Locked in the Closet Pt. 04

Tearing his eyes away from her, he turned to unpack. On the bed were his new pair of pants, the ones she had taken away from him after their time at the cabin. He put them on, and one of his new t-shirts. Freshly dressed he moved downstairs to help.

They went around each other like an old, married couple, and always, when he flashed her with a smile, she scratched him behind the ear, or caressed his back. When they started to eat, he did it as quickly as possible, and she laughed when he crawled under the table for her. But she kicked him away until she'd finished her food. Meanwhile she rested her feet on his shoulders. He kissed her legs.

But afterwards a strange feeling came over him. His mouth felt different somehow. A sort of creeping sensation came over him, and even though he jumped to do everything she asked of him, and loved her for it, he couldn't put the feelings aside. He felt a jolt inside of himself as she pushed his mouth aside to finish herself off after dinner. She had done the same after lunch. And it was something else too, on the tip of his tongue.

That first night they slept together. She would often curl her arm around him, even in her sleep. Always he would spring to attention, since he hadn't cum in almost a week. Wednesday's experience made him harder than ever before. She cooed when she saw it in the morning light, but he wanted to show his appreciation, and instead of waiting as he usually did, he crawled under her comforter and made her ready for her fingers. She made him suck them clean afterwards.

He wondered why he felt like this. He knew himself to be happy. But as he once again crawled beneath the breakfast table, he felt a wrongness catching him all over. Still, he licked her obediently, like she wanted to. When she started to stroke herself, with much slower motions than usual, she looked him over, down there, between her outstretched legs.

"And why are you looking at me like that, my little prude?" she asked.

"Don't know," he whispered.

"If you want to act like a puppy, you should lick my feet."

"Yes..." he mumbled, and heard her fastening pace as he bent his lips and tongue over her teasing foot.

"Kiss me all the way up here," she said in a husky voice, pointing at her leaking pussy.

He did, and soon he was lapping from her familiar opening. It rasped against his--

He hesitated, but couldn't stop, not while he cleaned her. Even his thoughts came in second place. The smooth, pink inside of her pussy gave him a comforting purpose.

She was so familiar. That was the problem. Her surprise for him had been her shaved pussy, a chance to bring her to an orgasm, all by himself. He'd expected something different, that's all.

He stopped, tongue stuck to her steaming pussy.

This wasn't the same. She hadn't shaved herself and become this hairy in just a couple of days. She had even trimmed it recently. He could tell.

He let his tongue fall back into his mouth. "How...?"

"Starting to suspect now?" she asked, eyes glinting above him. She took a sip of her orange juice. "You don't know much, but you do know a pussy, don't you?"

Her mocking notes made him press himself closer to the floor. Once again, she put her feet on his back, nudged him into a form more pleasing to her.

"Wha... Who..." He shuddered around his words, felt himself spiraling into the checkered kitchen floor.

"Wha? Who?" she repeated.

She lifted her legs off him, spread them. With a warning stab from her eyes, he knew what to do. He even thanked her for it under his silent breath. Licking at her pussy was doing something, forgetting everything else.

"I had a friend that came to me," she mused. "She had a difficult time. Work-related stress, family problems, sexual. Who doesn't? She asked me if I had any suggestions, and I said why don't you go to someone professional to take care of some of it for you. But she didn't want to, not at first. She seemed to feel that it was awkward somehow hiring someone that much younger than her, because you see, she had bad experiences in her own age-bracket. So, I let it slide. Never mind, I thought. Each to his own. But then, she called me, asked me to set her up. What now? I asked. I'm so tired, she said. My son's feeling bad. I must straighten myself out somehow, feel like a normal person again. What do you want? I asked. Anything, she said, I just don't want to look at him, don't want to hear him talk, none of that. Because, you see, she was a prude too. She just wanted someone to take care of her for once, someone with a nice, open mouth."

She nodded and pressed his head harder against her pussy, gyrating her hips on the chair.

"So, I said, sure, sis, I can help you. I know just the thing."

He stopped licking, stopped breathing, but she continued to move herself against his frozen face. She used his chin, his nose. Moaning, she gripped him with both of her hands, threatening to tear the hair from his scalp if he moved as much as an inch away from her. Then, because it was still better to do something, he stretched out his tongue, moved it up and down, like a piece of meat.

It all ended when she wanted to use her fingers again. Somehow, he had thought it would all be different now, but he fell and beat his head on the floor.

She strained her neck as she looked down on him, the tendons in her neck sticking out like twigs. "I can't from just your filthy tongue," she said between clenched teeth. "I'm not a slut like my sister."

As she came, he cuddled next to her twitching feet, pressing his face against them, covering them with his tears. The dripping, quenching sound surrounded him on all sides under the table.

"Good boy," she whispered as he pressed his face against her again, licked her clean and shiny. Some things were just inevitable right now. In the same way he sighed as he pressed his cock against her leg. He was still as hard as ever in his pants, leaking precum all over his underwear.

Lifting him from under the table, she helped him stuttering and crying to the couch. There she sat herself next to him, and opening up his pants she started to stroke him with slow and even grasps of her hand.

"Don't think," she whispered into his hair. "Just feel this. Doesn't it feel nice?"

"Yes..." her whimpered.

She quickened her pace. "You made her so happy. You must have noticed the difference?"

He tried to nod. "She was happy..."

"Yes. You did that to her. She even wanted to give you money, afterwards, I mean. I said that I would take care of that. And she wants to see you again."

"..." He turned his head to stare at her beautiful, cruel face.

"Would it really be that bad, licking her pussy? You've already done it once. And don't pretend you didn't like it. I picked you off the floor. Ah!"

She released him, let him wobble in the air for a couple of seconds, before she continued to stroke him, slower and harder this time, with fingers squeezing the most sensitive part of his head with every upward stroke. The pain set him back, but not for long.

"See?" she asked him with a sweet smile. "Besides, I don't know what else to do. Your mother expects it off me now, that little slut. What should I say to her? What should I say..."

"Please, I'll do anything..."

"Will you eat your mother's pussy again? Would you let her squeeze herself all over your face?"

"Yes..."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, auntie."

"Good boy. It's not about you. It's not about me either. It's about her. Don't you want your mother to be happy?"

"Yes, auntie."

"She's just a dutiful single mom who needs someone on the side, once in a while. She'll never see your face. She couldn't handle that, she said, and I believed her. The sweet thing was, she said that it would remind her of you. She really loves you. You're lucky kid."

"Yes, auntie... Ah! Auntie, I'm gonna, I'm gonna..."

"I know. I'm gonna make you cum now, my little prude. And tomorrow I'm gonna take you to the cabin again. But if you are good, and I mean really good, I'm gonna give you such a sweet blowjob like you never felt before."

"Yes, auntie!" he screamed, and his pent-up frustration burst from his cock, sputtered against her fingers, splashed all the way up to her forearm. The last few couple of thick drops she milked from him with her glistening hand.

"I'm all dirty now," she whispered.

He knew what to do. He knew what his purpose was. He knew it as he continued to serve her for the rest of the day. That evening though, she sent him to his room without making him crawl under the dinner table.

"I want you to miss it," she said to him, opening her mouth, mocking him with a sensual gasp. "Can you feel the taste?"

He nodded, licking his lips. It was all over his face. He squirmed beneath her gaze. After her handjob she had left him in his pants all day, making him pine under her hand. He was all sticky now.

"Tomorrow evening," she said. "But don't worry. I'll put you to good use in the meantime. And baby?"

He had started to leave. Now he backed into the kitchen again. "Yes?"

"If you hear me stroking myself, just ignore it. Okay? I'm just used to it, your filthy tongue, those lips of yours. Oh, never mind. Good night."

"G-good night," he whispered, and yelped as he bumped against the wall. He could barely walk straight. It was a joke, sending him to bed this early. It was barely 21:00. She hadn't used him yet. She hadn't let him cum.

An hour after he went upstairs, he heard his aunt's footsteps. She walked in a slow pace, took a turn past his door. He heard her touch the handle, and he froze in anticipation. He controlled himself like a straight-jacket, held his hands far away from him, sweating from exertion. Then she vanished. He listened with desperate ears, mouth panting.

Long into the night he listened to her moans and screams. He wanted to defy her and touch himself, but couldn't. He was too scared. And he was a good boy, and good boys didn't jerk off thinking about their mothers. Nor their aunts. He wanted himself to be pure again, clean, but he felt his grip on reality slip. He clung to the memory of his mother, but only felt her naked legs writhe on either side of him again. Still, he couldn't see all of her, not imagine what she had looked like lying on the bed, his face between her legs. It was an impossible thing. Eventually, thoughts about his aunt in the same position comforted him enough to send him into a heavy sleep. He prayed he would never wake again.

She held her word. The next day she worked him hard. Besides that, she shaved him all over his body.

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" she asked him when the extended period was over. He trembled in the shower, the water dripping on his face. Between strokes she had pumped his cock. To make it easier to shave, she said, saving it for last. She dragged her silky fingers all over him when she was done. "Now, say thank you to your pimp."

Feeling his whole body in an unfamiliar way he did what was expected of him. It was 16:00.

"Soon," she said, as she pressed her ass to the tiles, pulling his face into her. She turned the water up, and he saw his hairs and the shaving oil disappear. When she was ready, she rubbed herself to an orgasm. Afterwards she made him spray the day's load down the drain. It wasn't pleasurable. It felt mechanical. She just did it to get it out of the way.

He was alone for a little while after that. She had ordered him to go to his room, dress for the occasion. She had put out some clothes for him. They were all new. He could still stop this, he knew, but he didn't know if he wanted too anymore. His lips moved with a hunger, he licked himself constantly. Depraved, he thought as he put on the clothes. Filthy, animal, useless... No, not useless. He was an open mouth. His mother needed him for that. And his aunt, even though she didn't act like it. He serviced her too. She had chosen him.

Fully dressed he went into the guest room closet again. He wasn't surprised when his aunt came for him this time. She was dressed in comfortable but nice clothes, keys dangling from her fingers. Single mom pimp, he thought with a rueful smile.

They didn't speak in the car. She drove with a concentrated expression on her face. He looked at the landscape, so familiar, but even so he was a stranger in a strange land. He rubbed his sweaty hands against his thighs, shivered as he made contact with his crotch. She had put a new perfume on him, something unfamiliar. He sniffed his wrists. Like minerals.

In the cabin his aunt turned off all the lights except the ones leading to the bedroom. He got a chance to see it this time, as she prepared it with towels and lube and other things.

"Get yourself ready," she said, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. "She'll be here any minute."

She helped him with the gloves this time, and the mask. As he looked at her, he blinked his eyes. He could see! In the mirror on the wall, he saw a couple of small holes. They had been covered last time.

"Yes," she said. "And you can hear my voice too?"

He nodded.

"Good. She knows that, but not that you can see." Patting her leg, she thought about something, but shook her head. "It will be like last time. She has you for an hour. Then I pick you up. Simple."

He nodded, and surprised, because he could see and hear, he felt a drip of spit hit him on his naked chest. He started to hyperventilate, panicking.

She grabbed a hold on him. "You want to wear the blindfold again?"

That shut him down. He shook his head.

"Good," she said, and moving close to him she stroked him all over his upper body. She put her lips against his ear-hole. "I would buy you myself if I didn't own you already."

Lastly, she clasped the leash on him, and as she pulled him to the floor he obeyed without protest. He relaxed his head against her thigh. She petted him, put the rolled-up leash in his mouth. Then she disappeared.

Crawling, he went straight to the bedroom. That was where she had stopped him last time, and the furs were softer on his knees. Looking at the large bed, not daring to get up on it, he rested against a chair in the corner, panting with his tongue pressing against the leash.

He heard a sound from the back of the house, a back door open. Then he heard steps, and he put himself on all fours again, starting to shake.

His mother entered the living room. She seemed to come straight from work. She wore a pair of high-heeled shoes, her ordinary coat, gloves. Her face glowed with a rosy expression.

"Oh!" she said as she saw him. "I hoped it would be you again. I was so nervous last time, I couldn't..." She swallowed.

Quickly she took her coat off, and now he saw her. For the first time he saw his mother for who she really was.

She stepped out of the coat with just a fancy pair of dark green underwear beneath it, but she only had stockings, not panties. As the cold air of the room hit her, she shivered. She tried to cover herself with her arms.

She had forgotten the gloves, and something about the gloves, how she touched her creamy, white skin with them, the silky underwear, the shoes, made him make an involuntary motion with his hips. But he stayed where he was. He couldn't see her, he remembered. He could only react to the sound of her voice, her... touch.

Her arms trembled as they moved down her body, to her shaved pussy. He allowed himself to gaze upon her breasts, just a bit fuller than his aunt's, her hips just a bit wider. But mostly he just stared at that freshly shaved pussy. He knew then that his mother kept it up at home. This was her, in the same way that her warm hugs were. This beating pussy, dripping and flowing down her thighs. This was his mother too.

She removed her gloves, put them on the coat.

Eyes hurting, he remembered those lips, the taste and smell of her. He heard himself moan, felt himself drip, as he saw her putting a pair of fingers inside of her. Then, from a table his aunt had prepared for her, she poured a splash of vodka, waved it in the air in front of her. She sipped it while she continued to look at him, a hunger in her eyes. Swaying in her heels she moved across the floor into the bedroom.

"Yes, I hoped it would be you," she whispered, and one inch at a time she reached her hand towards him. Desperate, he leaned into it as she touched him. "My little puppy. With your tongue."

Obediently he held up his mouth to her.

"Yes," she said, and reaching for his spit covered leash she led him to the side of the bed. She still had the drink in her hand, and as she finished it, she followed a stray drop down the side of the glass with her pink tongue.

This wasn't his mother anymore, in the same way that his aunt wasn't really his aunt anymore. And she made it easier for him, walking back and forth across the room in a way that he had never seen her before, looking at him with eyes that turned dark with lust.

Putting down the empty glass she returned to him, and leading him on she put herself on all fours on the bed. With a careful motion, as if she wanted to surprise him, she dragged him into her pussy from behind. He ate her whole, and she pressed against him. The hand with the leash came up under his chin, started to rub at her clit. Every movement made him jerk into her.

Falling forwards on his knees he tried to feel her with his hand-things, like paws. Her skin was so soft under his lips. Eagerly he licked at it instead, lowered his head to taste her smooth hands, before he thrust his whole mouth at her pussy again. It was so slippery, so wet, even before she fell on the bed in front of her, carrying him with her, filling his mouth with hot spurts of oily liquid.

Shaking, moaning as if in pain, she turned her convulsing body to the ceiling, laid down on the bed.

Tightening her grip on the leash his mother grinded against his gaping hole, stroking her belly. She screamed much loader than his aunt. He could see her curls of hair whipping back and forth.

Sitting up, she grabbed his head in both hands, pressing him up against her. "Suck on my clit, you fucking whore! Ah... ah... Don't... Don't stop. I'm gonna..."

She came over his face again, making it hard for him to breathe. But she didn't let go of him. She didn't seem to listen to his rasping breaths, his uncontrollable sounds when he couldn't find air anymore. It only seemed to drive her on. She rubbed herself all over his head. Once, she even came against his leather covered forehead. He felt it as it dripped into his mouth.

Eyes looking down, panting and drooling, he felt something light and silky flow against his body. His mother's dark green bra landed on the soft, white furs. As she bent over him, forcing his leather covered face so she could look at him, he jerked with the forbidden lust he felt. Those heaving breasts, soft and round, the ones that he had suckled as a baby. He wanted to lick at them so badly, feel them in his hands. It hurt. He raised his arms, but his useless stumps fell back on the floor.

It wasn't meant to be like this, he thought as she dragged her shiny fingers over his chest, let him lick at them, drawing them away with a playful chuckle. One of her high-heeled shoes cared for him over the crotch.

"No, you don't deserve that," she said, fingering the leash. "It's my money. You only exist for my pleasure."

Leaning forward, making her full breasts swell between her arms, she put her face up close to his, curling her lips. He looked up at his giant mother in horror for a second, imagining that she could see the tiny holes in his mask, right into his eyes. Then she disappeared, and he heard her whispering voice through the ear-socket.

"You're nothing but a filthy whore."

Throwing away the leash, she fell back on the bed, but even without instructions he knew what his mother expected of him. As he started to lap at her swollen pussy she tapped on his cock with her shoe. He moaned against her.