Ms. Carter and Miss Candy Ch. 02

Brief Description:

A teacher and her son become ensnared into a love triangle with the school bully.

A nice, NonConsent/Reluctance - Incest/Taboo - Transgender & Crossdresser - Mature - Anal - Fetish kind of story.

All characters in this story are 18+.

NonConsent/Reluctance, Incest/Taboo, Mature

Miss Candy

After class on Friday, Mitch was once again the last student in the room. He seemed to be playing with his phone. I pulled out my own phone just before it vibrated with a new message.

Master - Invite me to dinner again tonight

"Mitch," I said, "would you like to come over for dinner again, tonight?"

"That would be nice, Teach," he said, as he kicked his feet up on a student desk. "It would be nice to hang out with your son again, too."

"I'm sure he'll be there," I said, while firing off a text to Russell saying we had a guest for dinner and his presence was requested.

Master - Wear something nice

I stared at the latest message and gulped. Mitch then kicked his feet off the desk and left the classroom without another word.

----

At 5:30pm, I was searching through my closet trying to figure out what to wear. He said to wear something nice, so it should look good, but he's a teenage boy, so he probably meant slutty. I didn't own any slutty clothes, so I was trying to figure out which of my "nice" dresses was the sexiest. At least I had figured out the bra and panty combination. That was easy.

"Russ," I called out, "which dress did your friends like the most?"

Russell could certainly hear me. The walls were thin enough we could talk loudly from one end of the house to the other. Still, it took him a minute before he responded, "The green one." He probably felt guilty for his part in blackmailing me, but this was important to get right.

"Thanks," I hollered back to my son. I reached for the green dress and heard a knock at the front door. Mitch was earlier than expected. Russell answered the door. I got dressed as quickly as I could.

"Hello, Miss Candy," Mitch greeted me when I joined them.

"Hello, Mitch," I responded. "How do I look?" I did a little twirl in my green dress and posed for them.

"You look awesome, Mom," Russell spoke up first. "Absolutely perfect."

"It will do for now," Mitch said casually, then walked into the kitchen and sat down at the head of the table. From this position, he could see the entire room, and it was clear that we should both follow him.

Russell had already prepared the rice, so all I had to do was a little fry-up in the skillet. Mitch waved my son over to sit down at the table while I began cooking. From his seat, he had a good view of me, as well. I did my best to be entertaining and dance a little bit while putting all the ingredients together. When everything was finally in the skillet and starting to cook Mitch interrupted my train of thought.

"You know," he said, while leaning one hand on Russell's shoulder, "I was wrong."

I smiled slightly at them both, thinking that Mitch was complimenting my dress. He wasn't.

"That dress won't do at all," Mitch commanded. "Take it off."

"Oh, um, okay," I started towards my bedroom to change. "Russ, can you take over here while I—"

"No," Mitch said. He now had a firm grip on my son's shoulder. "Just take it off and put it over that chair."

I looked at Russell expecting him to make some grand heroic gesture, but he looked defeated. I stopped pretending to be the happy entertainer and stripped out of my dress. I carefully folded it over the end chair.

"There," Mitch cooed, "that looks much better. Wouldn't you agree, Rusty?"

Before Russell could answer, I turned back to the stove and stirred the fry-up so it wouldn't stick and burn. I didn't hear what they were saying after that. Just a low sound of voices in some whispered conversation. I knew that couldn't be good.

I made up three bowls of rice and put the stir-fry on top of each. I decided to give Mitch a larger portion, since he was sure to eat it anyway. I set their dinners down in front of Mitch and Russell, then turned back to the counter to get my own portion.

"Stop," Mitch ordered. "Hold that pose, Miss Candy." I became even more aware that I was wearing my sexiest bra and panties. "Okay, Russell," Mitch continued, "you can stand up and drop your pants now."

"Let's get rid of those ugly panties, too," Mitch said, and when I hooked my thumbs into the side of my underwear, he interrupted me. "Oh, I meant Rusty's tighty-whiteys, Miss Candy. I appreciate your enthusiasm but keep your panties on for now."

Behind me, Mitch instructed my son to masturbate and told him not to miss dinner. I had started to figure out what kind of sadist Mitch was, and realized Russell was being ordered to jerk off into his own food. I held my position, looking down at my own bowl, and worked out a plan. Not a terrific plan, but at least it wouldn't require Russell to eat his own cum.

"Miss Candy," Mitch spoke calmly, "it seems like the food is getting cold while we wait for Rusty here. Perhaps you could help him out by lowering your panties to half-mast."

I let out a small sigh of relief that he didn't ask something worse than that, and pushed my underwear down so that most of my ass was exposed. Russell's breathing got much louder, and soon Mitch was saying, "Good job. Now you may both sit down and eat."

I put my plan into motion. I picked up my bowl from the counter, turned around, and swapped it with my son's while saying, "I'm sorry, Russ. I accidentally gave you the wrong bowl." Then I sat down, picked up my fork, and without looking down I ate the first cum-covered bite of my dinner. I thought Mitch or Russell would say something, but we all just went on with the meal like nothing had happened. At times, I almost forgot that I was sitting there in my undies while my son sat across from me with his pants and briefs around his ankles. We even managed to have a rather pleasant conversation between the two of us. Mitch did occasionally interrupt us to compliment the food or ask me to fetch him another portion; otherwise, he remained quiet and seemed content with himself.

---

"I could eat like this every day," Mitch said, while Russell and I cleaned up the dishes. Mitch even let Russell pull his pants up when he was finished eating. "Can you imagine that, Miss Candy," Mitch asked me.

"Every day?" I responded. "I'm not sure I can imagine that, Mitch." My son looked at me sharply, but I wasn't sure whether he was more afraid that I displeased Mitch with my answer or at the thought of Mitch having dinner with us every evening.

"Ah, I see," Mitch spoke tactically, "you want to know just how long I will keep this up."

"I didn't mean—" I started, but a look from Mitch shut my mouth.

"It's okay, I understand," his tone of voice was almost soothing. "Let's be honest with one another. You're what, 40 years old, Miss Candy?"

"37," I corrected him.

"Close enough," Mitch continued, "you look good for a woman your age, but you're still on the clock. You're reasonably attractive now, but in a few years... I doubt it. As for Rusty there, he's my age and one hell of a good cocksucker, but I don't swing that way."

"A few years?" Russell asked.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll get bored of you two long before that," Mitch replied. "Maybe a few weeks or a couple of months, then I'll go back to playing with sluts my own age. What you should be worried about is how I feel about you when I eventually get bored."

I understood. When he was done personally making our lives a living hell, he might decide to cap it off by releasing the video and photos anyway. By then, he'll probably have even worse evidence, from the things he coerces us to do. Or he might just get bored with his playthings and let us go free. It all depends on how he feels about us whenever he decides this is over.

"Well," I said to the boy sitting at my kitchen table, "there will always be a space and an extra portion for you here at my table. Mitch, you are welcome to have dinner here every day."

Russell dropped a bowl in the sink, cracking it.

----

"I read your file," Mitch said, while going through my closet. "It said that you can't get pregnant anymore. Is that right?" Russell and I were sitting on my bed. I was still wearing just my high heels, bra, and panties. My son and the other boy were fully dressed.

"That's right," I responded to Mitch's question, "As a result of that last beating, Russell was born prematurely. I can't have any more children." I reached out for my son's hand and held it for emotional support.

"Everything in here is so tacky," Mitch said, then he asked, "Do you still get periods? Or did that go away, too?"

"No, I haven't had a period in over eighteen years." I thought maybe if I could remind this boy how much I had already suffered he might take pity on us. It wasn't working.

"Why do you even wear panties?" Mitch asked next. I paused in horror at what he could have said—that he could cum in my pussy all he wanted without consequences. I was a little relieved that he was only asking about my clothing choices.

"It's just the right thing to do," I replied. Then I thought about it, "And it feels good. They're comforting, supportive, and the right pair can improve my confidence."

"Well, you don't need to worry about that anymore," Mitch said. "You can wear 'em when you're teaching, I guess; but I don't ever want to catch you wearing them again around me."

I didn't bother pointing out that I taught one class with him in it, or that I was wearing panties right now. "Understood," I said, "I won't wear them to our dinners in the future."

"There's nothing good in here," Mitch finally stepped away from my closet carrying a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. "Stand up, slut," he gestured to me, "I'm taking your seat."

I stood up and we swapped places. He put the shirt and jeans on the bed between Russell and himself. Then he ordered me to strip completely. I could leave the heels on, 'if I wanted to,' so I knew it was just as necessary. Russell looked away discreetly, and Mitch was so intent on watching me, that he didn't seem to notice my son's reluctance to look at his naked mother.

"Not bad, not great," Mitch commented on my naked body. "You clearly exercise, but not often enough. Do you shave or wax?"

I tried not to hide my shame, just responding, "Laser hair removal. Everything below the neck." Mitch whistled. The sound surprised Russell, who looked back at me. Neither boy could take their eyes off me.

"Well, turn around," Mitch prodded me, "give us the full show."

I did the best I could, trying to look attractive to my blackmailer, showing off my features without encouraging him too much. He might call me a slut, but I didn't want him to think I was one. When I finished showing off, I looked down and saw both 18-year-old boys had significant bulges in their pants.

"Clearly, you don't need a bra, either" Mitch commented, "but they do look so nice. Do you have a selection?" I pointed to the dresser drawer where I kept my nice lingerie. I knew he wouldn't be interested in the ones I wore every day.

"Nice, nice. Who do you wear these for?" Mitch asked.

"For myself," I responded.

"No boyfriends or lovers?" Mitch wasn't really asking, before I could answer he said, "Don't worry, your son already told me."

I felt the need to say something, so I said, "No boyfriends or lovers. Not since my ex-husband almost killed me and our unborn child."

"You keep bringing that up," Mitch said, then asked, "Are you trying to evoke sympathy or trying to give me ideas?" I stared like a deer in the headlights. I lost my balance slightly, and since I was wearing high heels—that turned into losing my balance completely. Russell leapt off the bed and caught me before I could injure myself. Unfortunately, the way he caught me put one of his hands on my ass and his face in my breasts.

"Alright, love birds," Mitch chuckled, "that's enough of that. Clearly you can't be trusted with heels yet. You'll go barefoot for now." I stood up normally while Russell returned to where he had been sitting on the bed.

"Tomorrow, we're going to have to go shopping," Mitch continued like nothing had happened. "And get some real clothing for Miss Candy to wear. You don't have to tag along, Rusty." Mitch handed me the T-shirt, "Cut this so it shows off your midriff without exposing too much of your boobs. You won't be wearing a bra." Mitch handed me the jeans, "Cut these down to a pair of shorts - high enough to show off your assets, but low enough not to get arrested. You won't be wearing panties." I took both articles of clothing and looked dumbfounded.

"I guess you have some socks and sneakers? That should do it," Mitch continued. "Don't forget your credit cards—I won't be paying. The stores open at 10:00am, so I'll be here at 9:00am."

"Now, there's just one more thing before I leave," Mitch smiled obscenely. "Which one of you is going to suck my cock right now?"

Russell hesitated. I dropped to my knees, not wanting to see my son do that again. Pretty soon Mitch was saying, "You're almost as good at that as your boy. Speaking of which, Rusty, why don't you jerk off watching this? Slowly, you don't want to cum on your mother's sheets." It wasn't a question. After swallowing Mitch's load, Russell was ordered to stand up and cum on my face. I didn't need to be told to keep my eyes and mouth open. My son shot his load into my hair.

"Close enough for tonight," Mitch laughed, then left for the night. I knelt there on the floor, buck naked, with my son's cock only inches from my face. He didn't move away and neither did I. His erection didn't go away, either. Finally, I made the decision, saying, "Let me clean that up for you." I wrapped my lips around his shaft and sucked the last drops from him. Then I felt him get harder and turned it into a proper blowjob. This time when he came, he grabbed my hair and pulled out of my mouth, spraying it all over my face—just like Mitch had wanted.

Candy Shopping

Weekends I let myself sleep in, so I got out of bed around 7:00am. Mitch said he would be here at 9:00am, so I figured I should be ready to go about thirty minutes before then. I hopped in the shower and started the day. I had cut down and hemmed the outfit the night before, so by 8:00am I was ready to make breakfast. The smell of coffee brought Russell stumbling out of his bedroom.

"Damn, Mom," my son said, "I mean I hate it, but you're looking... just damn."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, while looking at my son wearing just a pair of gym shorts. A week ago, that was just part of the normal weekend routine; but today, it seemed somehow inappropriate. "I guess your old mom has still got it," I joked.

Russell poured our cups of coffee just the way we like it, cream for me, sugar for him. I was making eggs, bacon, and toast—and preparing an extra portion. "Shit, he's coming over, again," Russell remembered. Then," Oh, shit." I didn't even need to be told what he remembered. I had been thinking about it all morning. We sat down to eat.

"I've been thinking about that, too," I told him, "And it was just something that needed to be done."

"It was?" Russell asked, unsure what I meant. He probably had too many ideas of what I could mean.

"It is just a matter of time before Mitch orders us to do something like that anyway," I continued. "So, we just did the smart thing and got it out of the way—on our own terms."

"Yeah," my son said, then he was uncharacteristically silent. I could hear a thought hanging in the air, but he wasn't saying it.

I finally ordered him, "Oh, just blurt it out already."

"Okay, but you gotta understand," Russell responded. "It's just a joke. It's just a joke that occurred to me, but it's not funny. It is shockingly not funny at all."

"Duly noted," I said, "so tell me this not funny joke before you burst something."

"Well," my son started to laugh uncomfortably, "what do you think he'll force us to do next?"

I paused for a second—first confused, then horrified, and finally I started laughing as well.

----

Sure enough, Mitch arrived early. I set a plate down for him and he ate happily. When he finished, I asked if he wanted me to cook up something else. He said, "I'd love to, but then we'd be late." He walked me out to his car. Russell had managed to stay silent in his room and avoid Mitch this time around.

The kid had a Mustang. It was at least as old as he was, but it was still a Mustang. Despite its age, it looked like it was in cherry condition. As he climbed inside, I noticed that the interior looked as beautifully cared for as the exterior. I also noticed that he didn't open the door for me—he got into the driver's seat before leaning over to unlock the passenger's side. I looked around briefly and was glad none of my neighbors were out here to see me climbing into the pony car of a kid half my age, wearing booty shorts and a cut-off t-shirt.

"I like the shoes," Mitch said, while idling the car outside my house. "Those shorts aren't great, but they show off your legs well." He turned toward me and slipped a hand up my shirt, lightly gripping my naked breast. "Seems like you did everything I told you to do." He let go of my breast and leaned over further, reaching between my knees. I gasped slightly, then realized he was just opening the glove compartment. "Good girls get presents," he said, as he handed me a light blue plastic eyeglass case.

"I don't wear glasses," I said, as I opened them and looked at the rose-tinted eyeglasses in the case.

"Miss Candy does," he responded, "Try them on—they aren't prescription or anything."

I did what he asked. He closed the glovebox and flipped down my visor so I could look at myself in the mirror. They weren't my style at all, but they did fit my face nicely. I thanked Mitch for the gift, and we pulled away from my house. I half expected him to burn rubber and tear down the suburban street, but he took it slow and steady. Mitch was a much safer driver than I would have ever guessed. I knew he wasn't trying to impress me, so this must be how he drove every day. I realized it was about the car—spotless interior, spotless exterior, and driven to make it last.

We talked about the car for a while. Anything technical that I asked about—like the engine, oil, or brakes—he told me about with ease. Anytime I asked a personal question—like how long he had it, or if he restored it himself—he shut down and just didn't answer. Eventually, he got bored of my chatter and turned on the radio. It turned out we had the same taste in music. He sang along to some of the songs, and I told him about the concerts I went to when I was young and those bands were still new. He actually seemed interested, but nothing was going to distract him from driving.

"Why are we going so far away," I asked, when we pulled onto the highway, "there are plenty of shops around here."

"Three reasons," he started. Then there was a slight interruption while he navigated through a nasty patch of vehicles.

"First, I don't want anyone I know to see me hanging out with a teacher outside of school," Mitch continued.

"Second, you don't want anyone you know to see you dressed like this with a man half your age," he finished.

Then he started singing along to some Foo Fighters without telling me what the third reason might be.

-----

"You need to do some acting," Mitch told me as we pulled into the Food Court parking lot, a mall an hour from my house. "Playing pretend. You can do that, right?"

"What do you need me to do?" I asked.

"You are Miss Candy here. You're not a teacher. I'm not your student," Mitch told me.