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When he came home from work, the front room was clean as a whistle... and empty—save for his mother, who sat in the easy chair by the shaded window, sewing. For one dizzying moment he thought all three girls were gone for good, but then he noticed what his mom was stitching.
It was a midriff-baring, super-small sweater with two slits in the front...where the breasts would be. “My, my, son,” she chided, not looking at him. “You went white as a sheet. You looked like you lost your best friend.”
“For a second I thought I had.” “Don’t be silly,” she said pointedly, without missing a stitch. “I would never leave you. I only did some shopping on the way home....” “Shopping?”
Only then did her movements still. “Yes, shopping... but we don’t have to talk about that now.” Finally she looked at him. “Don’t just stand there paralyzed. Go hang up your coat. Stay awhile.” Then she went back to her needlework.
Smiling in spite of himself, keeping an eye on her from over his shoulder, he slipped off his jacket and slid open the front room closet door. The fash of white and black out the corner of his eye alerted him, as did an unsealing sound. The closet had been padded that afternoon; a rubber seal completely fastening the door to the closet frame.
Barbara stood there, groaning.
Perhaps “stood” was not the proper word. She was bent over forward, teetering on fve inch black high-heels, her arms wrenched up straight behind her, wrists crossed and elbows cinched together with black straps, hung on a hook at the very top of the closet ceiling.
Drool poured out her moaning mouth from the huge ring gag wedged behind her perfect, pearly white teeth. Her strong, round breasts hung down, revealed by the frontless, French cut, shining black rubber leotard which adhered to her frm, curvy shape and set off her blue eyes and pure blond hair.
Her pure blond tuft was not revealed below because the leotard’s thong crotch was obviously holding in a buzzing, throbbing, humming, twisting dildo. He drank in this sweating, drooling, creamy vision before looking back at his mother with a huge grin. She didn’t look back—merely murmuring; “And all day I worried about you...unable to clean yourself after lunch hour....”
His smile grew wider and more savage, then his head twisted back to the front room closet. Dropping his coat on the foor he undid his zipper while grabbing a handful of her short, silky hair. Dragging her comatose head up, he shoved his already erect cock into her pried open mouth. Her choked, jerking reaction was gratifying as she clopped around the closet foor like a reluctant, gagging pony—one long, shapely, creamy leg bending, then the other, the cruel shoes tap-tap-tapping on the drool-moistened foor.
“Hiumm, hium, hiummmm,” was the sound that emerged from her soft ruby lips mashed against his hairy crotch. He dragged her head up and down on his shaft while reaching down to claw at her prime left breast. From his mother’s vantage point, it looked like a hairy beast mouth-raping a smooth-skinned fairy princess.
Then he suddenly grabbed her head with both hands, jamming his hips up while pushing down. The old woman heard the noise of his exploding ejaculation and her asphyxiated reaction.
Barb tried to scream, tried to swallow, and then there was a moment of horrid silence as her body stiffened, her tiptoes stabbed the foor, and her arms practically tore out of her shoulders. The cum had flled her throat, blocking it. The drowning sensation blocked out the pain at her shoulders, arms, and cunt. Barbara’s eyes snapped open, widening as far as they would go, and then....
His cock was gone. An air bubble popped in her throat, and jism exploded out of her mouth and nose like a huge sneeze.
He laughed as she tried to collapse, her slim hundred-and-fve pounds on her wrenched-back arms, her gloriously long, glossy legs just barely standing. Cum drooled out of her mouth and nostrils over her quivering upper and lower lip. It beaded down her chin and dripped onto the foor between her dainty feet. Suddenly his mother was there, pressing a heavy cloth over the blonde girl’s lower face, holding her lolling head onto it like a broken melon. “There, there, dear,” she said to her son. “Your day’s been hard enough. Why don’t you go into the backroom and relax? I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” He smiled down at her. “Very well, mother.” Taking one last look at the groaning teenage blonde bound in the closet, he turned to go.
“Oh, one more thing,” his mother interrupted him. He froze. “Yes?”
She smiled. “Hand me those clips next to my chair, would you dear?”
He practically ran to get the alligator clips, which were attached by necklace chains. The old woman carefully took one long chain, while he watched appreciatively. His mother neatly imprisoned Barbara’s red nipples to the chains which ran down to wrap her ankles. This would keep her bent over even if her hands had been freed from the hook. The blonde gasped and started with each clip, but only instinctively. Otherwise she seemed too far gone with aching—both physical and sexual—to react consciously. Shaking his head with wonder and pleasure, he headed for the back room—his saliva-slick cock swinging free like a cheerleader’s baton.
The back room, like the front room had been, was empty. He turned on the television, headed to the sofa, then slowed when he noticed the closet in the tiny hall. It connected the kitchen to the back room. It was directly across from the downstairs bathroom door. No longer particularly interested in the news, he walked slowly but purposely to the closet, gripped the doorknob and carefully opened the partition.
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