Ms. Carter and Miss Candy Ch. 04

Brief Description:

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

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

Twosome Tuesday

Master - Bitch needs to go shopping. Get him some nice sundresses and sandals. Doesn't matter where.

The order came to my phone at 9:00am. I showed it to Russell. The text clearly referred to my son's tramp stamp, "Mitch's BITCH". I found some measuring tape and wrote down his dimensions. Fifteen minutes later I was driving us to a mall.

I considered driving all the way out to the mall where I had done my shopping, but there was no need for that. Russell and I were dressed like normal, just a mother and son doing some clothes shopping. Aside from the matching tongue studs there was no reason anyone would suspect we were doing anything peculiar.

Since we had his measurements, there was no need for Russell to try on any of the dresses. There wasn't much in his size, but it only took us three stores to buy him five dresses. My son seemed okay with this. I never noticed him doing any crossdressing or picked up on any other signals. As far as I knew, he was bisexual or pansexual; but not gender neutral. Maybe it is something about his generation, where gender fluidity is more accepted. Maybe, he was just more like me than I wanted to believe.

When Mitch gave me an order, it almost never occurred to me to disobey. I had assumed this was because of my abusive ex-husband and the people who came before him. For eighteen years, I had done my best to protect my son from people like that. Maybe we were both obedient and submissive by nature, rather than nurture.

Russell wasn't submissive in all things. He was a natural leader—whenever he was part of a group, people just responded to his charisma and followed his example. When Mark broke into Mitch's home, I naturally assumed Russell must have known about it. My son was the leader amongst his group of friends. Now, he was playing the docile submissive. I wondered if he could be pretending but discounted it. When it seemed certain that Mitch was going to abuse me, Russell had just sat there and watched. He wouldn't have done that if he was pretending.

It occurred to me that I hadn't heard anything about his friends since this all started. I tried to ask Russell about Thomas and Keith, but he couldn't understand me. I hadn't adapted to the recent tongue piercing very well yet. Russell was barely understandable, but I wasn't.

The sandals were much more difficult. Russell is over six feet tall and wears a size twelve men's. That's at least a size fourteen in women's. Most stores don't even stock boots in women's size nine or larger. We eventually found a pair of men's sandals that didn't look too masculine, and ordered a couple pairs of size fourteen women's sandals online after we got home.

-----

Master - Slut, bring lunch

That text included an address. I'm not including that here. I prepared a sandwich for Mitch and a few single servings of applesauce, then drove over. I could've asked Russell to come with me but didn't disturb him. When I got there Mitch was sitting on the porch of the house smoking a cigarette. Mitch led me into his home.

It was heartbreaking. Mitch's parents were both hoarders and just plain filthy. Mail, newspapers, and magazines were stacked everywhere. Food wrappers and discarded food littered the floor. Mitch's parents overflowed their recliners. Each one was at least 400 pounds. Mitch's mom had chocolate smeared on her face. Mitch's dad was eating popcorn out of an oversized bag. They were both watching TV. I wondered if they could even get out of their chairs anymore. Mitch walked past them without a word. I tried to greet them but was completely ignored.

The hallway was almost worse. There was at least a clear path from the front door to the hallway; but in the hall, I had to be careful not to slip as I stepped on things. More mail, more magazines, more food wrappers, more rotten food.

"They've always done just enough that Social Services wouldn't take us away," Mitch said, as he led me into his room. This was more like what I expected, based on the way he took care of his car. There wasn't much in the room, but every inch of it was spotless, and well cared for. There were no sheets on the bed and no pillowcase on the pillow, but he had a bed with a pillow. There was a desk that looked like it had never been used. There wasn't even a chair for the desk. Sitting on the desk was a laptop. I recognized it as an older model Chromebook. The closet had three pairs of jeans and maybe a half dozen shirts. No underwear. No dresser. Socks neatly folded on the floor. It looked like the only pair of shoes he owned were those he was wearing. The only disorder I saw was under his bed, where a few magazines were obviously hidden. A couple of the magazines had muscle cars on their covers, the others were porn mags.

I looked around for another computer. There weren't any. That didn't make sense. That Chromebook didn't have a DVD player or burner. It didn't even have the local storage to store a file of that size.

Mitch sat on the bed and indicated I should sit next to him. I handed him the sandwich. Then I looked down at my applesauce cups and realized I had forgotten to bring a spoon. I put the bag in my lap and waited.

"You dressed like my teacher today," Mitch said. He wasn't looking at me. He was eating his sandwich and staring at the wall in front of him. "I didn't expect that," he continued, "Is that who you are when you have the day off from school?"

I looked at him and stuck my tongue out. I tried to say, "I haven't learned to speak with this yet," but it just came out as unintelligible nonsense.

"That's probably for the best," Mitch told me. "Right now, I think I just need someone to listen." I looked at him and nodded. I felt sympathy for the boy, even if he had none for me.

"You saw those people when you came in?" I nodded when Mitch mentioned his parents. "My dad was captain of the football team. My mother was the head cheerleader."

"You see what they are now," Mitch continued.

"Tara's the smart one in the family," Mitch said, with a hint of pride in his sister, "she has the diploma. She's got her degrees in cosmetology and whatever else. She says that no matter what we accomplish we're going to end up like them, so we should enjoy ourselves while we can."

I didn't just sit there and listen. I put my hand on Mitch's leg and squeezed slightly. He took another bite of his sandwich and kept staring at the wall.

"I don't understand you," he said, seeming to change topics entirely, "and I really don't understand your son."

"I mean, if something happened to those people," he said nodding in the vague direction of his parents, "who would give a damn? Would Tara? Would I even care? I doubt it."

Mitch finished his sandwich—shoving too much into his mouth all at once—and sat there silently chewing for a while before he could swallow.

"He just sat there when you were about to be—" Mitch cut himself off, afraid to admit that he had been prepared to rape me in front of my son.

"If there was someone like you in my life," Mitch continued, "it wouldn't matter what the consequences were. I'd do anything to protect her."

A thought occurred to me. I reached into my clutch and pulled out my phone. I replied to the message from 'Master' and showed it to him.

"You have me in your life," my message said.

I wasn't sure what I expected. Maybe Mitch would break down in tears. Maybe he wouldn't be able to handle his emotions, stand up, and punch a hole in the wall. Maybe he would break down crying. I guess I expected something dramatic.

I didn't expect him to just read the message and look away again. Again, he stared at the wall.

"That's nice," he said dismissively.

We sat there like that for a while, not saying anything. Eventually I put my phone back into my clutch, and the clutch bag into the bag with the applesauce. Mitch stood up and extended a hand towards me. I let him help me up.

"It was nice seeing you, Teach," he said.

My heart sank. I wanted to save this kid. I wanted to tell him to gather up his things, say goodbye to your parents, you're coming to live with me. I wanted to hug him and tell him that he was loved. I wanted to fuck him and tell him I loved him.

I found myself disturbed by that last thought.

He nodded towards the door and walked over to his desk, crouching over it to login to his netbook. He waited until I left the room before typing in his password. You can't be too careful, I guess.

I stopped in the hallway. Again, I pulled out my phone and messaged him.

"Dinner tonight?" I messaged him. Before he could respond, I wanted to add a "Please?" but I didn't have the time.

Master - Sure

-----

When I got back home, Russell said that he was going to walk over to Keith's house and hang out after school. I was surprised at how quickly he was recovering his ability to speak and did my best to tell him not to do anything stupid. My son kissed me on the lips and told me he would never do anything to put me in danger. I stopped him before he walked out the door and pointed to his lower back. 'Mitch's' was plain to see through his white t-shirt, as was the whale tale of his black thong. Russell changed into a dark purple polo that hid everything before leaving the house.

I really hoped they wouldn't do anything stupid. Part of me couldn't help but wonder if Keith was one of Russell's friends who Russell enjoyed servicing orally. Would Russell remember to hide his tattoo and piercings? Maybe he could explain away the piercings, but 'Mitch's BITCH' as a tramp stamp? How could he possibly explain that if anyone saw it.

I started to wonder if Russell really had four closest friends. Thomas, Keith, Mark, and Mitch. Had this all been a setup from the beginning? Did Mitch happen to have cameras in those bathroom stalls because Russell or his other friends installed them? If Mitch didn't do the video editing and burn the DVD because his Chromebook didn't have those capabilities; was it Russell, or one of his friends, that did that for him? Did Mark even have broken bones and fractured ribs—I only knew about that from my son, and because Mark didn't show up to school on Monday. It all started to make sense—if I didn't trust anyone, and especially didn't trust my son. I decided that I did trust my son and let the conspiracy theories leave my mind.

I had about four to five hours to kill before Mitch would be there for dinner. I went into Russell's room, logged in to his computer, and started looking at recipes. I was determined to use the time to make Mitch something special.

Dinner was ready at 6:00pm. Mitch finally knocked at the door at 7:00pm.

He brought flowers. Gladioli and lavender. I put them in a glass at the center of the kitchen table.

-----

After practicing all day, I sounded like I had a speech impediment; at least I could be understood. That didn't mean much during dinner. Mitch ate happily while I tried to start a conversation. At least when Russell was home, we could talk over dinner. Afterwards I told Mitch I would take care of the dishes later, but he insisted on helping me. It was clear that he was new to this—and having seen his house I understood why—but it's easy to do and didn't take long before we were in a quiet routine of scrub, wash, rinse, dry, and stack. Dirty dishes have a way of piling up, but they're easy if you keep up with them.

Mitch suggested that we watch something on the TV, so we moved to the couch. Mitch picked up the remote; but rather than turning on the TV, he just lowered his head and looked at the floor.

"I don't get it," Mitch said.

"You mean," I guessed, "about how my son and I behave around you?"

"No," then he corrected himself. "Well, that too. I don't get why I feel this way."

"What is it that you are feeling," I probed gently.

"Anger, mostly," Mitch said. "Things were going so well on Saturday. I even brought you to meet some of my friends, and you both handled it alright. Since then, everything has been utter crap."

I understood that pattern of thought. There had been good things and bad things, but all he could think of and focus on was the bad things. Part of me wanted to remind him of the good things, but I knew that wouldn't work somehow. Maybe from my own experiences.

"That makes sense," I assured him. Mitch didn't expect that and turned to look at me.

"Someone broke into your house and violated your personal space," I started. "You suspected my son. You suspected me. You felt we betrayed you. Then that girl—" I meant Wendy, but didn't want to say her name, "broke the rules. Those rules are apparently very important to you. It must have seemed unbelievable and like another betrayal when she did that."

"You just said," Mitch spoke to me coldly, "it was another betrayal. So, you admit that you and Rusty were involved in that."

I knew I hadn't meant it that way. I also knew that I couldn't lawyer my way out of this. If I tried to defend my own words, he would just become more confident that I was lying. My intelligence would work against me in conversations with Mitch. Emotion didn't get through to him, either—when I appealed for sympathy in the past, he thought I might just be trying to give him ideas how to abuse us further. I felt stripped bare and unsure how to continue. I knew I had to say something or it would only get much worse very fast. I had to say something to diffuse the situation, and just let words slide out of my mouth without thinking about anything other than the tone of my voice while I said them.

"It was a betrayal," I told Mitch, "We didn't have anything to do with the break-in, but we had gotten close to you. We let you get close to us. We all kinda forgot about blackmail and coercion and tried to pretend we were friends."

"When Mark tried to steal your computer," I continued, not really knowing what I was saying, but believing it made some kind of sense, "it was a sharp reminder to all of us that we were pretending. That you couldn't trust us, and that we couldn't trust you."

"I guess that hurt," I kept going, watching Mitch's anger and distrust fade from his face, "it hurt so much because maybe..." He looked like a sad little boy sitting there, "Maybe we were becoming friends. Maybe we still could be friends, but it's impossible to know for sure."

"If I wasn't blackmailing you both," Mitch said, "you'd never want to see me again."

"It's impossible to tell," I nodded along, trying not to wholeheartedly agree with him, "Even if you say you are going to stop blackmailing us—even if you say you'll destroyed all the evidence and want to forget about all that—we can never be certain you don't have a copy hidden somewhere just in case."

Mitch and I sat with that thought for a long time. Outside the sun dropped below the horizon. I stood up to turn on more light in the living room. When I flipped the switch, I saw Mitch looking up at me. There was something very different about his expression.

"Get undressed," he told me, "I want to do something for you."

-----

It wasn't exactly the most appropriate way to deal with the situation. I suppose I could have refused to strip for him and find out whether 'get undressed' was a command or his attempt at a request. I didn't test it. Trying to balance speed with sexiness I kicked off my shoes and stripped out of my clothes. He didn't have to tell me to lose the underwear as well.

I stood there by the light switch wearing nothing but three piercings and a tattoo.

Mitch stood up from the couch, picked me up in his powerful arms like I weighed nothing, and sat me down in the recliner. He grabbed my legs and pulled my body down while lifting my ankles to my ears. My butt was on the edge of the chair, lewdly exposing my lady parts and my anus. I wrapped my arms around my legs. I didn't need him to tell me to hold that position.

In my mind, I had a sudden imagination that Mitch would bind me to the chair in that position, throw open the door, and let anyone from the neighborhood have their way with me.

Instead, Mitch knelt and delicately ran his tongue along my slit.

-----

The only previous experience I had with someone eating my pussy was playful 69ing with one of my female friends in high school. It wasn't that great back then. My husband never went down on me; but twice, he did make me eat out other girls. He always said my holes were for his pleasure, not the other way around. I struggle to remember what I ever saw in him that made me fall for him. He never even proposed. One day long after he had taken control of my life, he told me we were getting married. No romance. No ceremony.

Mitch ate me like a man possessed. Or at least, my body responded like I was a woman possessed. I yelped; I barked; I drooled. I cried and called out. Over and over my body shook and shuddered and I lost all control. I yelled incoherently. I forgot how to breathe. I loved every minute of it.

Then slowly, my body started to calm down. I became aware that Mitch wasn't touching me anymore. I opened my eyes and saw him standing and discarding his clothes into the pile with my own.

"Hold that pose," he told me, stripping out of his pants. He stepped to me and positioned the tip of his cock against my slit.

"I'm going to fuck you now," Mitch said. That was his way of asking for consent. I was still trying to remember how to breathe, but nodded my head as enthusiastically as I could. With one strong, slow thrust he penetrated me as deeply as possible.

In stories, women often fondly describe the feeling of a man pounding his cock against her cervix. In the stories, women love that. Twenty years ago, I experienced that, during one of the times my then-husband whored me out. He enjoyed watching. There are reasons I refer to him as my ex-husband. He was the most likely candidate, but not the only possibility for who was Russell's father. Anyway, when a guy really does pound his cock against a woman's cervix, both end up with bruises. That is painful.

Mitch filled me completely with his cock but didn't hit my cervix. I remembered how to breathe and to speak. With each thrust of his dick I shouted, "FUCK ME!" and then gasped for air. Lather, rinse, repeat again and again. Twice more, I lost myself in the utter bliss of orgasms. While I was building up toward yet another, Mitch suddenly pulled out and shot his cum across my torso. He was finished with me. I let my feet drop to the floor. Mitch retrieved his clothes from the pile.

Russell walked in the door a couple minutes later. His jaw dropped and he just stopped where he was. Mitch finished pulling on his shirt and walked towards the door. Russell stepped out of his way, opening the door wider.

"I left you some protein for dinner, if you want it," Mitch said to my son, hooking a thumb in my direction. After Mitch left, Russell closed and locked the door.

"I'm sorry, Mom," my son said, leaning his forehead against the front door.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, "this is all my fault. This should never have happened."

I just lay there in a post-orgasmic state of confusion, sweat, and semen. Russell's words made no sense to me. I hadn't forgotten that my son and his friends were the reason Mitch was able to blackmail and coerce us. At that very moment... I was very glad that they did.

False Start

It was mid-afternoon and I was bound with my wrists tied to my ankles and my elbows tied to my knees. Mitch positioned me so I was laying on my back, with hands and feet raised up into the air. He was pressing a long, clear butt plug all the way into my anus. My mouth was filled with a black rubber ball gag.