I'm a Slut for My Son's Bully Ch. 01

I hurriedly put my clothes on and, without another word, briskly make my humiliating exit. I should be traumatized, but I'm so fucking horny.

I get home, walk briskly past Jimmy who is trying to say hello, and lock myself in my bedroom. I toss off my clothes as I walk towards my dresser. I open the bottom drawer and pull out a big vibrator with an attachment for the clitoris, my other massive dildo, and of course my bejeweled butt plug.

I sit on my bed, lift my legs up, insert the butt plug, and then lay down on my bed, spreading my legs. I face-fuck myself with the dildo and fuck my pussy with the vibrator.

'We aren't going to stop bullying wimpy little Jimmy,' I imagine Jake saying.

'You are going to be our filthy MILF fuckpig, aren't you Ms. Johnston?" I hear him saying as I get closer and closer to orgasm.

"You are going to help us bully Jimmy, aren't you?"

As I think about this degrading comment, my body tenses up and I explode, having the best orgasm I have had in years.

I stay up very late masturbating, thinking about Jimmy's bullies making him feel small and wimpy.

I fantasize about them using my body in every degrading way possible. I think about them making me and my wimpy son submit to their masculine dominance.

By the end of the night, I decide I will float Jake's proposal by Jimmy. After all, his life would be so much better if he didn't get so bullied in school.

He really is a smart, funny, and nice kid. I know how much drama club and band means to him, it would be nice if he could do those things in peace.

And really, what would be so bad about Jake coming by a few times a week? So long as he didn't try to fuck me while he was there, a little bit of light teasing of Jimmy wouldn't be so bad, and certainly not as bad as him being teased at school in front of everyone.

If that's what Jake and his buddies need to get out their masculine aggression, it can't be as bad as what Jimmy experiences every day at school.

And although I may be influenced by my lust, I can't help but have some respect for Jake and his arrogant friends.

________

Mom usually just throws some pre-cooked, frozen food in the microwave and calls it good. She is a single, working mother with very little time or energy to give me. Mom must be warming me up for something.

"Honey, you know I went to Jake's house last night," she says, looking deep in my eyes, "and, well, I have...a proposal for you."

Now I'm really feeling uneasy. A proposal? Is the proposal that Jake will stop bullying me? I take a few seconds to gather my thoughts.

"What do you mean, mom?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"Son, this is going to seem a little strange," she continues, "I just ask that you listen to my perspective and keep an open mind."

"...um, okay?" I say, more like a question than a response. What the fuck is going on?

"What's become clear, son, is that we have run out of options with Jake," she says, "We have tried everything to make it stop. It hasn't."

"Okay?"

"What did I teach you to do when you hit a roadblock?" she asks in a maternal fashion.

"...brainstorm creative solutions?" I respond, again in the form of a question.

"And that's exactly what I did," she states, "well, I guess Jake came up with this particular creative solution. If you agree to it, Jake and his buddies will stop bullying you at school!"

"Mom, you're making me nervous," I say, "can you get to the point, please?"

"Jake just wants to come over to our house once a week," she says, attempting to reassure me.

"Wait, why the fuck would Jake want to come over to my house?" I ask.

"Language, son!" she says, "But, admittedly, there is a catch."

"Of course there is, it's Jake."

"Jake said he will do whatever he wants when he is here," she says cautiously, "and I can't do anything to stop it."

"Wait, what?"

"And he said that he may just tease you a bit while he is at our house."

"What the fuck, mom? Are you actually serious right now?"

"Again, you need to watch your language, please," she says, "and I don't know why you are mad at me. I am just trying to help you."

"Jesus christ, mom, I don't understand. Couldn't you just ask Jake to stop?"

"Jimmy, you know I did," she says, "I love you so much. And I think this arrangement would have a better result than what is going on at school. After all, would some light teasing at home, under my supervision, really be as bad as what you experience at school?"

Fuck this shit. I'm out.

"I can't believe you would even say this," I say, "you would be ok with this asshole coming over and doing whatever he wants? Fuck you, mom."

Without another word, I storm out the front door. I get that mom is just trying to help me, but I didn't ever think she would agree to a "compromise" with that piece of shit Jake. I'm going to Cheri's house, I need to talk to someone.

________

"Now cracks a noble heart. Goodnight, sweet prince; and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest," Cheri listens as I earnestly recite my lines for the upcoming school production of Hamlet.

We are in the drama room, staying late to nail down our lines. Cheri tells me to pause more between phrases, let my lines breathe. I recite the line one more time, getting Cheri's approval this time.

God, I needed this. Anything to keep me from spending too much time at home. Mom's been so weird lately.

We wrap things up, satisfied that we are prepared for our parts. We walk out the drama room and school entrance, and then part ways, each heading for our own cars in separate directions. Wow, it's already dark outside.

I round a corner to the back parking lot. Nobody is around and I'm a bit spooked. Before I know it, some kind of wool bag covers my head and a string around the bag tightens on my neck. I feel strong, big arms grab my shoulders and spin me around.

A swinging fist hits me straight in the jaw, and as I fall to the ground I see stars and feel dizzy.

Another punch to the face. This one lands straight on my nose. I feel it crack, and a few seconds later, everything goes black.

I feel a jarring splash of cold water on my face. As I come to, I see Jake smirking at me with his arms crossed, with Chris and Charles on each side of him. I also notice I can't move my arms or legs at all, and my feet aren't touching the ground.

I look to my left and, in horror, see that I'm tied to the trunk of a big tree. In panic, I frantically flail my arms and legs in my futile attempt to escape. I hear chuckles from the three goons.

"Oh hey, shit bag," Jake says derisively, "I proposed to your mommy a really good solution to the situation you're in. You rejected it?"

Now crying, I can't even form words, let alone answer his question.

He punches me in the stomach, taking the wind right out of my sails.

"Are you stupid? Answer my question, fucking faggot," he yells.

"...y-y-y-y-yes," I manage to get out, "I-I-I-I'm sorry! Please let me go, I'll do anything!"

"I'm curious, why were you out so late, little buddy? Were you working on that dumb ass play?"

When I don't respond immediately, he gives me a bitch slap to the face. God damn, my face does not feel right.

"Yes! Yes, I was working on a play. Please, I'll do whatever you want, just fucking let me go."

"Charles, you still got those pies in your backpack?"

"Yup."

"Jimmy, why don't you recite a line from your play for us? We'll critique you," he suggests with a tone of false friendliness.

"...w-w-what?" I ask, scared for my life.

"Say a line from your goddamn play. And whatever happens, finish the fucking line."

Not wanting to piss Jake off even more, I tepidly start in on a line.

"...Now...Now cracks a noble hea-," all three bullies audibly start to boo.

Feeling shattered but knowing compliance was the only way out of this situation, I keep going.

"Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet pri-," I feel a giant glob of spit land on my forehead.

"Good night, sweet prince; and flights of angels sing - ," Charles and Chris both spit in my face. Charles pulls out three or four pies from his backpack.

"...and flights of angels sing thee to -," Charles throws a cherry pie straight at my face.

Chris is throwing small rocks at me. Jake is covering my face in his spit. All are incessantly booing. Charles takes another pie and dumps it on the top of my head.

"...and flights of angels...s-s-sing thee to thy rest," I finally conclude, hoping this terrifying and completely degrading nightmare will end.

Jake motions to his buddies to stop and gives me a big, wide grin.

"Was that so hard?" he asks sarcastically, "I'd say there is work to be done on your fucking play, stupid bitch."

He unties me and I fall to the ground, a destroyed and messy shell lying limp on the ground. I'm sobbing and staring down, trying to understand what the point of this all is.

"This hurts me as much as it hurts you," Jake says in a mocking tone, "but this wouldn't have happened if you did what I fucking wanted. Talk to your mom. Agree to the deal."

He throws me my car keys, phone, and wallet, and saunters off with his two henchmen.

I call mom and, horrified, she immediately drives to pick me up and takes me to urgent care. The doctor confirms I broke my nose, and also notes abrasions, bruising, and several cracked ribs.

Mom is irate. I hear her say enough is enough, that she is going to file a police report and send Jake to jail. Finally, this hell might be over.

________

Enough is enough. A little bullying is to be expected, but Jimmy could've been permanently injured last night. His nose is completely broken; he has scars and bruises all over his body.

First and foremost, I'm a mom, and my most important duty is keeping my dear, sweet son safe.

Jake has crossed a line, and my only choice is to file a police report. I call the local police station and tell them what happened, and offer to send them pictures of Jimmy's injuries and medical records.

"That won't be necessary," the voice on the other line says,"we won't be pursuing charges."

I can't believe what I'm hearing.

"What? Are you fucking kidding me?" I exclaim.

"This is a classic case of boys being boys. I know Jake personally, he's my grandson and I know he's a good kid. And just to let ya know, I'm the captain here at this fine establishment."

I loudly protest, but it's in vain. Fuck. The captain is Jake's fucking grandfather. The cops aren't going to investigate this one bit.

"I understand your frustration, but school administration is a more appropriate group to handle internal issues like this."

What am I going to do now?

________

Mom walks in my room, smiling pityingly as she approaches my bed. She leans down and kisses me on the forehead.

"How ya holdin' up, sweetie?" she asks lovingly. She is wearing a sundress with no bra. Her gigantic breasts are directly over my face, and I can't help but get hard seeing them swing from side to side.

"I'm alright, mom. Feeling better than yesterday, that's for sure," I say. But deep down, I feel like my life is over.

"Hey, so you know how I was going to file a police report?" she asks, "Well, I tried. They are not pressing charges."

"What?" I ask in disbelief, "They tied me to a tree and broke my nose!"

She looks at me and sighs.

"Jake's grandfather is the police captain."

"Fuck," I exclaim, "I shouldn't have expected they'd do anything anyway. Jake is a god damn hero in this stupid town."

"What should we do now, honey?" she asks, "I'm completely out of ideas. I've gone to the principal, to the police. I love you, baby, but I have no idea what to do."

"I know, mom. I just...I don't understand why I'm so terrible that they need to do this! I must be trash."

"Honey, of course you're not terrible. You're sweet and sensitive and so talented! Some boys are so insecure they need to pick on other boys. You should feel sorry for them!"

"I should feel sorry for my bullies?"

"That didn't come out right. I'm sorry, baby."

"Can I just have a moment, mom? My only bright spot is The Witcher, so I'm going to get back to that."

"Of course. Just let me know if you need anything! I love you," she kisses me on the cheek again as she makes her exit.

Like a real pervert, I stare at her impossibly big and round ass as it wiggles and bounces away. Fuck, I think. Who wouldn't want to fuck my mom?

She leaves, and as the distraction of mom's big tits and ass wears off, I go through the events of the last day. Completely traumatized, I feel abused, humiliated and alone.

And the fucked up part is there is literally nothing I can do about it. The cops don't give a fuck. The principal doesn't either.

I would love more than anything to stop being the subject of Jake the Bully, but I'm more concerned with not getting beat to a bloody pulp again. And right now, I'll do anything to make that happen.

My pride is wounded, I'm emasculated, but my survival instincts are still strong.

I now understand mom is just trying to do what's best for me. If she thinks this arrangement would stop the beatings at school, well, I have nothing to lose. I just don't want to go to school in fear.

I yell for mom to come back to my room.

"What do you need, darling?" she asks.

I pause, briefly considering the implications of what I am about to say, and then proceed.

"Mom, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I am willing to accept Jake's deal."

________

I crack the eggs in a frying pan and then rush over to the oven to check on the ham.

"Jimmy," I hurriedly say, "can you grab the butter?"

He sighs, but stops sweeping the floor, walks to the fridge, and hands me the milk.

"I still don't understand why we are preparing food for this asshole," Jimmy says.

I empathize with my son, but in my rush I feel a bit impatient.

"I know, honey. Trust me, I'm not thrilled about being treated like a domestic housewife by that goonhead bully, but he was very specific: he wanted homemade eggs benedict and lemonade, or the deal is off."

"Ugh. Yeah, I know. I hope he gets taken down a peg one of these days. I'm really dreading this, mom."

"Just remember, darling. The more compliant we are, the easier this will all go. You don't want more broken bones, right?" I ask matter of factly, simultaneously stirring the hollandaise sauce.

"No, I don't," I submit to her logic.

"Just don't take things too personally," I advise, and then drum up a platitude to ease his worry, "words can only hurt you if you let them, son."

I give him a reassuring smile and he appears to loosen up a bit.

Our conversation is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Oh fuck, I think, this is actually happening. Cooking has distracted me from thinking about what would actually happen today.

I just hope if I'm nice enough to Jake, he won't take things too far. If I play my cards right, this whole situation will be innocent enough.

Nervous, I open the door to find not only Jake, but his buddies Chris and Charles as well. This seems like a pattern.

Jake is wearing another bro tank, and once again I feel butterflies in my stomach looking at his perfect young body. I can't let my lust for an arrogant teenager send me astray. I'm a mother, and a fucking good one at that.

"Hey, boys!" I exclaim, as naturally as possible, "wasn't expecting such a crew!"

"Hey, Ms. Johnston," Jake says cooly as he and his buddies invite themselves in, "you made my benedict, right?"

I'm taken aback by his demanding attitude, so I pause. Composing myself, I say, "yes...um...of course, Jake. I hope you like it!"

Hopefully my peppy tone will make them take it easier on my son.

In turn, each boy gives me a big, extended hug and tells me how pretty I look. Despite my best efforts, I can't help but be a bit flattered by this.

"Where's that pansy son of yours?" Jake asks, with a false tone of enthusiasm.

"Um...could you please not call Jimmy a pansy? He can probably hear you, he is in the kitchen."

"Oh, I'm sorry. So your faggot son is in the kitchen, got it," he quips arrogantly as he and his buddies make towards the kitchen. I don't want to push back too hard, Jimmy is used to being called names.

I follow the boys to the kitchen. I see Jimmy looking up nervously from the table at the three big, strong teenagers in front of him. Juxtaposed against each other, Jimmy looks so meek.

I notice how skinny he is, with long legs and, weirdly, a bubble butt. I know for a fact he has very little body hair. Thinking about it, my son has no chance against these arrogant dicks in the masculinity department.

"Hey, faggot," Jake says, "How ya doin', buddy?"

Jimmy looks down at his feet.

"What a fucking pussy," Charles adds, "Can't even look a man in the eye."

"Stand up, bitch," Chris commands my son. Jimmy looks so dejected, but in a weird way it feels appropriate. He is being bullied by strong-willed alpha boys who are clearly more manly than him. Still, I'm his mom and I feel pity for him.

"You don't have to call him such hurtful names," I plea to them.

Jake walks up and stands directly in front of my face. "Bitch, I thought we had a fucking deal. I can leave right now, and go back to fucking up Jimmy's face. How does that sound?"

I'm terrified, but I look over at Jimmy, who despite being on the verge of tears manages to nod slightly, letting me know that he is still on board.

"...of course not, Jake! Let me serve you and your friends some eggs benedict. Have a seat!" I try to recover, taking on my eager to please demeanor again.

Charles pipes in, "actually, we are going to watch TV in the living room. Ms. Johnston, come with us while your little twerp of a son serves us our dinner."

God, they are just unrelenting. I give an apologetic glance to my son, who just shrugs in disbelief. As Jake and his friends head toward the living room, I follow.

Jake sits in the lounge chair, and Chris and Charles on the couch.

"Kneel down and give my friends a foot rub."

"What?"

"Get down on your fucking knees, take off their shoes and socks, and give them a foot massage like I told you to," he demands.

Fuck, I love when a man tells me what to do and treats me like an object. Nothing gets me going more. Contain yourself, woman. You're a fucking mother.

Slowly, I walk towards the teenagers and kneel down in front of Charles. He extends his foot outward and I remove his shoes and socks. His feet smell like a teenager. Ugh. I then slide to Chris and do the same.

Jake puts on ESPN, and he and his buddies bullshit for a while. Hear I am, on my knees, giving two young, asshole teenagers foot massages like a fucking domestic servant. The image is blowing my mind.

Jimmy walks in juggling three plates full of food. He looks so humiliated, but not shocked. I'm not sure if much from these boys could shock him anymore.

He manages to give all three boys their food.

When he gives his plate to Jake, the bully says, "fucking finally. Not only are you a fucking loser, but you're close to useless as well!"

When Jimmy doesn't immediately respond, Jake yanks hard on his hair.

"I expect you to be polite and say 'thank you, sir' when I talk to you," he says menacingly.

"T-t-thank you!" Jimmy yells desperately. Jake pulls on his hair again.

"Thank you, SIR!" Jake demands.

"Thank y-y-you, Sir!"

Once again, my motherly instincts take over.

"Jake, please stop treating my son this way!"

Charles laughs out loud and jams his foot in my mouth.

"That should shut this bitch up for a second," he says.

Jake orders Jimmy to get on his knees and give him a foot massage. Jimmy looks reluctant, but after being called a faggot enough, he gives in.

"Yo, Charles. Take your foot out of Ms. Johnston's mouth for a sec. I got some questions," Jake requests of Charles. I feel his large, wide foot exit my mouth and I take some much needed deep breaths.