
It is a few weeks later that she sets a trap for me. She is off work, so
she is home all the time. Whenever I start to jerk off, she knocks on my
door or calls out for me. At the same time, it is one of those Bostonian
heat waves, and mom is trying to stay cool by wearing next to nothing.
From the minute she greets me in the morning till the time she tucks me
good-night, it is like a Victoria's Secret fashion show of bra and
panties, nighties, bikinis, and diaphanous cover-ups (which don't cover-
up a damn thing).
I am a walking jangle of nerves, wound way too tight. I need to get some
relief. I constantly have a hard-on, and no privacy to relieve the
tension.
"Justin," my mother calls for me, just as I enter the bathroom to jack-
off.
"What is it mom?" I try to put her off.
"I have something important to talk to you about. Put down what you're
doing and get over here," she yells.
I once again am thwarted in my attempt for release. I join her in the
kitchen, where she is "dressed" in a pink bra and red and white candy-
cane striped panties (they look naughty because they look so little
girlish).
"Justin, it's been so hot recently. You may not have noticed, but
mommy's been wearing just her bra and panties to stay cool."
Yeah, like I didn't notice.
"Anyway," Felicia continues, "you're getting to be that age... What mommy's
trying to say is... well, I don't want to run around the house in my
skimpies if it is making you uncomfortable."
I feel torn. I enjoy seeing my mother's long legs and cleavage, yet
without being able to masturbate, it is making me loony.
"It's OK, mom." I mumble.
"You don't mind seeing mommy in these?" she asks, waving her hand at the
bra and panties outfit, the way Carol Merill brings attention to door
number three on Let's Make a Deal.
"Ummm, no." I say.
"Well, mommy doesn't want to feel self-conscious ... and if you're *really*
not bothered ... why don't you strip down to your undies as well, that way
mommy won't feel like she's putting on a naughty display. ... It'll be
the most natural thing in the world for a mother and son to stay cool
during the summer."
"I don't know mom." I try and worm out of it. I'm already body-shy and I
know how excited I've been these last couple of weeks, I really don't
want my mother seeing my boner poking against my underpants.
"Come on," she chides. "Don't leave your mom feeling have half-naked.
Get into the spirit of things."
And with that pep talk, she drops to her knees and starts unzipping my
pants. I am so startled, that before I can react, I am lifting my legs
up one at a time, while she removes my pants. Next she takes off my
shirt, and I am left there in my white briefs. I hurry off to my room,
and stay there the rest of the day.
That night, my mother comes into my room to tuck me in and say good-
night. She's wearing a long red robe that is made of a fishnet-like
material. The bedroom light is off, so I can't make out if she has
anything else underneath. If she does it must be lightweight and tiny.
She notices I have my pajamas on.
"You know the new rules ... off we go."
She unbuttons my pajama top and strips it off. Then she reaches under
the blankets and unsnaps my pajama bottoms. I am once again, paralyzed
by the unexpected and outrageousness of her actions. As she reaches
under the covers to skim my PJ bottoms off me, she leans right over me.
Her breast, which is nude under the see-through robe, is poking against
the fabric and is inches from my lips. She makes three sudden jerks to
work the pants down and off my legs, and as she does her nipple brushes
my lips.
She triumphantly pulls the pajama bottoms out from under the blankets,
and victoriously waves them above her head, as she exits my bedroom,
leaving me without a stitch under the covers.
"Nightie Night," she sings out.
Naturally, after such a thrilling experience, I reach my hands under the
covers and fist my enraged prick. No sooner do I make contact, than my
mother reenters and announces, "You know Justin, it's not healthy to
sleep under those blankets in this scorching heat. Do you want mommy, to
pull down your covers?"
"No, that's OK mom, I'm fine," I frantically fend her off.
"Well then, not another peep out of you," she scolds.
That was warning enough for me to keep my hands to myself the rest of the
night. Again, I am worked into a frenzy with no relief in sight.
The next morning, I resign to my fate and head out to the kitchen in my
Fruit of the Looms. I am surprised to find my mother dressed in blue
jeans. I am even more shocked to see our neighbor, Mrs. Stone sitting at
the kitchen table, sipping tea with my mother. I start to head back to
my room, embarrassed to be seen in my underpants by Mrs. Stone.
"Justin," my mother calls out. "Come back here this instant and say hello
to Mrs. Stone."
I sheepishly reappear, greet Mrs. Stone, and once again try to make a
hasty retreat.
"I was just telling Mrs. Stone about the yummy pie you baked last night,
and she wondered how you made it."
I reluctantly come out of the shadows and quickly tell Mrs. Stone the
recipe. I am somewhat embarrassed that my mother made a point of
mentioning to guests what I cook. My mother isn't skilled as a
housekeeper, cook, or mother. She's a model, and doesn't like doing
'those domestic chores' as she calls them. I taught myself to cook, but
I feel like it is too feminine an activity for a boy, so I try and keep
it a secret.
Felicia asks Mrs. Stone, "How did Deb like the panties I got her?"
Mrs. Stone replies, "They are so adorable. She loves them."
My mother winks at me as she asks, "Not too small I hope?"
"She seems happy with them." This time it is Mrs. Stone who winks at me
as she says, "Of course, she doesn't run around the house in her undies,
so I couldn't swear to their fit."
"I wished they had a pair in my size, I just adore that blue jean design.
Those are the kind of panties I could get addicted to." My mother smiles
directly at me as she says 'addicted'.
Mrs. Stone turns to me and says, "Justin must be bored to tears with all
this girl talk about panties and such. Aren't you?"
"Oh no," I say trying to be polite, but then I realize I sounded like a
sissy.
"Justin is interested in fashion as well as cooking," Felicia proudly
announces.
"It is so refreshing that a boy can take in an interest in clothes. You
know Debbie could use some fashion advice, maybe you can have a talk with
her sometime."
"Talk about what?" Debbie asks, as she wonders into our house. Debbie
then catches an eyeful of me in my underpants. She tries not to act too
obvious but she's enjoying seeing a boy her age in his underpants.
Mrs. Stone replies, "Talk to you about the way you dress, young lady.
Mrs. Johnson was just telling me that Justin is up on the latest
fashions."
"Oh really?" Debbie is amused. "And what fashion statement are you
making right now?"
"Deborah," her mother scolds, "that is quite enough. ... Oh, by the way,
Mrs. Johnson was just inquiring if you like the panties she gave you?"
Debbie takes this as an opportunity to tease me some more, "Oh, yes,
thank you Mrs. Johnson. I love them. I'm wearing them right now. But,
I'd rather not show you, I'm a bit too modest to run around in front of
the neighbors in my undies."
After delivering that line Debbie turns and stares at my waist area and
grins, then starts uncontrollably giggling.
Felicia responds, "I'm just pleased you are enjoying them, Deb."
"Well, we better get going," Mrs. Stone announces.
I'm relieved that Mrs. Stone and her laughing daughter finally leave.
Felicia asks, "How did you feel being in just your little undies in front
of three fully clothed women?"
"It felt kind of funny," I admit.
"You see," my mother excitingly makes her point. "That's how mommy feels
when I'm in my undies and you have all your clothes on. That's why we
have the new rule. From now on, we live in an all undies household."
And with that proclamation, she unfastens her blue jeans and peels them
down and off.
That night, I don't bother to put my PJs on. I just sleep in my
underpants. When my mother comes to tuck me in, she insists on pulling
back all the blankets. I am glad I have underpants on. She warns me
again, not a peep out of me. I spend another restless horny night.
That day, I lose a tooth, and even though I am too old for the tooth
fairy, I still cash in by putting it under my pillow and collecting a
quarter. I let my mother know, and the next morning I get the shock of
my life when I stick my hand under my pillow. Expecting to feel the
cold, hard coin, I instead feel a super-soft fabric under my pillow. I
fully explore the contours of the article of clothing before excitedly
pulling it out and gazing upon the blue jean panties.
My heart starts pounding. I'm so thrilled to have in my possession those
irresistible panties that I feared were gone forever. But it dawns on me
that my mother left them for me as a present, which sends a wave of shame
over me. I strip off my boys' underpants, and wriggle my hips into the
tight blue jean panties. As I'm relishing in their soft caress, my
mother walks into my room with a broad grin on her face.
"You know what I told you about sleeping with those blankets on," she
scolds me.
My fingers grip for dear life onto the edge of the blankets, as my mother
takes hold of them. She simply pulls the side of the blankets out from
where they are tucked under the mattress and holds them aloft. She peeks
at my exposed body in the panties.
"Oh look what the tooth-fairy has brought mommy's little fairy!" she
teases. "Now get up this instant lazy bones and fix mommy some tea and
toast."
I scramble out of bed, and try to fetch my pajama bottoms, but my mother
sternly reminds me, "You know the rules--all undies, all the time." She
lunges to swat my behind as I make a mad dash for the kitchen.
My mother saunters into the kitchen and is having the time of her life
watching me buzz around the kitchen in my blue jean panties, while I
prepare and served her tea and toast. I tell her I don't want any, to
which she responds, "Good, you can start in on your other domestic
duties. The kitchen floor needs scrubbing. Get to work."
As my mother sips away at her tea, she intently watches me on hands and
knees as I clean the linoleum floor. I am so ashamed. As I make my way
over to where she is sitting, I crawl under the kitchen table and scrub
around her feet. She pokes my ribs with her toes as I frantically wash
around her.
"Those really are the sweetest little panties I've ever come across, and
you look so adorable in them. Do you like them, hun? Oh, what am I
saying? Of course you do. Aren't you the lucky boy that Marcia sent
them back, because they were too small for her?" my mother teases.
This is all too much for me and I break down crying. My mother takes
pity on me and pulls me up on her lap. She is wearing a long black dress
that feels incredibly sensuous as my near nude body sits upon it.
"Oh, Justie," Felicia says, "you can't help being a panty boy, can you?
You're just an oversensitive sissy." She bounces me on her knee as she
sings a nursery rhyme:
Mummy's boy, mummy's boy,
what is your favorite toy?
Dainty scanties, sweet underpanties.
Mummy's boy, mummy's boy,
what will you grow up to be?
Prissy sissy, cute little missy.
As she sings that horrible ditty and bounces me on her knee, my face
flushes with shame and my dick engorges with blood.
This is the start of my mother tormenting me. From that day on, she
begins buying me little gifts--panties, stockings, miniskirts, nighties,
bras, and sissy boy outfits.
Even though it is the beginning of my sissy life, thank god she didn't
throw out the irresistible panties.
Miracle
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