"Clinton, how's it going?"
"You alright mate."
"Yeah, yeah I'm good. Going to battle of the bands with some people later."
"Woody and all that."
"Yeah. So? ...You need some stuff."
"Yeah, is that cool?"
"Come to my place, remember where it is?"
"I do, okay maybe I'll be over in half an hour"
"Cool mate, in a bit."
Matt wished he could just send a text to a dealer, an eighth, tonight. He always felt bad, made small talk like getting his weed wasn't the only reason he called. It was bad because he knew Clinton from around; they had some mutual friends and had talked about music or girls a few times. But really he just liked the weed Clinton got, and could take or leave the awkward chatter. Still it wasn't so bad, a bright hot Saturday; maybe they would have a couple of games of fifa, smoke a joint, and then he would leave with a nice fat bag for the gig tonight.
Clinton's room was small and airless; his curtains were drawn leaving a fuzzy blur of sunlight and slow moving dust. He was sat on the bed with a friend Matt had not seen who nodded at him. He watched them finish their game and tried not to look bored or impatient. Clinton had one wall covered in a Jamaican flag; the bottom of it was lined with stickers of Manchester united players. This was his nans house, Matt knew Clinton was born in Jamaica when the first time they met Matt tried to lecture him on Soul rebels, in his opinion Bob Marley's best album.
They finished their game.
"Right, how much do you want Matt?"
"Just an eighth"
"Yeah, I'll be skint after tonight"
"Woody and all that will be out tonight if you want to come to the gig?"
"No, that's alright, I'm just gonna chill tonight."
"Oh okay", said Matt. He knew Clinton would never go for an indie battle of the bands; he just wanted to keep up the pretence of friendliness.
The front door slammed shut and he heard someone move into the kitchen, he could hear cupboards being opened and slammed.
"Clinton!" The voice was Jamaican, well-spoken and authoritative.
He heard heavy footsteps, and the door flew open. In walked Clinton's grandmother and looked at the two boys with suspicion.
His friend spoke up, not in the sullen grunt he had greeted Matt with but meek and polite.
"Oh hello Miss Davies"
"Where's my Grandson?"
She looked Matt over and for some reason he felt unnerved. She was tall and powerfully built, he wondered how old she was, to be someone's grandmother. She couldn't be any older than fifty he thought. She looked stern and intimidating. She wore glasses, her hair was a big wobbling mass of tight curls. She wore a long thick silk skirt and a crisp satin blouse. Around her waist was a shiny black corset which caused her huge breasts to spill out, straining against the thin material. Matt found himself staring at the woman, her huge legs were squeezed into shiny nylons and sharp heels. Despite this very effeminate attire her face was harsh, she frowned at the two boys in her grandson's room.
"I think he's in the toilet Miss Davies."
She walked to the bathroom and knocked on the door, then noticed her bedroom door was open.
"Clinton, what are you doing in my room?"
She closed the door and the boys listened quietly to her raised voice, and Clinton squeaking in reply. They heard a loud slap, and Clinton came out of the room. He walked back to the boys, rubbing a large red mark on the side of his face.
"I forgot to go to the shops for my Nan,"
he said, still rubbing the mark,
"Come on" he said to his friend. Miss Davies walked in after him. Matt stood up to leave.
"Who is this boy?" said Miss Davies.
"My friend Nan"
" Has he got a name?"
Matt found himself squeaking out his name, the woman withered him with one look. Her skin was rich brown, her face was large but very mean. A thick nose, bright red lips and large brown eyes. The imprint on Clintons face was that of a large powerful hand. Hands that were covered in elbow length silk gloves. She spoke with a Jamaican twang but with all the refinement of the church going English lady that she was. She wore a string of pearls, and a larger string of dark black pearls.
"What are you doing here Matthew?"
"Oh you can call me Matt miss Davies."
"Is that the name your mother gave you when you were born, Matt?"
"Then I will call you Matthew"
"Well I haven't seen you with my grandson before, what are you doing here?"
"Oh nothing" he said, Clinton didn't help him out of his Grandmothers interrogation, he just stood there dumbly.
"I was just going to go..."
Matt felt himself flush, he didn't want to get Clinton into trouble with his grandmother, and for some reason he also did not want to get himself into trouble.
"I should go."
"I think I know why you're here....well my lazy grandson has been playing computer games all morning while I walked all around town doing chores. So he has to go now, to the butchers and the greengrocers, because our food doesn't just appear on our plates by magic, does it?"
She grabbed the back of Clintons head for emphasis
"Ow, no grandma, no!" Clinton whined
"18 years old and still playing computer games, how old are you Matthew?"
"18 miss Davies"
"I see you've got the same manners as my Grandson, You haven't told me why you are here yet"
"I was just visiting, it's alright, I'll go"
"Nan he's here to"
"Shut up, I want him to say it..."
"He wants an eighth Nan"
"I told you to shut up, oh you do irritate me. Take your little friend and go, and don't you forget the list boy or I'll mash up the other side of your face, go on."
Clinton, shuffled out with his friend, Miss Davies wouldn't move from the doorway, she sneered
"So you just want an Eighth huh?"
"Um, yes" said Matt, unsure of himself
"That's not exactly big time is it? It's barely worth my time"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I'm sorry. I should go."
He moved toward the door, she stuck out one leg to block him with a nylon swish that filled the airless room.
He was very close to her now, she clicked a gloved finger and he almost jumped out of his skin
"Come on then Matthew, lets give you what you need."
She led him into her room, it was much larger than Clintons. One wall was taken by a huge wardrobe, another a black satin sheet hung over an unseen structure. But the room was mostly filled by a huge bed, covered in leopard print pillows and gold coloured silk sheets. There was a large black leather high backed chair in one corner. The room was also airless and warm, Matt wanted to go, or be allowed to leave. He watched the woman hang up her overcoat in the wardrobe which was full of lace, satin and leather. She fished out a small bag of weed from a shoe box and held it up to him.
"Twenty pounds" she said briskly, and he handed it over. He watched her sit on the leather chair which whooshed under her weight, holding the bag he had just paid for. She pulled a cigar paper from under the cushion and poured the whole bag into the middle, she grinded the weed between her large fingers crushing it into fine powder.
"I was going to, um save it for tonight."
She frowned and sneered at him, "You want to get high yes? You wanted some weed?"
"I don't usually smoke that much though."
"Come over here" she ordered, he walked to the chair and she pointed to the edge of the paper, which was resting in her hand on her lap.
"Lick the paper, so I can stick it together, you're going to be smoking it?"
He looked at the paper, and the pile of weed. He bent his head into her lap, her skirt was shiny and very feminine. He could smell the strong skunk, but he could smell the woman too, her perfume had a musty edge to it. He tentatively stuck out his tongue and looked up at her. She was watching him impassively, she gently pinched his ear between two fingers and pulled his head down further. He licked the paper and she shooed him away. He was flushed and began to feel the effects of the airless room. He wanted to leave, he certainly did not want to smoke such a huge joint in this intimidating environment. Usually he just smoked one bud, and that was mixed with half a cigarette, just to make a film a little deeper, music a little cooler. He felt like a naughty school boy in front of this woman, but at the same time she was about to make him smoke a massive blunt purely through intimidation. She expertly rolled the creation into a perfect cone, she tapped the side and traced around it with one finger.
"Lick it here boy, one last time."
He did this time without any fuss and she chuckled as he ran his tongue up the path her finger had traced.
" Good boy,"
She said and lit the blunt, blowing out a large cloud of smoke into his face, he took a step back and she hooked a high heel around his leg, pulling him back. As she took a long draw she ran her foot up and down his calf. She passed him the joint, wet from her mouth. It smelt strong and sweetly sharp. He took a tiny puff and coughed for about a minute, his eyes were watering.
"You don't like it," she taunted, "and I thought that's what you came here for?"
" It's too strong" he complained.
"You smoke it with tobacco I take it?" He nodded, staving off another coughing fit.
"My grandson thinks he's a big bad dealer, I let him sell a little bit for me, and the best thing about it is all the shy little boys it brings around."
" Tell me" she said crossing her legs.
" How long was it from meeting my boy until you asked him if he sold weed."
"I don't know"
"I bet it wasn't that long, that's all you white boys think when you meet a Jamaican, can you get any weed? Can you get any weed?"
"Say it again"
"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean anything, I like Clinton, we get on"
"Take another puff, a big one come on"
He took one and she kicked his shin,
"Another, long and slow",
He did as he was told, and she made him hold it in until he burst into another long coughing fit.
"Sit down Matt, little Matt."
He found his way to the bed and she barked at him.
"Not there, that is my bed boy, on the floor, in front of me."
He sat down and she loomed over him, taking the joint.
"Too strong for you? Hmm, come here." She took a long toke and grabbed his cheeks in one big hand, she pulled his face into hers and bit his nose, he started to struggle as she blew a huge lungful deep into his nostrils. She was so strong he could barely move his head. She repeated this three times until he could barely see. When she let go of his face, the pain melted into a line of heat that moved around his face slowly, his tongue felt thick and swollen in his mouth and his head was pounding. Miss Davies reached for an ashtray, as she did she opened her legs and Matt stared deep into her skirt. She was wearing stockings, and her knickers were full black satin with red traces of ruffled lace. His heart was beating, he shook his head. What am I doing?, she is a grandmother, she's huge and mean, why do I want to crawl into her skirt and fall asleep? All of a sudden he felt a burning spreading warmth in his trousers. He grabbed at his crotch horrified that he'd wet himself, but it was dry. The warmth was caused by the hardest erection he had ever had. It made him lightheaded and his vision started to blur. She crossed her legs and he looked up. She was staring right at him, she had taken her glasses off now, and she lit the joint again. She stood up and stretched,
"Hmm," she said, "I feel very relaxed now."
She walked past him, brushing his face with her skirt. He looked at the imprint of her large round bottom raise out of the leather, he wanted to rub his face in it, and his heart beat even faster as he decided to do so. He looked over at her, hoping she would be distracted, but was dumbfounded to see her sliding out of her skirt. She was wearing a frilly, feathered petticoat of black lace that failed to cover the crotch of her knickers. Her bottom was huge and round and Matt was open mouthed when she strode back and sat down. She took off her high heels one by one, grinning at him. She sat back in her seat and opened her legs. Matt made no effort to hide his stare. He was intoxicated by the weed, her dominance, her femininity and her obvious physical power. She grabbed his chin and pulled him into her legs, over her lap so her feathered petticoat brushed his face, past her stomach and over her huge round breasts. He felt her hard nipple on one cheek as she pulled him to her face. She held him one inch from her mouth and slowly exhaled a cloud of weed smoke. Her lips were bright full and wet. He opened his mouth and she blew smoke to the back of his throat, she pulled him closer and stuck out her tongue, letting the smoke roll off it and onto his face. He pushed his nose onto her tongue, moving back and forth until his face was slick and wet. He rubbed himself against the cushion, in a funk, caught in his own melodrama. He pushed his crotch onto her powerful stocking clad leg and began humping furiously, she held his face firmly, spitting little bubbles onto his face as his eyes rolled back in his head. She slapped him like a hammer blow, his fogged brain barely computed the blow when she moved in to follow it up, one more huge slap and she was shouting now.
"What the hell do you think you are doing, huh. You disgusting little boy!"
Matt felt the room spin, his ears roared with blood. Her verbal onslaught continued.
" You come uninvited to my house, you ask to buy drugs? And you hump my leg like a dog. I am a church going lady, do you know that? Not a snivelling little leech like you, I contribute to my community. Were you raised by dogs? Did they teach you to greet your elders by humping their legs? I'm old enough to be your grandmother!"
She slapped him again and he was reeling, praying his erection would disappear. She watched him try to do something, anything, until all he did was squirm.
"You look green around the gills"
"Call me mistress from now on"
She slapped him again
"Okay mistress, sorry"
"Hmm, maybe you need to clear your head."
"Please may I have a glass of water?"
"A glass of water what?"
"Later, what you need now are some smelling salts. I don't think I have any though."
"Please may I go home mistress?"
"I couldn't possibly let you walk home in this state little boy. Maybe I could phone your mother to pick you up and explain what happened."
"No, no please don't do that..Mistress"
"So you want to try my way?"
She picked up one of her high heels and grinned at him. She loomed over the young man, in her delicate petticoat, her satin knickers clearly visible, her corset swelling her already huge breasts. She held out her shoe.
"I spent all morning, walking around the shops while you lazy little boys played computer games. With my stockings on, I got quite sweaty down there, so maybe this will do instead of smelling salts."
She grabbed the back of his head and sandwiched him between her hand and the inside of her shoe. He took deep gusts of breath from the bottom of her sweaty high heeled shoe. Instead of clearing his head he felt himself slipping, he wasn't sure toward what. Thankfully she released him just as he was seeing stars. His head ached and he sat back limply. He focused on the sound of a lighter clicking, and watched another cloud of smoke drift toward him. The soaking end of the joint was shoved into his mouth and he took three long tokes. Then the Jamaican goddess put her large feet onto his chest and wriggled her toes in the translucent stockings inches from his nose. He took long sniffs of her feet, sliding into a frenzy. Her toes almost disappeared as she blew another cloud of smoke on then, and she watched the curls of smoke fly up his nose as he took long greedy sniffs of her stocking feet. ....
Pots and pans clinked together in the distance. It felt like an almost impossible distance. He had never felt so comfortable or calm. What a strange dream. He would have to give Clinton a call to get some stuff for tonight, that would be awkward but whatever, get on with it and look forward to the gig. He listened for birds, wondering how early it was. The room was airless, he started to remember. The bed was soft and smooth. He was naked, but his crotch felt tight. He sat up in a room he did not recognise. The chair! The strange sculpture on the wall! He stood up and walked to the door. It was locked firmly, he knocked on it a few times. His hands felt clammy. He was in Clintons Grandmothers room, he remembered everything. One door of the wardrobe was a large mirror. He looked himself over, he rubbed his jaw which felt stiff, and looked with horror at the tiny pair of red lace knickers he was wearing. He tried to pull them off but the locks on the door clicked. She walked in, she was wearing a purple basque and fullback frilly knickers, and over these she wore fishnet tights. She smiled at him.
"I hope you like your new outfit!" She was taunting him. He looked over her outfit, she was very sexy in an animalistic way, but also very refined and feminine.
"Where are my clothes?"
She looked at him and he felt intimidated, she cocked one eyebrow and stared. There was something he had to call her...something.....
"Where are my clothes, mistress?"
"Good little boy, I have them, you'll get them back, maybe."
"Where is Clinton, mistress?"
"He's gone to stay at a friends I'm afraid, never mind about that, I think we should get to your punishment, or did you forget, little doggy?"
"I'm so sorry about my behaviour mistress, I'd really like to go now.."
"Not without your punishment first,"
She sat down on the bed and beckoned him over. She slapped her tights encased lap,
"Lie down on me"
She tutted and grabbed his balls. He looked down at his shrunken genitals as they were engulfed by her hand. She had taken off her gloves, her nails were manicured and blood red. She dragged him onto her until he lay across her lap as she had asked. She slapped his panty covered buttocks leaving a large red mark.
"Twenty of these, boy, or I could phone your parents.. The choice is yours"
"Mistress, please, is there something else ..."
"Choose now boy"
"The slaps, please mistress."
"This" she said as she hit him flat handed, "is called", she hit him again, "spanking!" Bam, she hit him so hard he squealed, his feet raised up. She continued to hit him until she got to ten. She then started cooing and rubbing the sore area, he grew hard in her lap, he begged she would not notice.
"What is that vile thing poking me, huh?"
"You are a disgusting little creature, you really are"
She pulled down the red knickers and spanked him non-stop, going past twenty until there were tears in Matt's eyes. His feet were flailing behind his head and his skin felt raw. Miss Davies cruelly dragged her nails across the red skin until his squealing irritated her. Despite all this he was rock hard, and she made him stand in front of her for inspection.
He stood between her legs, and she jabbed one finger into his swollen balls. He bent forward in pain but she just jabbed her finger further into the sensitive gland.
"Please mistress!" He gasped
"Oh shut up! You really are a wimp aren't you Matthew?"
He didn't answer so she grabbed his swollen cock head and pinched hard.
"I am a wimp mistress, I am a wimp."
She dropped his cock and wiped her fingers on his belly. He stood with his hands behind his back, still engorged and ashamed.
"Get on your knees" she ordered. When he was down there she pointed to a trail of dribble his cock had left on her thigh during the spanking.