Autism Blues

She decided to make the effort for Trevor Slogan's visit. She showered and covered herself in sweet-smelling body lotion and her best perfume. Applied her make-up carefully and put on a yellow summer dress, the hem of which sat halfway up her thigh, baring her long, slender legs. The dress was low-cut and showed off a tantalising amount of ample cleavage. She tied her long blonde hair back in a tight ponytail and decided to leave her feet bare, but not before painting the toenails a deep-shade of red, fingernails to match.

Angie nearly jumped out of her skin when the doorbell rang a short while later, indicating Trevor Slogan's arrival.

Opening the door, she was greeted by a rotund man in his mid-forties. He wore a grey suit and a striped tie. He looked flustered, his chubby cheeks tinged red and moist with sweat. He had stubble and a thinning hairline that he tried to cover with a combover that didn't quite work.

"Ah, Ms Lockwood, I presume," he beamed, holding out his hand.

Angie shook the proffered hand. "Please, call me Angie. You must be Trevor."

"That I am," he said as Angie waved him into the house.

He eyed her carefully as he walked through the doorway. She was stunning, drop-dead gorgeous. His eyes moved like melting wax from her cute feet, to her legs, to her bosom, then settling at her face. He couldn't help noticing how she had made the effort to dress nice to play the host, and how she had carefully applied her make up. Her scent was heady, mind blowing. He wondered if it was all for his benefit and felt his cock twitch to life at the prospect of seducing her.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No thank you. I shan't take up much of your time. Places to be. People to see," he smiled. Clipboard in hand, Slogan waddled over to the couch in the living room and sat down with a sly grin on his face and said, "Now, Connor Lockwood – your son. May I just say, what a smashing lad you have there."

Angie smiled demurely.

Slogan continued, "You know, when I first met Connor, I was almost certain he would be a repeat offender. I almost wrote him off as a lost cause. But, I'm please to say, he has exceeded my expectations."

Angie interjected, "I must admit, it has been quite a pleasant surprise for me also."

"Yes, it must have taken something quite special, something out the ordinary, to make the lad clean up his act, keep his hands to himself. What do you think, Angela?"

Her mouth opened in surprise. Oh God, had he found out about her secret, about her illicit frocking with her son?

"I remember saying to young Connor during our last meeting that what he really needed was an outlet, someone or something to take out his frustration, a means of gratification. I was wondering, Angela, has something of that nature been arranged for Connor?"

Angie's heart began to race. "I...err...no. Not as far as I know." She giggled nervously then coughed to clear her throat.

"That's strange," he said, a smug grin playing over his lips. "That's not what Connor told me."

Angie's heart dropped to her stomach. Her worst fear was about to be confirmed. "No, I'm afraid whatever my son has told you is complete fabrication. Connor has always had a penchant for telling tales. If there is anything of the sort going on, then I am completely unaware of it. I can assure you of that. He's an eighteen year-old lad. He does as he pleases and rarely tells me about half the things he gets up to."

Slogan feigned a confused look, scratched his stubbly chin, and then pulled his phone from his pocket. "I must tell you, Angie, your son never gave this up easy. It took quite some persuading before he transferred this to me." He opened an mp4 file on his phone and handed to Angie.

It was a video of her and Connor on the living room couch. It was being filmed from Connor's laptop webcam, set up on the dining room table, with Angie unaware of its presence. She was cradling her son like a baby, his head resting in the crook of her arm. The shoulder straps from her bra and tank top were dangling at her elbow, the top pulled down at the front, baring a firm breast. She was holding the exposed tit, dangling it above Connor's face, caressing his lips with the nub of her nipple. Looking down at her son, cooing, she coaxed the nipple into his mouth. He latched onto it, sucking hungrily. She watched herself on the screen smoothing a hand down her son's naked chest, past his navel, before sliding down into his underpants.

It was then that Angie dropped the phone to the floor then swooned and felt the world tilt sideways before dropping to her knees on the floor. Her mind swirled with a sense of dread. How could Connor have been so stupid? She should have known her son would do this. He could never quite grasp the fact that his actions carried consequences, never able to tell the difference between right and wrong. To him, the illicit things he and his mother did together were perfectly normal, something everybody did, like cuddling or wrestling on the couch. It was all just the same, as far as he could tell, a harmless bit of fun.

Slogan spoke, his voice soft and solemn, "I'd say that was quite unethical, Angie. And illegal. Can you imagine the consequences of this falling into the hands of the authorities?"

Still down on her knees, Angie began to cry, saying, "Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!" over and over again.

"Please, Angela, relax. I won't tell anybody. This is our secret. You have to trust me." Slogan jumped from his chair and stood over Angie, his portly figure hovering over her, blocking out the light from the window.

She wiped her eyes and gazed up at him. "Really?" she sniffed.

"Yes, really," he laughed. "All I want is some of what Connor's getting. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. Or, to put it bluntly, you suck my cock and I'll keep my mouth shut." He unfastened his trousers and tugged them down to his knees, underpants and all, revealing a fat cock already erect. It was very hairy and moist. Its head, bright red and angry looking, was fully exposed, the foreskin snagged behind the glans. A fishy aroma emanating from his bellend wafted up Angie's nose as he waggled it in front of her mouth.

"Come on, be a good girl," he growled. "Give it a nice hard suck."

The sudden sight of his rampant member had a profound effect on Angie's emotions. Her doubts and fears were dispersed and transformed into excitement. It had been several years since she had seen a real man's cock, a fully-grown specimen. She suddenly realised how much she had missed it, yearned for it. Her arousal was stirred by its masculinity, its powerful aura of male sexuality. Every inch of her body was alive with exotic sensations and throbbing with desire.

Eagerly, Angie leaned forward and sucked the head of his cock with her mouth. It tasted fishy and piss-tinged, but she didn't care. Ravenous with lust, lost in the moment, she gorged herself on the masculine meat. She had missed this desperately over the years, a man dominating her, coercing her into sex in exchange for mercy, holding power over her. She was in her element once more.

Feeling Angie work her tongue in a swirl and lave under the mushroom head, Slogan grunted his delight. His eyes rolled in their sockets and his tongue lolled from his mouth. It was surreal. He was in heaven. He couldn't quite believe this was happening. This beautiful creature was on her knees taking him in her mouth, sucking him with genuine fervour, seemingly enjoying every inch of him. His orgasm bubbled dangerously close to the surface, but he wanted to prolong the moment.

Pulling his cock from her suckling mouth, he demanded, "Lay down on the floor, sweetheart."

Angie did as she was instructed and lay down on the floor, on her back, with her head perched up resting on a cushion. Slogan knelt beside her face and pushed his cock back into the warmth of her mouth, sliding along her tongue and sinking deep into her throat. Angie gagged and breathed through her nose as he started working it gently back and forth.

His hands were frantic, groping her, tugging down the front of her dress and exposing her firm tits. Cupping both her bare breasts with his clammy hands, he squeezed hard and hefted them, sinking his fingers deep into the springy flesh. Feverish hands mauled her tits. Twiddling the nipples, pinching, rolling, the frenzied fingers left her delicate skin streaked with angry red marks.

"I'm going to fuck you in a minute, Angie. How does that sound?" His voice was laden with excitement, his breathing heavy and laboured.

Angie panicked, realising she was not taking birth control. She wanted to protest, but the fat cock filling every inch of her mouth and throat was preventing her from speaking.

Trevor had just forced a hand up Angie's dress, slipped a fat finger inside her panties and inserted it into her wet slit, when a loud banging on the front door interrupted the moment.

"Slogan!" boomed a voice from behind the door, interspersed with the banging. "Open this door! Immediately!"

Trevor Slogan slipped his cock from Angie's mouth, pulled up his pants and frantically fastened his trousers back up, a look of panic in his eyes.

Angie got to her feet, smoothed her dress back down and wiped saliva from her mouth with the back of her hand. "Who's that?" she whispered, fear stealing the vibrancy from her voice.

Trevor gulped nervously. "It's Chilvers. You had best answer it."

Angie opened the door. The man standing there was slim, short dark hair, sharp dark suit. He had an air of authority and was strikingly handsome. Angie felt her heart flutter.

"Ah, it's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Lockwood. My name's Chilvers," he said, in a posh English accent, shaking her gently by the hand. Then, looking past Angie, he glared at Trevor. "Ah, Mr Slogan. I see you're already well acquainted with Ms Lockwood."

Chilvers turned his attention back to Angie. Her eyes followed his gaze, trailing down to her chest. She realised he was looking at her exposed tits hanging over the top of her summer dress. "Oh, my God! I do apologise," she gasped, tucking herself back into her dress and blushing bright red.

He turned his attention back to Slogan. "This is not what you were instructed to do, is it, Trevor?"

Trevor Slogan looked down at the floor, an expression of guilt on his face.

He spoke to Angie in a friendly tone. "I must apologise for Mr Slogan's impertinence. I'll see to it that you are well compensated for the inconvenience he has caused you."

Mr Slogan's cock was straining the front of his trousers, begging to be finished off. "We were actually quite enjoying it until..."

"Go away, Trevor," snapped Chilvers, cutting Trevor off short. "You will be dealt with later."

Trevor Slogan stomped sulkily up the garden path and disappeared up the street and out of Angie's view. There was an awkward silence as Chilvers took a chequebook from his inside pocket, held it against the doorframe and wrote it out. He tore it along the perforated line and handed it to Angie. She held it in her hand, gazed down at it. The amount was for ten thousand pound, more money than she would earn in an entire year working at the local supermarket.

"Good heavens. I can't take this," gasped Angie.

"I insist," smiled Chilvers.

She studied the cheque carefully and noticed it was made out from Delaney Enterprises. "Delaney Enterprises? Is that your company?" she wanted to know.

"No, Mr Delaney is my boss. Though I am his personal adjutant, and am authorized to write cheques on his behalf."

"Ten thousand pounds," she muttered to herself, still gazing at the cheque.

Chilvers said, "Look, Ms Lockwood, I'll be honest with you. Slogan was sent here today to ask you to accompany him back to Mr Delaney's mansion. My boss has taken an interest in you and your son and would like to meet you."

"So Slogan works for your boss?"

"In a way, yes. My boss has certain people on his books – social workers, psychiatrists, probation officers – who are employed to alert him to any people who might be of interest to him; people that may need his help. Mr Slogan alerted my boss to your son shortly after he was assigned to counsel him. You see, Mr Delaney also has an autistic son, so your plight is one close to his heart. He would very much like to help you."

Angie was taken aback, confused. "So why did slogan blackmail..." She stopped herself before she said too much.

"Slogan is a rotten egg, Ms Lockwood. Let's just say he's been abusing his position of power for some time, and his comeuppance is overdue. So he blackmailed you? Was it a picture? A video perhaps?"

"Yes," she stuttered, blushing bright red. "It was...erm...a video. Of me...in a compromising position."

"So Slogan has you over a barrel, so to speak?"

"I guess so."

"Well, let me tell you, I've been investigating Slogan's conduct over the past few weeks, and, I can assure you, he is a nasty piece of work. He will use that material to blackmail you, use you, abuse you, and when he's bored with you, he will make that video public. Probably plaster it all over the internet. Just for kicks."

Angie's bottom lip began to quiver. "What shall I do?"

"My boss, Mr Delaney, is a very rich and powerful man. Come with me and ask for his help. He already has a soft spot for you and your son, so I'm sure he'll be happy to help. He has the clout to crush Slogan like the rat that he is and make sure that footage never sees the light of day. Join me, Ms Lockwood. Come." Chilvers ambled up the garden path.

Angie was barefoot, so she slipped on her flip-flops and grabbed her handbag, closed the front door and followed Chilvers up the garden path, her thoughts racing at a million miles per hour.

Part 2

The musky flavour of Slogan's sweaty cock lingered on Angie's taste buds. "Do you have any chewing gum?" she asked.

Chilvers, sitting in the driver's seat navigating the most luxurious car Angie had ever been in, reached into his inside pocket and handed her some chewing gum.

She took the gum and stuffed it into her mouth, grateful for the minty taste as it replaced the musky tinge on her tongue. Lost in thought, she chewed the gum in nervous anticipation of her meeting with Mr Delaney. She was ever so anxious at the prospect of meeting him. He was obviously an important and powerful man.

"Tell me about your boss – Mr Delaney."

Chilvers shrugged. "He's a self-made multi-millionaire. He's in his mid-forties now, but he made his first million at age twenty-five."

Angie gasped, her heart fluttering in her chest. "Good heavens! How did he become so rich at such a young age?"

"Spot trading on the exchange market," said Chilvers, negotiating another harsh bend in the road. "Mr Delaney's an institutional trader. His clients have to put up a minimum of one million pounds per transaction. He gauges monetary fluctuations on a minute-to-minute basis. He watches everything as it happens, from Japan to New York, London to Hong Kong, from Yen to Dollar to pound. His own profits he juggles through internet markets, loan markets, yearly bonds and flexible competitive ventures."

Angie scratched her head and wore a blank expression. She understood not a word of what Chilvers had just said. He may as well been speaking in a foreign language for all the sense it made. "He sounds very clever. He...erm...likes watching things then?"

"He certainly does," laughed Chilvers. "You catch on very fast, my dear."

Angie smiled smugly, feeling proud of herself for saying something worthwhile. But she had no idea what it really meant. Not a clue.

"Is he married?" she asked coyly, biting into her bottom lip.

Chilvers laughed again. "Nope, never been. No kids, no girlfriends. He's a very private man. Reclusive, some might say."

"Oh, how strange," Angie muttered to herself. "Is he famous? He must be notorious, being so wealthy at such a young age."

"He's never been heard of," Chivers said, shaking his head. "About a year ago, an author tried to publish an unauthorised biography on Mr Delaney. The hack that wrote it claimed to have found the information by interviewing Mr Delaney's school and college friends. Legal action was taken and the book never saw the light of day."

"He seems very mysterious," she sighed dreamily. "I'm actually quite flattered that he wants to meet me."

"Yes, Ms Lockwood."

They rode the rest of the way to Delaney's estate in silence. Chilvers never stopped grinning.

***

Tom Delaney rose from the pool and stood naked as droplets of water trickled down his bloated body. He picked up a half-smoked cigar from an ashtray and sparked it up. Tom smoked a little too often these days, and his exercise routine was non-existent. But Tom was rich enough to do as he damn well pleased.

Melissa smiled at him. Her dazzling blue eyes sparkling out of a gorgeous face attached to the most wonderful body on earth. She was a work of art, a real-life Barbie doll. Tom watched the stunning creature glide through the water and knew that God was a perfectionist. Melissa was one of Tom's playthings – a perfect example of his veracious appetite for the finer things in life.

The morbidly obese millionaire sat down at the edge of the pool, puffing his cigar, and beckoned his plaything to him. Melissa obeyed, knowing what Tom wanted – one of the phenomenal blowjobs she could perform. She had absolutely no gag reflex and could hold her breath for miraculously long time, which came in handy when Tom felt the need to fuck her oesophagus. She could deep throat like a porn star.

Even though Tom was now a fat slob, Melissa was happy to pleasure him, to show her gratitude for the opulent lifestyle he afforded her, and Tom took his fill and fucked her mouth and arse and pussy on a daily basis, except for when he was saving his strength for another of his playthings.

Tom loved to watch Melissa suck down his seed with childlike enthusiasm, his erection twitching in her throat, her lips and nose buried in his pubic hair, her eyes gazing up into his. He loved it when she beamed up at him after he'd bathed her face in goopy semen. She never looked happier.

Melissa now practically lived in the pool, waiting for Tom to come swim with her each day so that she could pleasure him. But Tom wasn't in the mood for one of Melissa's sensational blowjobs today. He had something else on his mind, occupying his thoughts and desires.

Melissa glided to the edge of the pool where Tom sat. The head of his little limp penis dangled just above the water, protruding from beneath a roll of body fat. She eased up between his legs and licked and kissed the tip of his flaccid organ, but Tom pushed her away.

"What's the matter, Tom?" she said in a squeaky voice, pouting. "Don't you want me no more?"

Anyone looking at the morbidly obese sack of flab sitting at the edge of the pool and the remarkably beautiful woman between his thighs would have thought the question absurd, but it was obvious Tom had something on his mind – something big.

Tom stood up a dried himself on one of the huge beach towels stacked on a rack by the pool.

"Don't go, Tom," pleaded Melissa. "You can stick it in my ass if you want. I'll let you piss on me!"

Tom Delaney had always had a penchant for gorgeous ladies, even before he made his first million. But the more money Tom made, the fatter he got. Until one day, his rapid weight-gain began to have adverse effects on his health. Amongst other things, the biggest shock was the detrimental effect his weight had on his sexual health. Tom first became impotent, which was easily fixed with a daily dose of viagra. But then Tom's libido went south and, try as he might, Tom could find no cure for it.

Just imagine being filthy rich, with the world's most stunning women at your beck and call, yet having no sexual appetite to spur you into action. It had been a frustrating time for him and he had made it his mission to find a cure for his waning sex drive.