Faeophobia - Do-Me Dust Pt. 02

The shine was definitely fading from that apple, and no amount of exercise, intentional or circumstantial, could combat The Dreaded Sag.

The days of dressing in sprayed-on leather pants and cute, wispy tops for Mateo were in the past. Now, her wardrobe heavily featured durable jeans, hard-wearing knee-length dresses that covered the varicose veins on her skinny thighs, and a lot of comfy flannel--nearly all of which was purchased at thrift stores.

A sense of existential angst tugged at her tummy, and Clarita munched on another glittering pastry to settle it.

Bringing food into the bathroom wasn't exactly sanitary. But she kept a clean home and hadn't realized she was still carrying the takeout container until the door was already sealed and securely locked.

Nothing else for it then, she decided, wiping the crumbs from the corners of her lips.

Steam enveloped Clarita when she stepped into the tub. The hot flow massaged her skin, delivering a mildly scalding tingle and warming her to the bone. She preferred her showers to be nearly unbearably hot. The heat scoured away tension and grime, reddening her coppery flesh like a boiled crayfish.

Reaching for the body wash--a no-name discount brand purchased with coupons at the grocery club--she quickly lathered up her arms and legs, then paused after the first pass of the sudsy cloth across her chest.

Something was different. The business-like act of cleaning herself had taken on an odd sensation. Perky brown nipples stood at attention, sending tantalizing sparks through her nerves as soap dripped from stiff tips.

Curious, she experimentally brushed gentle fingers over an engorged peak...

"Oh! Mmmmmm~..."

The sounds that escaped Clarita weren't particularly motherly, but neither was the rush of desire that spiked her stomach. A second stroke produced the same result, thrilling flutters that reminded her how far away Mateo was.

Her husband was a passionate lover, fierce and possessive in their love-making. Clarita thoroughly enjoyed welcoming him home, especially with their son away most evenings, but she rarely did much for herself in his absence.

There was always too much to do. Too many concerns and pressures sapping her energy. A decent night's sleep was more important.

Only the needless lists of tasks and worries were melting away, dissolving under the steamy spray and the coalescing thrum of need clutching at her core. Sleep was the furthest thing from Clarita's mind at the moment.

Circling the washcloth around her modest breasts pulled gasps and sultry moans from the Latina housewife's lips. She tried to clamp down on them, biting her tongue, aware of her child in the bedroom across the hall.

Her grown child--practically a man now.

So tall and handsome like his father with that fire of youth she sorely missed. Driven to succeed, yet dutiful and conscientious of those important to him.

Her sweet Cariño.

"Aah! Dios mío... Oommph!"

Lines of soap trickled down Clarita's belly. Iridescent bubbles slid over tensed muscles, seeking the bushy valley between her clenching thighs. She could feel them like the stroke of a feather, teasing toward parts untended for far too long.

Her tits were slathered with foam. Her hands squeezed and kneaded frantically at the tender sunkissed mounds. Raven hair plastered her blushing face and bunched shoulders, running with searing water like a conduit across her glistening wet skin.

Every rub and pinch was electrifying. Rising in amplitude as the temperature became stifling. She wheezed in short breaths, almost unraveling from the jolts of rapture her hyper-sensitive nips delivered. The moisture gathering in her loins was not from the shower, plump and aching, but she didn't dare explore that prurient possibility.

"Gah! Ooooh... por favor, it's too much! Hnnnh~..."

Clarita was a warhead primed to detonate, audibly and messily, with her son only a few thin sheets of plaster wall away.

Her darling Carlos was studious and striking with his masculine charms. Selfless and giving, never balking a chore or request. Humble. Apparently unaware of his rugged good looks and oblivious to the lingering stares chikas sent his way.

She loved him utterly. Adored the man he had grown into. It felt appalling to fixate upon her perfect, strapping boy at a time like this. While teetering on a highwire above a bottomless crevasse of sinful gratification...

Then the trail of slippery lather cascaded over her juicy nether lips, washing away the thatch of coarse hair and triggering a thermonuclear response.

"No... Oooh! Cariño--Mmmmff!"

The bitter, metallic taste of lye pervaded Clarita's taste buds when she shoved the soapy washcloth into her mouth to muzzle a euphoric wail. Gigawatts of high-voltage bliss wracked her nervous system, lighting up her dizzy brain like a Christmas tree and paralyzing her with orgasmic convulsions.

When reality finally swam back into focus, she was curled into a tight ball in the tub, cold water bathing her body, with a deep glow of satisfaction radiating from her center.

Dragging herself up on shaky legs, Clarita nearly stumbled at the sight of herself in the foggy bathroom mirror.

She looked... rejuvenated, as though the brief but tempestuous climax in the shower were the equivalent of a full spa day. Even soggy with water and fuzzy afterglow, her skin looked firmer and healthier, hair of the darkest obsidian shining wet on her shoulders. Wrinkles and the droop of time's passage wiped away like chalk off a slate.

Clarita's appearance was touched up, shored up, and the niggling pain in her hip was gone.

With the agility and balance of a woman half her age, she skipped out of the tub and spun into a fluffy robe. She felt giddy from that single release. Daring. It had been terribly naughty, thinking of her beloved Carlos when she came.

Giggling at the thought, she slipped another glimmering tart into her mouth.

________________

A slight sense of wrongness threatened to sour Clarita's ebullient mood as she ransacked her wardrobe.

When had she become so drab?

All of the outfits were ancient. Faded and worn like she had been feeling more and more lately.

Much of it was strewn across her bed and carpet as though she were a child playing dress-up with her Mama's clothing. Totally bland and depressing dresses, pants, and shirts were discarded by the armload. Yanked off cheap wire hangers and tossed aside in disgust.

She used to be fun. Flirty. Desirable. Mateo would take her salsa dancing, dressed to kill in short skirts and low-cut tops and heels--Dios, the disastrously high heels she would wear as they moved to the rhythm, pressed close together. Where were they now?

Awful flats and orthopedic horrors clattered about her ankles as Clarita dug through the neat rows of shoes with rising apprehension.

Searching for a lingering scrap of the young, vivacious beauty she once was and desperately yearned to recapture.

Would that be so bad? An infinitesimally small part of her balked at the idea of going backward. Regressing... was that the term the talking heads used? Mutton dressed as lamb, her Mama would have said. But Clarita didn't feel old or look it, for that matter.

She kept glancing at the standing mirror in the corner. The terry cloth robe had fallen open in her manic hunt. Taut olive flesh spilled out, rich and round. Fuller than she remembered, to be honest. Her younger self had been lithe and graceful. Rocking skinny jeans and leather hotpants that showed off her long legs and lissome figure.

Who was this woman with flashes of scarlet in her glossy mane of midnight tresses and inexplicably bigger bust?

Then her questing hand closed over something slim and sharp. Fingers tracing the shape of a stiletto. Thin, pliable straps of leather tangled in her grasp.

A lost treasure unearthed from her distant past.

Slowly. Gently. Clarita withdrew the shoe and cradled it reverently against her swollen chest. A crimson spike heel so tall it could snap an ankle on a whim.

Her poor, neglected pussy juiced at the discovery, and she lowered the pointed toe between her slickening thighs. It coasted along her budding pearl with zero resistance, drawing forth an ecstatic shudder.

The dulled, blood-red leather took on a fresh shine as Clarita polished it with her womanly nectar, sliding through her cleft and producing wondrous friction.

"Fu-fuck... hyaaa~... so hot." She stammered, hips widening a fraction with each needy gyration.

Her free hand swept about the clutter, seeking the second shoe. Soon, she had the matching pair, licking one while grinding on the other. Her lapping tongue ran up the four-inch, narrow heel as though she could absorb the sex appeal by sucking it into her puckered lips.

That felt good, perfectly natural, having something long and stiff in her mouth, if on a small scale. She sucked and slurped on it anyway, luscious lashes fluttering as scintillating embers ignited, both above and below. The edge of the insole dredged sopping folds, making her thighs quiver at the rush of sensation.

"Mmmhmmm!"

Then, the soft music from across the hallway stopped, and Clarita's heavy-lidded eyes shot open.

Had she moaned too loud? Was Carlos--her big, studmuffin son--alert and listening for strange noises now? Would he be stepping through the bedroom door to check on her--like the considerate and caring man he had become--to discover his practically naked mother in a state of biblical sin?

No, no, no, no, no!

Her teeth chomped down on the stiletto heel like a bite stick as the scenario sprung to life in Clarita's imagination....

Carlos' muscular silhouette darkening the doorway, handsome face in shadow, looking down in stern disapproval at his mewling Mama. Her, begging for his forgiveness, cumming hard and vocally from humping some totally hot, sexy-time footwear like a shameful, perverted puta.

What would happen next? Would her sweet Cariño turn away in revulsion, or maybe--just maybe--he'd lurch forward to seize and punish her wickedness with his manly strength? To bend his depraved mother over a knee and spank some repentance out of her.

"Pleease... Dios! Yes, Carlos, please!"

Clarita's ripening body thundered with gut-curdling passion, nearly breaking apart when she was flung into the throes of a forbidden fantasy that burrowed down through her bliss-addled psyche to etch itself onto her soul.

A silent scream, bereft of air, departed her straining lungs. Bone-shaking spasms of carnal elation shook her like a feather in a gale. The crashing pleasure was twisted. Improper. Vulgar. She wallowed in it like a drowning swimmer, sinking in an ocean of illicit desires.

She remained locked in that position, hunched in shivering climax, not daring to breathe, until the distant music resumed playing, and she eventually relaxed.

When Clarita's head rose from where it was tucked against her increasingly pillowy chest, her hazel eyes fell upon something hanging forgotten in the far rear of her closet.

It wasn't new; she recognized the outfit from her younger years, but it wasn't boring or drab either. The fabric shone, buckles gleamed, and hints of intricate lace peeked back at her.

Her smile was wide and relieved when she rose to stand on unsteady feet. It was exactly what Clarita had been searching for.

She simply hadn't known it until now.

________________

Back in the bathroom, Clarita sat on the side of the tub, drying her nails.

They had grown from worn-down stubs to proper talons, and as much as that should have worried her, she adored the way the fairy floss pink varnish caught the light.

Her wrists tinkled with several silvery bangles as she fastened large golden hoop earrings and swiveled her head to admire them in the mirror, brushing back a dense curtain of silky hair to do so.

Deep, henna-red hair, from root to butt-sweeping end. That was different too, but wasn't that a good thing? Clarita was beautiful, desirable, and longed to stand out again. To turn heads while sashaying down the street as she had in her prime. One head in particular kept leaping to mind.

"Ooh, my Cariño..."

A microtremor of pleasure vibrated through her at the thought. The recurring mental picture of her strong, dashing son--that easy smile and kind, intelligent eyes, his powerful jaw and expressive brow...

She gnawed on her plump bottom lip, biting back a gasp, letting a delicate finger slide under her skirt to tickle her dewy bud.

"Hmmmph!"

The shock of ecstasy was immediate and moist. Not earthshaking like earlier, nothing as debilitating or ear-catching.

Just enough to keep riding the edge, maintaining her slick pussy at a slow boil. Dizzy little cummies looping through her core on repeat.

The mini skirt was a blessed find--a real blast from her past, hanging forgotten behind decades of irksome fashion compromises. Fake black leather hugged her substantial hips like a covetous lover, ending a meager inch below her dripping sex, slippery juices lending extra shine to the polymer plastic.

It sat high on her waist--which had narrowed to a skinny teen size--and displayed a salacious amount of supple, bronzed thighs, miraculously lacking unsightly hair or angry blue veins.

Clarita moaned eyes closed as she licked the offending finger clean. The wrongness was still there. A distant feature in the landscape of her brain, eroding away under a constant deluge of feel-good hormones pouring from her gassed-up hypothalamus.

An unwelcome distraction. Unimportant.

What was important were her tits.

Two copper-skinned whoppers billowed from her burgundy bustier like inflating weather balloons. They jutted out above the belts and corsetry cinching her tiny torso, overflowing the embroidered satin cups to form a firm shelf of sensitive tit-flesh right below her sagging chin with tight, burrowing nipples.

She'd never been so large in her youth and didn't own a bra that would contain their humongous heft, but that didn't appear to be a problem. They sat high and proud on her chest in defiance of gravity like ripe melons waiting to be squeezed.

So she did, with knee-weakening results.

"Mmmmff~... yes, baby."

Wet splotches darkened the sheer fabric covering Clarita's pointing nips as she whimpered. Breast milk staining the satin and leaking down her groping fingers in white rivulets.

It was amazing, sending warm waves of pleasure through the soft mammalian tissue.

It was motherly. A gift from god reaffirming her primary purpose in life: to nurture and nourish her family.

It was womanly, sexy, and exhilarating--awakening feelings and sensations entombed beneath a mountain of maternal duty and responsibility that suddenly seemed silly. She didn't have to choose between being one or the other.

Clarita was a modern lady and could wear more than one proverbial hat.

Por qué no los dos?

Clasping a lacy red choker around her neck, she glanced at the two remaining morsels glittering in their styrofoam container with a small stab of guilt.

Carlos would undoubtedly forgive her gluttony. He was such a darling boy. Still, she should save him a taste, a sample of the scrumptious treat he had generously shared with his loving Mama.

Cramming the second-to-last pastry into her mouth, Clarita shuddered and gasped in bliss. Her empty loins pulsed with an aching need as hot honey splattered her thickening thighs.

"Aaah, Cariño!"

________________

Carl dozed fitfully, dreams of the previous night's party dancing through his sleeping head.

Busty coeds going buck wild on their male counterpart's stiff pricks plagued his restless slumber. He was back in that crowded frat house again, naked this time except for a pair of gray boxers and a serving tray holding a shimmering heap of golden dust.

It was difficult to navigate the press of sweaty, rutting bodies without spilling the precarious pile. It shifted like the finest sand at every jostle, precious particulate drifting through the air like dandelion fluff to settle on naked nubile flesh.

"Pardon me. Coming through." He apologized, sidestepping two ebony-skinned nymphets sporting obscenely huge knockers alternating between making out with and jacking off a brutishly built athlete. "Mind where you point that thing, please."

All around Carl were college students grown to pornographic proportions and playing the role. Torn clothing hung in rags from their lewdly transformed bodies, baring straining muscles, expanded bosoms, and succulent butts as they fucked, fondled, and sucked each other to hedonistic new heights.

Each time the golden powder alighted on perspiring skin, it was immediately licked up, the lucky beneficiary groaning in pleasure and climaxing explosively. Copious expulsions from various sexes slickened the floor beneath his unshod feet.

Why was he carrying a tray of magical dust again? Where was he taking it?

Carl didn't know. It was imperative not to lose any. Something about his job, or maybe his own vague future plans?

The nail-hammering hardness in his boxers made it difficult to remember.

A splash of wetness struck his face, making him wince. Hopefully, that was from a feminine source, though it was just as likely male ejaculate spouted with fountainous force.

Steading his footing, Carl continued to weave. The moisture on his cheeks dribbled past his mouth. He didn't mean to taste it, but the consistency was not that of his own gooey releases, which was heartening. Fragrant and mildly sweet. nothing offensive or man-ish as he had feared.

More spray peppered his nose and chin, nearly causing him to upend the serving tray and its priceless cargo. Warm and pungent. Slightly spicy. It bathed his parched lips.

Then a disembodied voice whispered in his ear, loving and sensual, cutting through the raucous din of orgasmic cries and thudding music.

"Carlos... my Cariño... wake up. Mama needs you..."

Abruptly, his jaw was levered open by invisible hands, and something dry and flakey was stuffed down his throat.

________________

Choking, Carl awoke in alarm. The dream dissipated instantly, but the obstruction in his airway remained. He tried to sit upright, to hack out the blockage, but a weight pinned his shoulders, and small hands covered his mouth.

"You must chew. Chew and swallow, Cariño" The voice instructed from above. "Mama is sorry, but she couldn't resist temptation any longer."

Spluttering out crumbs, he coughed and gulped, working his tongue until the suffocating lump moved down the correct passage. Oxygen restored, panic receding, Carl stared at his assailant.

...and copped an eyeful of glistening pink pussy.

"What... who?" He rasped, cut short by a drizzle of womanly wetness across his face. "Let me go!"

Spread knees rested on his shoulders, pressing them into the bed. Smooth, bronzed thighs loomed on either side of his skull, joining at the hairless pelvis shrouded by a teensy black mini skirt that concealed exactly nothing.

Only by craning his neck could Carl catch a glimpse of a massive rack spilling from a burgundy corset blocking his view and a swath of loose crimson locks floating diaphanously around a lush, mature figure.

"I want to, Cariño. I really do!" The pleading voice was familiar. "But Mama needs her big, strong boy. Your Papa has been absent too long, and I am consumed with urges. Terrible desires that burn me from within, scorching my heart, and only a good man--a diligent and caring man--can bank the flames."

"Mom?!"

A few pieces clicked into place but didn't entirely account for his circumstances.

"Yes, baby. It's me. Please... forgive your poor mother." Clarita's words were a husky moan. "She is simply a weak woman driven by her fiery passions."