Random Relations

This is the first in a series of follow-ups to the events from 'random connections'. It makes little difference if you read them, as each one can be read as a seperate chapter. The following events explore the relationships between the charecters from the first series in greater detail and lead up to the final installment which reveals who made the calls in the first place.

Gordon didn't know if he would die with embarrassment or from the look on his mothers face. The latter seemed more likely. She gave her shoes a cursory inspection, her lip curling with disdain at the slimy trails of his cum marring the highly polished leather before closing the door behind her.

"Well now." She drawled, her stony gaze crushing the remnants of his ego. "Before you explain yourself I think you'd better clean this mess up."

Her foot beckoned him forward and he crawled across the floor, his penis, withered by scorn and dripping with shame, swung limply between his legs. He pulled the towel with him and began using a corner of it to mop up the mess.

"You should know better than that by now." His mother hissed, taking a handful of hair in painful grip.

He knew alright, ever since she'd caught him masturbating into her panties he knew better. Gordon stuck out his tongue as though concentrating on a knotty problem and dipped the tip into a blob of cum, catching it deftly before it slid off her toecap, swallowing it up as he licked another spot clean, then another until her shoe shone clean once more.

"Good boy!" She crooned patronisingly, patting his cheek. "Now get the rest off my stockings."

He could hardly contain his moans of pleasure as he kissed along her satin-smooth calf, gathering each stain on his lips, sucking it onto his tongue and surreptitiously tasting her at the same time, risking a sneaky peek up her skirt to discover the style and colour of her undergarment. French knickers; blue. Perfection! That would've surprised all who knew Mrs Hawkes, but Gordon was well aware of her kinky quirks - and loved her all the more for them.

His lips roamed over her leg and ventured across an exciting expanse of thigh, brushing the soft flesh at the top, an intoxicating mixture of perfume and her natural scent enticed him onwards in a vain attempt to reach the summit but, with a knowing sigh and a firm grip his mother pulled him away.

"You made quite an impression Gordon, but I'm sure you couldn't reach any higher than that, can you?" She mocked. "But you can, and will, clean my carpet. Now, tell me the reason for this disgusting display." She hung up her coat and put her shoes under the ornate stand, an old family heirloom, while listening carefully for any hint of prevarication in his voice as he explained himself.

"...And I still don't know who it was mother, honest!" Gordon explained, avoiding his mothers piercing gaze by staring at a particularly large stain on the carpet, a corner of his mind worrying how he was going to remove it while the larger problem loomed over him like a thundercloud.

"Very well dear, i believe you." She said softly. "Now. Go and take your bath while i get changed."

Gordon wasn't lulled into a false sense of security by those dulcet tones. It only meant he was in deeper hot water than any bathtub would provide but he did as she asked anyway. He always did. Ever since she'd caught him masturbating into a pair of her knickers he'd had no other choice. He closed his eyes and thought about that moment as he lay among the soothing suds, idly stroking himself at the memory.

He'd just started work at the store; cleaning floors, running errands, nothing above his limited ability to push a mop or fetch lunch for his boss. Gordon had never aspired to greater things as he knew he wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, he'd been told so often enough to leave little doubt in his own mind. 'Gordon is a moron!' That was the chant most often heard at school where he'd suffered many painful indignities before leaving at sixteen. He must've been eighteen or nineteen when his mother found out his dirty secret though. He remembered it had been a hot day, hot enough to melt the tar on the driveway, as he made his way home on the bus. A friend of his mothers, Mrs Warner - or was it Mrs Walker? - Gordon shook his head in irritation, it didn't matter. She had sat beside him on the way home, probably because the bus was full, he thought sullenly. He hated having to talk to anyone on the bus and replied with a monosyllable her and there in what he hoped were the right places. His eyes were drawn to her full breasts that almost poured from the summer dress, distracting him from his usual scrutiny of the familiar landmarks going by. The sun shone through the window, illuminating her buxom breasts beneath the thin material which gallantly strove to keep them decently covered. He'd had erections before, usually in the dark privacy of his bedroom, but nothing like the one pitching a tent in his trousers. Luckily she'd got off the bus two stops before him and he'd managed to walk home holding his bag strategically placed to avoid further embarrassment. He could've swore she bade him goodbye with a knowing smile and he felt his face flush red at the thought she knew exactly what he'd been thinking!

He arrived to find the house empty and made his way upstairs to the bathroom. His trapped erection must've hit a nerve or something as he needed to pee real bad! Unfortunately there was no way to relieve himself as his hard-on refused to go down and the more he tried the harder it got. In desperation he slapped it which only made his balls tighten and he realised the only way to relive the pressure would be to masturbate. His hand moved cautiously, usually he did this in his pyjamas and the stimulation of his bare hand didn't provide the necessary friction to enable his orgasm. He looked around, spotted the laundry basket under the sink and shuffled over to see what he could find. The basket was full due to washday being tomorrow and he fished out his pyjama bottoms distastefully as he'd used them for this very function already. A pair of his mothers French knickers fell on the floor as he pulled them from the basket. He looked at them, then at the soiled garment in his hand, torn between the need to respect his mothers privacy and the more urgent need to relieve himself. He picked them up, feeling the soft pink fabric rustle softly in his hands, the sensation unlike anything he'd ever imagined.

He glanced furtively at the door, wondering if he should go on. His penis throbbed 'yes-yes-yes' as he caught a mixture of womanly smells wafting from the garment. He put it over his nose and inhaled the rich odours, stroking himself as he breathed deeply, wondering if Mrs Woolmer (that was her name!) smelt as good ...down there. He groaned her name aloud as the image of her breasts loomed large in his mind, imagining them naked, in all their glory.

His cock throbbed and he pulled it harder, jerking it in his hand while burrowing his nose into the gusset where the aroma was strongest, breathing deeper in an effort to induce the orgasm he now craved more than the need to urinate. Gordon wondered if Mrs Woolmer smelt as good as this. What was she like? What did she like? He'd never been as close to a woman as this and had only seen them naked in magazines. Was she hairy? He loved a thick patch of hair on a woman's sex and fantasised he was sticking his tongue into her cunt, licking the gusset in simulation of the lewd act, tasting the bitter-sweet aroma for the first time and dreaming of a time when he might have the real thing. How would it feel?

He took another deep sniff and wrapped his cock in the smooth silk, moaning at the indescribable pleasure, bucking his hips forward to imagine himself sinking balls deep inside her. The mere thought brought his orgasm spurting in a hot stream into the knickers - his mother's knickers!

"Oh God" He groaned, unable to stop the juicy flow. What was he doing? Well he knew what he was doing (he wasn'tthatstupid) but he hadn't intended to make such a mess. She was sure to discover his perfidy, but even the thought of the consequences couldn't stop him shooting a fresh spurt of spunk.

"Oh my god!" He groaned again, falling heavily to his knees as more spunk poured forth into the silken folds. Usually he was constrained to cum quietly due to the proximity of his mother's bedroom, but as he thought himself alone forced he voiced his pleasure aloud.

He was, however, wrong. Like his favourite conspiracy theorist insisted, he was not alone. But in this case it was no alien being who heard his cry and fall in the bathroom, but someone very much closer to home. His mother had just come in from the garden where she'd been attending to her roses when she heard the noise upstairs. Alarmed, she took the stairs two at a time, convinced that something had happened to Gordon.

She was right. He was experiencing an epiphany of emotions as the orgasm rushed through his body. He'd never felt anything so powerful take hold of his senses.

"Oh mother." He groaned, looking at the sodden, crumpled garment in his hand. "I'm so sorry!"

"Gordon?" She stopped by the bathroom door and began to turn the handle. "Are you alright?"

"Don't come in!" He pleaded, almost screamed, in panic. Where the hell had she been? Had she heard everything? And, more importantly, what the fuck was he going to do now?

The last question raced across his fevered brain as the door opened and she saw him crouched on the floor. Her eyes took in the scene, freezing it indelibly into her memory, although she scarcely believed what he saw. A bedlam of emotions fought for her attention and, although shock had a head start on the rest, outrage surged through the throng to dominate proceedings, propelling her blindly forward as she ripped her precious underwear from his numbed, unresisting fingers.

"Look what you did!" She shrieked, finally finding her voice and a semblance of control that, unfortunately, Gordon had lost in the face of such ignominious discovery. His urge to urinate had returned with a vengeance too and presented him with a new dilemma. Would she go before he had too?

"Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?" She asked more reasonably as the shock and outrage morphed into curiosity at this lapse of behaviour. He'd always been such a good son, she thought, and needed to understand why he'd done this.

"Don't know." He mumbled, unable to meet her questioning eyes. Gordon squeezed his legs together and gripped his genitals tightly, as much to protect the remnants of his dignity as to stem the pressure building up in his bladder.

"This is no time to be coy Gordon. Tell me." She insisted.

"Mother, i have to go." He said plaintively, gripping his scrotum as the persistent need to pee nagged at him more urgently than even his mother could manage.

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me."

"No! You don't understand i have togo."

"I'm telling you...Gordon!" She watched in amazement as her son stood up and lurched over the toilet bowl, just in time to unleash a torrent of urine. The hot yellow liquid splashed resoundingly into the pan and Gordon sighed with relief. She screamed and slapped his buttocks sharply with her ruined knickers, flailing his hairy cheeks as he rudely relieved himself before her very eyes. The nerve! She'd never believed he could be so brazen and determined to punish him in ways he'd never forget.

"No mother! No...ow, please mother...stop, stop, please don't!" Gordon begged, trying to control his penis which spattered uncontrollable spurts of urine into and around the bowl.

The wet silk beat on him regardless as he continued to piss over her once pristine porcelain, splashing the wall, yellow streaks through gleaming white tile. Her scream had, literally, scared the piss out of him but her silent beating terrified him.

"Mother I..." He groaned as, finally, the flow dribbled to a stop. He sobbed in relief and sagged at the knees as the energy drained from him.

"Shut up!" She hissed, interrupting his futile apology with a final crack on his sore arse. "Shut up you dirty bastard!" Her hand whipped round, covering his mouth with her knickers, stuffing them inside before he realised what was happening. "I don't want to hear another word from you until that mess is cleaned up. Do you understand me?

He nodded and looked at her with pleading, puppy-dog eyes. Gordon saw no sympathy returned in hers and he tasted the bitter salts of his utter humiliation as she pushed back onto his knees, gripped his head and began to wipe the bowl clean with the knickers protruding from his mouth, scraping his face along the wall until he could discern his face in the tiles.

His muffled protests availed him no respite until she was satisfied her bathroom had regained its high standard of cleanliness.

"Well Gordon?" She said, removing the soaked knickers from his mouth. "What do you have to say for yourself now?"

"I - I - I'm sorry mother."

"I know your sorry. You're the sorriest thing I've seen all day. What else do you want to tell me?"

He looked up and, realising there was no way out, confessed all. His mother listened attentively, nodding for him to go on whenever he faltered until every dirty detail was filed in her memory. After he'd finished she merely said she was going back out into the garden and would see him for dinner. Gordon now realised his error in thinking himself alone when he'd come home and vowed to be more careful in future - but also knew it was too late and the damage had been done - he wondered how this would affect their relationship from now on as he got changed, and, over time, he found it would change profoundly.

Gordon opened his eyes and was amused to see his penis had enjoyed that trip down memory lane.

"You bad boy." He chided, slapping it playfully from side to side, before completing his ablutions. He towelled himself down vigorously, wrapped a dry towel around himself and went into his room to find she had laid out fresh clothing for him; a short black skirt with a little white apron, a white blouse and a pair of sheer, black stockings conveyed the unspoken command he was to obey tonight. A pair of pink French knickers told him it was going to be special.

(*)(*)

Mrs Hawkes, his mother, Julia to her close friends (although they wouldn't have recognised her now) realised tonight was going to be special from the moment Gordon's sperm had flew through the air to greet her. It was the first time she'd actually seen him cum and it had a profound affect on her, which was why she'd left her pink knickers beside his outfit. The same pair he'd masturbated into all those years ago which she kept in her bedside cabinet, for her (secret) pleasure. She scanned her naked body critically in the mirror as she changed, running both hands over her plump thighs, fingers briefly trailing through the dark thicket between them then up, over her gently rounded belly, to take the weight of her pendulous breasts in both hands, teasing the nipples into erect awareness before letting them swing free as her hands continued up to rub the tension from her neck, something Gordon was very good at, and she made a mental note to tell him she needed a massage - after he'd completed his cleaning chore. She smiled at the thought and paused in the act of reaching up to unpin her hair, deciding to keep it curled into a tight bun at the back of her head. It made her feel in control, although her emotions were anything but. She hadn't felt anything like this since the early days of her marriage, (was she ever so naive to believe it'd last forever?), and the nights when her husband would make passionate love to her. She'd been much slimmer then too, she reflected sadly, perhaps that's why he left? He'd given no indication he was bored with her and she never realised anything was going on with his secretary until they'd actually eloped. All the way to Australia if you please! Gordon was only two years old and took all her attention, which was one good reason why he left she supposed, another was her figure; she'd never regained her hourglass curves after the birth, which had been a long and difficult 36 hours. It had been worth every excruciating moment to her though. She'd loved him in her own wayever since, though she never said as much, and would do anything for him.

'Anything?' Her conscience teased. She looked at the basque hanging in the wardrobe and took it out, holding it in front of her as she considered the reflection in the mirror.

'Maybe.' She thought, knowing she appeared stern and forbidding to him sometimes but her job as an office manager was very stressful and he could be infuriatingly slow on the uptake, which made her feel brusque and snappy. But he was a dutiful son and she would be lost without his love, a love she could always rely on since her discovery in the bathroom. Would she ever tell Mrs Woolmer about his fantasy? Probably not. But Gordon wasn't to know that and she found it expedient to remind him about it now and then whenever he felt churlish enough to refuse her demands. She wasn't a demanding mistress, only requiring his devotion to duty and unquestioning obedience whenever she told him to do what she wanted, which usually meant dressing him up. He looked so cute in the little maids outfit and seemed to enjoy the humiliation, as the cum stains in his underwear indicated. She'd keep the used knickers in her room, enjoying them late at night as she masturbated to a satisfactory orgasm.

She finished lacing the basque up the front, pushing her breasts out and pulling her stomach in until she was satisfied all was in place, sliding a pair of black stockings on and attaching them to the basque before slipping into a pair of blood-red french knickers, her flesh breaking out in goose-bumps at the sensual sound of them sliding over her legs. The bed creaked as she sat comfortably to begin the struggle with the thigh length boots and, after much huffing and puffing they slid on. The 4 inch heels brought her height up to match Gordon's 6 feet, making it easier to dominate him, although the leather pinched her feet. She stood up and strutted across the room, posing in front of the mirror, legs apart. Usually she would wear a long dress over the top but tonight she felt brazen and left it hanging in the wardrobe.

"Perfect." She breathed, pushing her breasts up until they almost spilled from the cups.

"Absolutely perfect." Her clit tingled deliciously against the silk as she strode from the room. She paused by the bathroom door and decided against urging him to hurry. She had plenty of time to prepare herself, pouring a rare glass of scotch to steady her nerves and banish the lingering doubts at the back of her mind as she sat in the living room, sipping slowly while waiting for him.

Some people would consider the relationship to be incestuous, she mused, but they had never seen each other fully nude, let alone coupled, satisfied with things as they were. Now, she could see, things had changed. The sight of him cumming, the feel of it landing on her leg had shattered her resolve and, uppermost in her mind, was the thought of losing him if she didn't go through with this.Ever since she'd bought him the computer he'd spent more time online than with her and now this. How long had he been listening to phone-sex? She had no idea, but felt snubbed in ways she found hard to explain and pondered on them.

"I bet you've never seen a real woman in the flesh." She murmured, glancing up as she heard his footfall on the landing.

Wasn't it right that the first woman he should see in such a way should be her? She thought. Hadn't she raised him to be the man-child he was, protecting and nurturing him against a hostile world? She had and more, sacrificing everything for his welfare, asking nothing but his devotion in return. Now it seemed he would revoke that bargain for illusory pleasures when he could have so much more. Her nipples hardened, peeking over the top of her basque, seeking attention. She ignored their demands and the growing clamour from her crotch as her clitoris swelled with desire.