Love DO Cost a Thing

"What are you gonna do?" My voice perked up.

"Well, it's like I always say; we do what we've got to, to make do. Right?" Tom dropped his favourite phrase and smirked like he was keeping a secret from me. It's a look I know well. "I'm really sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's okay, honey." I fought back the urge to tell him how often I felt the same way. "Maybe if you're free tomorrow we could get lunch, or something? Like we used to."

"That would be nice, actually." When he said that, I bit my tongue to stop from cheering. Maybe the distance was all in my head, I began to wonder. Maybe we could still find common ground to connect on after all this time.

Tom checked his watch and sarcastically tapped his finger against the metal band. "You're gonna be late, even without traffic."

"Okay, honey. I'll see you tomorrow." My heart sunk as I said goodbye. It was getting harder to keep the big picture in frame when these little moments with my Son felt like all that was worth living for.

"I'm around, as long as you don't sleep too late from being out all night." He grinned and blew me a kiss.

He didn't mean to hurt me with that comment, but he did. Tom didn't know that he was basically telling me we could have lunch together if I wasn't too worn out from a night of being passed around like a bong at a frat party. I was already running late and I didn't want to miss any high paying clients that might arrive early, so I said my final goodbye and we parted ways for the night.

"You didn't save anyone for me?" I pleaded with Rebecca, the hostess that dealt with high-end clients for the Maids and Genies. "I'm sorry I'm late, but there has to be somebody! I really need the money, Rebecca."

She rolled her eyes and repeated the lines I knew she would. "We don't save spots here, you know that. First come first serve, and you came last so you get to work on-option tonight."

Rebecca was referring to the service wherein, in lieu of reservations or prominent paying members, Genies can sell themselves for a reduced fee and are allowed to pick thee fetish they indulge in. AKA the "twist". The club was insistent on keeping a barrier between Maids and Genies, so a Genie working on-option had to supply some sort of "twist" to promote the distinction if they wanted to keep their high fees.

"You gonna take the usual, then?" Her eye brow arched as she handed me a black lump of cloth.

"It's better than being tied up, I guess." The first night I donned the mask my hands were shivering. Now they were steady.

I begrudgingly accepted the mask and made my way to the backroom to get ready, cursing myself for not showing up early enough to score a rich douchebag to fuck me. Anytime I was offered on-option, I chose the facemask. That way I didn't have to see the men whose hands roamed my body. I didn't have to imagine what their wives would think any time I saw a wedding ring on the fat, grubby fingers they jammed into my pussy. I got to feel invisible.

I entered a room clad in brilliant red light that seemed too dim and too bright all at the same time. It didn't smell - it never did after it was cleaned, but I knew what it should smell like so my brain filled in the gaps for me.

A large king bed sat in the center of the room with a nightstand on one side, with a desk in the back corner. A leather chair was stationed in the opposite corner, in case a client wanted a lap dance, though in my experience it was more often used as a place for one man to relax while his buddies had their turn with me. There were various closets with cushy, padded doors that housed a seemingly endless array of sex toys and furniture to fuck on. One wall was entirely covered in a floor-to-ceiling mirror, making the room feel like it existed in two realities at once, much like I did.

Handcuffs, lube, whips, and anything else you can imagine were placed neatly on the table beside the bed. I sat on the edge of the bed and squirted a small dollop of lube onto my finger before rubbing the slippery digit between my lips, generously soaking my pussy until I could see my petals glistening in the rosy light. Nothing was worse than having one of these animals try to fuck me before I'm wet, and I was rarely afforded the time and attention it took to make me so.

I stared at the mask Rebecca had handed me and tossed it between my hands, waiting for the last possible second to put it on.

I pick the mask as my twist because it is just weird enough to get people interested, but I don't have to go through all the set up or pain like some of the rope play girls do. Sure, being blind sucks, but once you're deep in the mood you barely even notice who's fucking you anymore. The mouth hole was wide open, for obvious reasons, and in my opinion it's better to not have to see the sweaty, pudgy man towering over you pushing his knob against your lips.

I looked myself up and down in the enormous mirror, its grandiose size making me look like a doll in a fever dream playhouse. I knew customers would arrive soon, but I took a moment for a bit of much needed self-esteem boosting.

My eyes scanned my curvy figure as I tried to imagine how my impending client would see me. How their eyes would roam my body, and what they would be most drawn to. How might they perceive a middle aged Mom, wearing nothing more than a black mask, waiting for them with open arms and mouth agape?

I liked my legs. They were on the short side, but nicely toned with just enough definition in my calves that I felt like a superstar when I wore a nice pair of heels. I was never much for tanning, but working at the club gave me the incentive to routinely get my legs touched up so they were a smooth, uniform color. Never anything too dark, just enough to keep everything in perfect shape.

My knees had faint bruises from working so hard the last few weeks, but in the buzz of the red lights bathing the room they were tough to spot. I had my toenails painted red, too, as I found it meshed best with the lighting, and I wiggled the tiny digits to feel the rough carpet underneath them. The dazzling little rubies were identical to the ones I had on my fingernails, but I liked how they looked on my toes much better.

I turned my leg inward so I could see my ass from the side and jiggled the plump putty so it shook around like a boat in a storm. I used to hate how chubby my bum is, but after a year in this business I came to be quite fond of it. Turns out guys really do like more cushion to push, which I proved every time I took home a mountain of cash from letting some rich idiot dump his load inside my fat bottom. I clenched my butt to tighten up the jiggly cheeks, but they remained a doughy, gelatinous mound of ass meat whose incessant rippling I could not stop.

My breasts hung a few inches above my belly button, swinging back and forth when I walked in a way that would make you swear I was vying for attention. They were too heavy for most bras to support, but I still retained a modicum of the perkiness that made them so alluring to all the boys when I was in high school. I held one of the heavy globes in my hand and watched as my fingers sank into my skin, creating long stretched out lines that accented their incredible weight.

I always admired how, despite the heft and size of my boobs, my nipples somehow managed to point straight ahead. They were shy at the moment; hiding inside the rubbery circle until something - or someone - ended their hibernation. The soft pink colored caps of my areolas was barely visible in this harsh lighting, but the faintest outline of the rubbery surfaces could be spotted with a keen eye. Small, sparse freckles dotted my cleavage, which was a detail I was told looked amazing when I'm having my tits fucked. I traced an imaginary line between them like I was drawing a map, connecting the tiny dots scattered over the porcelain surface.

I was unique in the club, or at least my tits were, in at least one special way. All the women at the club tanned themselves head to toe to get that "golden glow", but I did not. I allowed myself to get some color on my legs, but I thought it would be more interesting if I kept my bra on to make some defined tan lines that really made my tits pop.

The result was an even color spread across my legs, shoulders, and everything in between - with the sole exception of my brilliant white tits juxtaposed against the beige hue that surrounded them. I loved the accent, and the club owner thought it looked okay so he let me keep it.

Within a month I had people booking me as "the MILF with the tan lines", and I felt guilty for liking it so much. I was holding on to a single shred of individuality in a job where everyone was encouraged to be someone else's version of sexy, and that gave me a semblance of power.

The only thing perhaps more eye catching then my tits was the dark, fluffy patch of hair that sat neatly trimmed above my pussy. It was only as wide as a few fingers, and trimmed short so there would be less mess when I had to clean cum out of the fur. I was always too self-conscious to go fully bare, and I liked the mature vibe that I felt when I saw my meaty pussy mound bulging out from below the fluffy brown fuzz. I ran my fingers through it and spread some of the leftover lube, leaving strands of sparkling goo to decorate the short bush.

As I was admiring myself, the egoist that I am, the lights in the room briefly dimed in unison with a soft ding to indicate that my services had been purchased. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves as the familiar adrenaline rush started my heart hammering. Though I was better at managing my nerves now, I was afraid to find that after more than a year of doing this they never truly went away.

I didn't know who was on the other side of that door, or how many of them there were. Maybe they were already plastered and came in here to fuck me roughly enough that I would earn a week off. I had experienced such a night in the past, and while a week off work sounds great it comes at the cost of nursing a raw, swollen pussy the entire time. Going back after that week, when I was finally able to fit a couple fingers inside me without wincing, was tremendously tough. But that's the job.

The door opened silently and my silent suitor entered the room like a ghost, floating over to me with nigh undetectable footsteps. I could feel him standing in the doorway, staring at me, before he closed it. I jumped a little when the latch closed, nervously shifting my weight in place as he strode towards me at a leisurely pace. He stopped a few feet from me and exhaled breath that sounded as though it had been held back for week, waiting for this meeting.

I heard metal clinking together as he fumbled with something. Removing a watch, perhaps? Maybe undoing a belt buckle? I was left to guess what was happening around me and had to follow his footsteps intently to track his position. I tried to stay facing him, but he was pacing back and forth like he was trying to tire out his anxiety.

"I've heard about you." His voice boomed, bouncing around the room. It reached me only a second before his sharp, metallic cologne tinged my nostrils. I deduced by the nervous waver in his tone that he was inexperienced, but he didn't want to let on. He probably in his early twenties or so, with a youthful chime in his voice that shone through his poor attempt to pitch it down an octave. "My friends told me there's a girl here..."

His eyes soaked in my body, ravishing every inch with his gaze. Clearly, he saw something that made him correct himself. "No, they told me there's a woman here who likes to wear a face mask when she goes on-option."

My heart picked up. People knew about me? Worse yet, they talked about me? Being the "tan line MILF" was one thing, but this felt entirely more degrading. I didn't want to be infamously known as the blindfolded slut who sucks cock like a Hoover, and yet my reputation was already there.

"I guess that's me." I said, trying to fit a sultry tone in-between the forced smile while I dug my fingernails into my palms. God, I fucking hate these people, but I had to pour on the charm if I wanted the repeat business that kept my Son's future alive. "So, have I seen you before, handsome?"

"No, never." He said with a deep, shaky voice. "All my friends come here as often as they can, to see if you're on-option for the night. I guess I got lucky this time."

"Oh, dear. You and your friends only wanna visit me when I'm on sale?" I felt like teasing him a bit, so I pushed my elbows together in front of my chest to make my tits pop out as I began to slip into the role I was paid to play. I clasped my hands together and tucked a bicep under each breast so the two water balloons inflated in front of his eyes. "Am I too expensive for you nice, young boys to play with?"

I tried my best to face him so he would get the most out of my presentation, but he made no sound with which to track him. He was no longer pacing. He was standing motionless with every ounce of his focus trained on me. I felt his eyes crawling over me, voraciously absorbing every detail of my body with calculated patience. My heartbeat kicked up a notch as I rolled my breasts back and forth, captivating his attention with pudgy, white tidal waves. I slowly rocked my tits between my arms until I was sure I had him hypnotized.

"Is this your first time at the club, sugar?"

He paused, wrestling with his answer. "Uh, yeah. Yes, it is. Do you get a lot of new guys?" Not even the thick carpet could hide the creeking floorboards as he subtly shifted his weight. Either he was nervous, or I truly did have him swaying in a trance with the motion of my breasts.

"I get a lot of everything, don't you worry." I blew him a kiss to butter him up before giving the curious voice in my head a chance to speak. "So, what exactly did your little friends say about me?"

"A lot, actually." I recognized the sound of a belt buckle coming undone; this time I was sure of it.

"Did they tell you about these?" I tucked my hands flat against my pudgy belly and let them wander up my chest until they were hidden underneath my tits. I placed one fat, white pancake in each hand and lifted the weight off my chest so he could see the dough spilling over the sides like thick vanilla pudding.

"Oh my god, the tan lines..." That sounded more like an unconscious mumble than a response. He cleared his throat and stepped towards me, but hesitated as he closed the distance.

"It's okay, you can touch them." I poured soothing honey over my words as I let my boobs fall and slap against my tummy. I crossed both arms behind my back and puffed up my chest.

His hands were soft as they mimicked mine; lifting my boobs up and marveling with what I can only imagine was a completely slack jaw. His thumbs tickled my nipples until the firm nubs stood at attention, stiffening as they were finally coaxed out. He rolled the pink diamonds between his fingers with a delicate touch, gently pulling the stiff, rubberycaps like he was trying to see how firm he could make them.

It felt nice, but I played it up to really sell the experience to him. After all, if I was his first Genie I wanted to make a good impression. I took a risk and laid it on thick, the way I knew most of my clients liked. "You like playing with my big, fat mommy milkers, sugar? Are Mommy's boobies big enough for her little man?" The incestuous roleplay wasn't my favourite, but based on the tips it earned me it was worth the humiliation of letting a stranger pretend they were about to fuck their loveable, dotting mother.

"F -fuck yes." He gawked sheepishly with a smile so big I could practically hear it. Jackpot; incest roleplay it is.

I'm not stupid, and I was damn good at what I do. I knew what sort of fetish would generally push a guy to pick an older woman like me, especially when there are so many young, available women walking around. It took a while, but I came to understand exactly why the club owner had been looking for older women when I first applied. Most of my clients, especially the repeat ones, wanted to live out the Mother/Son fantasy that was so unapologetically common in my practice.

Funny enough, there weren't many applicants in the forty to fifty age range, so when I applied it was like answering the club owner's dirty, perverted prayers. I had no qualms with it; I could separate the act from the real thing, even if I didn't particularly enjoy doing it. I had been down this road many times before, so when I took a chance with dirty talk I usually got it right.

"What do you like about Mommy's boobies, sweetheart?" I cooed, cocking my head at him even though I could see only darkness.

"I think...I think they're the biggest I've ever seen, and they're so heavy." He was truly in awe, lifting his arms back and forth like he was weighing them to determine which side was bigger. "I bet they'd look so good -no, amazing, if they were all full of milk."

"They used to be, you're a couple years too late for that, hun." I blew him a kiss and let my tongue lazily trace my bottom lip.

How much more money would I make if I added "milk play" to my list of services? I thought back fondly on the days when I was breastfeeding, but the memory immediately turned sour when I considered using it for work.

It was not a thought I was proud of, and I impulsively made a joke to try and stop myself from deflating. "They're heavy enough already without the milk; I almost fell over walking to work today. Although, young men like you really seem to like them, so I think I'll keep them around."

"I can't imagine how heavy they must be, I don't know how you do it. But hey, we do what we've got to, to make do, right?"

We do what we've got to, to make do.

We do what we've got to, to make do.

We do what we've got to, to make do.

The words echoed in my head with the reverb at full volume. I knew those words, and I didn't have to think hard to place them. A thousand thoughts fought for center stage, leaving me in a state of paralysis. My eyes darted around behind the mask like ping pong balls as I tried to mentally exorcise the horror that I felt creeping into every molecule in my body. How was this possible? It couldn't be. It wasn't. Was this a nightmare? No. I'm wide awake, but somebody is messing with my head. They have to be.

It all snapped into place faster than I was ready for. The steely cologne, the metallic sound of a watch being removed, and the phrase I had heard ever since it became a mainstay in my Son's vocabulary.

Tom, the boy who meant more to me than the life itself, was unwittingly fondling the same boobs that had nourished him as a baby. The ones that he snuck peaks at while I showered, unaware that his silhouette in the mirror gave him away. Young boys are often interested in the first real woman they are exposed to, or rather, that exposes themselves, so I thought nothing of the infatuation even when it continued into his high school years.

Tom massaged me with the enthusiasm of a man parched from weeks in the desert, finally stumbling across a serene, tropical oasis amid an ocean of unrelenting sand.

I didn't know what to do. For a woman who so frequently uses her body with total control I now felt like I was gagged and bound behind the steering wheel, watching the nightmare unfold before me. I couldn't see him, but once my brain was convinced Tom was the man in front of me the panic became undeniable. I had ignored the intricacies of his voice at first, but now that I could place it I knew it was unmistakably my Son complimenting me on how much he loved my breasts.