I'm a Slut for My Son's Bully Ch. 02

She unzips her son's pants, then pulls out his huge teenage cock. She kisses him on the cheek.

"I taught you to always do what feels good," she continues, "and it makes you feel good to bully wimpy little Jimmy Johnston."

I breathlessly watch, my pussy getting wet, as Jake's mom methodically moves her closed fist up and down her stud son's massive cock. I imagine Jake kicking my son in the balls, my pussy getting wetter. I'm a terrible fucking mother.

"Which also led to Ms. Johnston becoming your very own whore!" she exclaims, "such a clever young man. Wouldn't you agree, Ms. Johnston?"

She sharply turns from her son to stare directly in my eyes. I am taken aback, reluctant to admit my son's bully is clever, but ready to do whatever this kinky mom wants.

"Um...I w-w-would say his plan was very clever, Ms. Miller," I sheepishly respond, knowing not to talk back.

She looks back at Jake with a loving smile, still stroking his cock.

"Remember when you collared me?" she effusively reminisces, "I remember the first time you told me you thought I was hot. I was thrown into an absolute tizzy!"

She strokes Jake's hair with her other available hand. My intrigue builds, desperate to know how he made his mom his very own sex slave.

"My own son wanted to fuck me," she continues, "remember what you wanted for your 18th birthday?"

Jake grins at her mom and nods, quickly closing his eyes again as he is struggling to contain himself.

"You asked to see my tits," she chuckles, "with a straight face. Such a daring young boy."

She leans in, giving him a sensual kiss on the lips. What an arrogant, brazen asshole, I think to myself.

"I knew you were the confident, take-what-he-wants man I wanted," she fondly recollects, "your father is a good guy, but isn't a real man like you."

She kisses her son on the lips again, holding her lips to his mouth a little bit longer this time.

"I not only showed you my big tits, baby," she purrs in his ear, "I bent over the dining table and begged you to fuck me."

He grabs his mom's hair to force his tongue in her mouth. The two sensually make out.

"Gwen," Ms. Miller states, "after we do one...group activity, you will be retiring to the master bedroom with Jake."

Jake did tell me I should plan on not coming home, but I'm still surprised. I get nervous, but tingly, wondering what Jake is going to do with me tonight.

Mercedes is sitting on the chair with her legs spread slightly apart, her black dress around her ankles, showing off her perky little titties. She is rubbing her clit while fingering her tight, young pussy.

"Jake, don't you wanna spend the night abusing my tight, young pussy?" she asks him as she seductively looks him in the eye.

"Mercedes, you fucking manipulative bitch," Jake scolds her, "we talked about this. You and mom are Chris and Charles' blowjob whores for the night."

Mercedes gives a pouty face, crossing her arms in disappointment.

"Stupid Ms. Johnston and her fat, gross ass," I hear her whisper under her breath, "Ms. Miller and I are the ones who get to sleep with Jake. It's not fair."

He looks at Mercedes threateningly. She responds by mumbling a half-hearted sorry. A short pause is interrupted by Ms. Miller's loud voice.

"Tom!" she yells, "get down here!"

A few seconds later, Jake's father comes rushing down the stairs. Although he is wearing pajamas, the crotch has been cut out. His dick is visibly locked up in his cock cage. How humiliating is that.

"Honey, be a dear. Get the blowjob machines from the closet," she demands, "we'll need three."

He gives a quiet sigh.

"Whatever you say, dear," he dutifully responds.

He walks over to a storage closet, opens it up, then pulls out a fascinating looking contraption. A metal, rectangular device with a foot long metal pole connected horizontally to the front. At the end of the pole is a half circle of soft material, which resembles a head rest.

"The rope and mouth gags, too," she commands, "oh, and get the camcorder, will ya?" she adds.

Tom sighs again, clearly annoyed.

"What...are those?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"You'll see," Ms. Miller winks at me, "Tom, set the three machines side by side on our coffee table."

He places the three machines on the back side of the coffee table next to each other, so the end of the metal pole is at the front of the table.

"Mercedes," Ms. Miller says, "you're first,"

"Do I have to?" she asks, her arms still crossed. Seeing no sympathy from Jake's mom, she shrugs her shoulders.

"Fine," she says with a bratty tone.

She walks to the machine furthest to the left. She turns around and sits her tight little ass on the ground, her back against the coffee table and the back of her head resting against the semi-circular head rest. She puts both arms behind her back, so they are resting on the table.

"Tom, tie her up and gag her," Ms. Miller nonchalantly orders.

He hesitantly ties Mercedes' hands that are behind her back together, tying the end of the rope to a leg of the coffee table. He takes out a collar with a circular metal ring in the middle, wraps it around her head, then forces the ring in her mouth. It spreads her mouth wide open.

Ms. Miller walks to the machine furthest to the right and assumes the same position.

"Tom, tie and gag me," she orders.

He shyly walks over to his wife, tying her hands to the coffee table, then forcing her mouth open with the gag device.

Jake stands up, walks over to me, then yanks me by my hair to force me to stand up. He pushes me towards the machine between Mercedes and Ms. Miller.

I passively walk in between the two women, turn around, and sit down on my ass with my legs spread. I sit up straight so the back of my head is on the head rest.

"Dad, tie her up," he commands.

Tom pulls my arms behind my back, then ties them together. He forces my mouth wide open with a gag.

"Dad," Jake says, "stand in the background and film."

Tom walks to the back of the room with the camcorder in hand, turning it on and flipping the display open.

Jake centers himself in front of us with a shit eating, satisfied grin on his face. His gaze alternates between his mom, his girlfriend and I, our naked tits before him, our mouths forced open; all in the perfect position to gag on his cock.

He takes off his shirt. I glance at his toned, flexing abs. He takes off his pants and his hard cock springs out.

I can hear him stuffing his cock in Mercedes' mouth. I hear her start to gag and cough.

"For the viewers at home," he maniacally announces, "this is my girlfriend, Mercedes. She just got accepted to Columbia University's pre-med program."

I hear Mercedes gasp for air. He finally took his huge cock out of her tiny mouth.

"Say hi to the camera, baby!" he sarcastically urges her. She tries to say hi through the mouth gag, but can only mumble incoherently.

"Hey dad, zoom in on her perky tits and cunt," he commands, "what do you think, viewers? Don't you all just wanna fuck the shit out of her?"

I can hear Jake forcing his cock back in her mouth.

"I wonder what mommy and daddy would think," he suggests, "if they knew their perfect angel is a depraved slut."

Jake walks over to his mom. I hear her gagging on Jake's cock.

"This, my dear viewers," he continues his little show, "is my dear, sweet mother. She turned dad into the house bitch, made me the new man of the house, and became my dirty slut!"

I can hear her gag over and over again, as Jake throatfucks her for half a minute.

Jake's massive cock is now right in front of my face.

"And this little whore," he begins, "is the mom of this stupid fucking wimp, Jimmy."

He jams his cock in my mouth, pushing it deeper in until I gag uncontrollably. He holds his cock in my mouth as I feel tears well up in my eyes.

"Dad, get a close up of those big titties," he commands, "look at those, folks! Easily the fattest tits I have ever seen."

I see him reach in his pocket, then pull out a small remote. He presses a button, causing the metal pole to push my head back and forth. My mouth is thrusting back and forth on his cock.

"She lets me humiliate her very own son!" he gasps in fake shock.

The pace of the machine's thrust rapidly increases. I feel spit foam collect on the side of my mouth. My eyes roll in the back of my head. Mascara runs down my face.

"You love being a slut for your son's bully," he states, his voice getting louder.

Mercifully, I feel cum fill up my mouth. The machine stops. He finally pulls his cock out.

"Swallow," he orders. I dutifully struggle to eat all of Jake's cum.

He unties my hands. He takes off the gag.

"Lay on the couch, sweetheart. Get some rest," he tells me in a surprisingly nurturing tone.

I graciously accept, plopping myself on the couch in an exhausted haze. I haven't felt so much pleasure (and so much pain) since I'd been raped all those years ago.

"Dad, take Ms. Johnston's place," he orders.

Tom looks at his son, wondering why he would be forced to do that. Still, he complies.

"Chris! Charles!" Jake yells.

His two friends come stumbling out of his room.

"It's about time!" Chris says, "we've been waiting for hours, dude."

Jake ties up his dad, then puts a gag in his mouth.

"I know you guys aren't gay," he says, "but it might be fun to like, spit in his mouth or wipe your cum on his face or something."

"Oh, awesome!" Charles exclaims, "The dr-"

Jake gives him a death glare. He looks down at his feet, mumbling in a self-effacing way.

"Ms. Johnston, let me escort you to the master bedroom," he says as he extends an arm.

In my haze, I wrap my shoulder around him. He guides me past his three helpless prisoners, two of whom are getting prepared to gag on his two buddies' cocks.

We reach the top of the stairs. He opens the door to the master bedroom.

"After you, my lady," he politely beckons me in.

_______________

I sit on the edge of Jake's bed in a silky black bathrobe. He slides a pair of boxer briefs up his thighs.

"Are you hungry, Ms. Johnston?" he asks in an animated tone.

I look up at him, in a delirious state of bliss from how soundly he raped my throat. I can't muster up the strength to respond.

"I have a few specialties," he says, "I can make...grilled cheese with white toast."

He grins at me and I grin back.

"I also am rather adept at...grilled cheese with wheat toast," he adds.

I chuckle and blush.

"Oh yeah?" I playfully ask, "any other 'specialties'?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," he states, "grilled cheese with sourd-"

I throw a pillow at him and tell him to go make me a sandwich. He runs out the door, fake screaming.

He's actually pretty charming. Most "macho men'" I've known haven't been quite as clever or...almost sweet?

I smile to myself as I lay on his king size bed, resting my head on one of many soft pillows. I really like Jake, even though he picks on my son.

What Jake did to me tonight really makes me think about giving myself to him. I touch my fingers to the black collar still around my neck. I quietly moan.

I know I shouldn't even be thinking these thoughts: he makes my son feel awful time and again. I rationalize my actions, but I can't rationalize my desires.

Before I know it, he briskly walks back in the room with two plates full of grilled cheese sandwiches. He made six sandwiches. A little overboard, but kinda cute.

"May I present to you," he jokingly announces, "a gourmet, homemade trio of grilled cheese sandwiches, specially adorned with a plethora of breads."

He hops in bed while handing me a plate of three grilled cheese sandwiches, each with a different type of bread.

I laugh, finding the gesture adorable. I've never seen this side of Jake. I also am not going to be able to eat three fucking sandwiches, but he's trying.

We both start eating, leading to an awkward pause in conversation. I want to know more about this dude, so I break the silence.

"So...," I begin, "can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead," he says between breaths as he aggressively chews his sandwich.

"You are smart, creative, funny, good looking, athletic," I declare, looking him curiously in the eyes, "you have it all, man. Why do you need to be...like...such an asshole?"

I chuckle and swirl my fingers around his muscular chest as he playfully laughs.

"Yeah, I can be kinda mean sometimes," he admits, "but if you knew what I'd been through, you'd be on my side."

I am dying to know what events in his life made him like this, more out of curiosity than concern for my son.

"Well, I'm here all night," I mutter as casually as possible, "maybe it'd help me understand you a little more."

"You'll just make fun of me if I tell you," he asserts.

I curl up to him, then kiss his neck.

"I'm not here to judge, Jake," I reassure him, "I'm here to listen."

He glances at me, then looks away. He heaves a big sigh.

"Ok, but I'm only telling you because I really like you," he says, "don't laugh, but...I was dropped...on my head as a baby."

'That's it?' I think to myself, taking a few seconds to think of a response.

"See!" he desperately yells, "now you think I'm just a stupid idiot!"

"No, of course not, sweetie!" I respond, curling up to him even further, "you got dropped on your head, so what?"

"Well...ok. The doctors told mom to expect me to face 'difficulties' or whatever," he admits, clearly embarrassed, "they told mom I was probably gonna be a little bit slow."

I look at him with genuine empathy. I can feel how much pain the stigma of this causes him.

"Forget what the doctors said," I urge, "you are such a clever young man!"

"Oh yeah?" he asks, "give me one example!"

I think about all the different ways he has picked on my son. It does demonstrate a certain level of creativity.

"Like...remember when you wrote a whole play as a sneaky ploy to make out with me?" I remind him.

"...yeah, in front of your son," he sheepishly says, "that was pretty good."

"How could anyone doubt your intelligence?" I add.

"Well anyway," he continues his story, "I was in the 'kids who can't read good' classes for a little bit, but then I worked my ass off."

I nod approvingly while giving him another kiss on the cheek.

"The doctors say my brain grew back or something," he says, "but I still have to work harder than anyone else just to get a B."

"That doesn't mean anything, silly," I tell him, "every person learns in different ways."

"Yeah, that's what everyone says," he continues, "but when I see boys like Jimmy - good at school, music, acting, writing, all that shit - it just pisses me off."

I see veins popping in his neck. I stroke his hair to calm him down.

"And your...fucking son, Ms. Johnston," he says, "always has to be the smartest person in the room."

I see the veins in his arms popping out. 'Well, actually Jake...' he mimics my son in a nasal-y voice.

"He just rubs it right in my face," he says.

I really do feel for him. Jimmy can be kind of a know-it-all, and nobody is more punch-able than the 'well, actually' guy.

His insecurity about his setbacks make me feel more affinity toward him. I can understand why he feels the need to take Jimmy down a peg.

Wait, am I taking Jake's side? I need to get it together. He bullies my son, so I'm on my son's side.

"I was called retarded; I was ganged up on every fucking day," he continues, "until I moved to this school district."

"I'm so sorry, baby," I delicately say as I massage his chest.

"And when I was ten," he says, "my eight year old sister died in a car accident."

"Oh my goodness!" I exclaim, "I had no idea."

I stroke his face delicately, full of empathy for the heartbroken, bitter teenager.

"I was like, depressed there for a minute," he continues, "but then mom gave me a pep talk."

He sits up straighter in his bed.

"She said 'you've been the victim your whole life. Stop being the victim - be the bully'."

In Ms. Miller's mind, the only way to not be a victim is to be a bully. I can respect the move; she tried to give her son the best life possible at whatever cost.

"So, anyway," he changes topic, "got anything fun planned?"

I sit up to stretch my arms. I'm getting tired.

"Um...well," I say, "my daughter is coming home for spring break in a week and half."

"Wait," he says, "you have a daughter?"

"Um...yes," I reply, "why do you care?"

"Does she have an Instagram?" he asks.

"...yes?" I respond.

"Show me pictures," he says.

I glare at him.

"Ok, I know where this is going," I respond, "and the answer is 'hell, no'."

He wraps a hand around my throat, then tightens his grip.

"Show...me...pictures," he repeats.

I frantically reach for my phone, open up my Instagram app, then search for her profile. I hand him the phone. He releases my throat.

His eyes light up in glee when he scrolls through her profile. I really don't like him looking at my daughter.

"I'm going to fuck her," he says, still staring at my phone.

I stare at him in horror.

"The fuck you are," I retort, "Do not lay a hand on my daughter, mister."

I feebly punch him in the chest. He laughs and ruffles my hair.

"Don't worry," he says, "I'll be gentle."

I shake my head, unable to tell if he is being serious or not.

"...at first," he says.

I punch him three more times in the chest as he chuckles hysterically.

We go back to eating; another awkward silence fills the air.

"I feel like you get excited when I make fun of your son," he says, breaking the silence.

A rush of uneasiness hits me as I consider the truth of that statement. I keep chewing, stalling as long as I can.

"Well, do you?" he asks.

"Of course not," I reply, but my voice trails off at the end. I don't think he is convinced.

"I call bullshit," Jake responds, "you fucking love it."

I'm flustered. I know he is on to me. I look to my side, then stare at some painting on the wall, pretending I didn't hear him.

"Ok," Jake continues, "tell me about the last time you masturbated."

Wait, what? How could he know that I thought about...

I scrunch my face at him in contempt.

"Where were you at?" he asks.

I scramble for a lie, but end up blurting out the truth.

"It was just this morning," I admit, "I was in my living room."

"What were you thinking about?" he asks.

I pause, knowing where this is going.

"I was bent over and you were...fucking me," I say.

He smiles, then continues.

"Was anyone else there?" he asks.

"Yes," I respond, "my son, actually."

"And where was he?" he asks.

I get more and more nervous, afraid I'll admit something I shouldn't.

"He was...laying down," I say, "underneath me."

His smile widens.

"And what were you saying?" he asks.

I try to come up with anything that isn't the truth.

"Nothing," I say suspiciously.

He frowns, clearly not convinced.

"Bullshit," he responds, "tell me the truth."

I try to think of another lie, but his demanding attitude has me all in a tizzy.

"I was...saying mean things to my son," I admit.

He smacks his hands on the bed.

"I fucking knew it!" he exclaims.

I glance over at him, doing my best impression of an eye roll.

"Ok, maybe it does get me excited," I reply, "it doesn't make it right, though."

He points his hand stupidly in the air.

"Life isn't about right or wrong," he says, which seems weirdly profound.

"Are you happy now?" I ask, "can we get some sleep?"

He pauses for only a brief second.

"I feel like you also enjoy being bullied," he opines as if he didn't hear me.

I sigh, already feeling like I've told him too much.

"Am I going to need to do another line of fucking questioning for you to admit it this time?" he asks. I laugh, knowing that he is well aware I'm a kinky bitch.