Shawn Worships Mommy Ch. 02

This is the second part of the Shawn Worships Mommy series. Here, his mother gives his liberal left-wing dean a dressing down, then takes him into a boutique and gets him to love how her ass looks, tastes and smells in leather.

Fetishes: leather, buttjob, sensual domination, femdom, malesub, mother/son, incest, ass worship, assjob, gentle femdom. GFD

Tags: Shawn, Anastasia, feminism, parody, satire, mother, MILF

DISCLAIMER: All characters in sexual relationships at the time of this story are 18 years of age and above, and are simply roleplaying the events described here.

Anastasia leaned back in her chair, admiring the view from her window. She liked looking out at the world from the comfort of her office. It reminded her how far she had risen in ranks and power through hard work and the confident, somewhat uncaring attitude of a woman who actually knew what she wanted and went after it rather than whining about why everyone else was so privileged. The oddest part was that it made things much easier for her when rising through every rank in the office. Her best record was twelve promotions in a couple of years, including six consecutive ones when she solved a fiscal error which would've put the company billions in debt.

She was actually very good with her money. Not just in spending it, but saving and investing wisely. That was what made her even hotter, because she knew where to get reasonably priced clothes to accentuate every single asset she had while not going crazy. Thousands of dollars on shoes or handbags didn't cut it for her. She did spend a few hundreds on her wardrobe, yet it looked as if she had selected outfits and shoes from Victoria's Secret or Calvin&Klein which cost tens of thousands. A businesswoman had to know when to spend, and when to save.

She had learned the hard way from watching her parents suffer in poverty, and she never wanted her son to go through the same thing. She wanted him to be rich using the family fortune, but he had to know how to spend, save, and most importantly, expand it. She was teaching him all that through innovative lessons which no one would ever suspect as lessons. They never got boring for that reason.

She looked back down at her desk, her gaze fixed on the phone there. She remembered how much she had once used it for senseless chatter, and that was what her friends still did. Still, better late than never. She rarely talked much to her friends because she had realised it didn't help with reaching the upper echelons of society, aka success. After a few arguments on this with her friends, she gave up trying to explain anything to them and decided to follow her own heart on this matter. Afterwards, she thought that it was best to find new company where she could discuss productive things instead of constantly fighting over the best kind of lipstick and perfume she wore to check fifty times in a mirror.

She knew that her outfit was extremely important; but the way she carried herself counted too. She also had to know who were the right people to be with when planning proper business ventures. She regretted leaving her old clique in the lurch, but they weren't helping her become rich and raise her son right. There was no point dwelling on the past, and yet everyone was guilty of it.

She placed her fingers on her chin, leaning her elbows on the desk as she thought of the other discussions they'd had. They had been interesting on the gossip scale, but they had used up the time she could have had for furthering her studies or career. Her nightly classes in law and technology could've started weeks earlier.

Her musings were interrupted by the sharp trilling of the phone. She stared at it, thinking of the times her phone at home rang when someone had to discuss the latest piece of news, like the next door neighbour cheating on his wife or a female boss at one of their offices having sex with the young intern after hours.

She smiled almost fondly as she recalled the good times they'd had discussing everything under the sun which they saw. Maybe that could be done with her new group of friends, they would find it interesting. Just not too much, of course, or else she would set herself up on a downward spiral.

Her hand slipped off her chin, her head nearly hitting her desk before she propped herself up on both hands this time. She blinked, and stared down at her phone. It was actually ringing. She jolted herself out of her reverie, grabbing it off the cradle. She primped her hair before remembering it wasn't a FaceTime or Skype call. She rolled her eyes, checking her face in a mirror anyway before placing it to her ear.

'Hello?'

'Is this Ms Anastasia Jepsen?'

'Yes. How may I help you?'

'I'm Dean Mary Asstight from Feminization Laurels College.'

Her voice sounded deep, heavy and extremely pissed off. Anastasia pursed her lips and frowned slightly, before straightening her face and neutralising the effect it had. It wouldn't do to have forehead wrinkles before eighty. Or at any age, mind you.

'Yes, thank you for calling, Miss Assguard —'

'Dean Mary Asstight to you!'

'My apologies, Miss Asstight, I have a hard time pronouncing names which sound like body parts and attitudes.'

Dead silence on the other end of the line.

'Yes, well ... we're calling you with regard to your son.'

'Oh, my! Has he received any more accolades from the college lately?'

'Quite the opposite, Ms Jensen. You could say he's in big trouble until you can sort it out.'

'That's exactly what I mean, Miss Assface —'

'That's Asstight!'

'Miss Asstight, any trouble Shawn gets into in a college like yours would be an accolade to me, you know. If your college is called Laurels, my son is a laurel to me. Anyway, what has he done?'

There was another stunned silence from the dean's side. Clearly, Anastasia was taking this much less seriously than she should. The dean pressed her lips together and recalled the other times she had called parents when children didn't follow the strict feminist regime there, including praising only female students a hundred times a day. One parent burst into tears over the phone and begged her not to expel his son, since his wife would kill him for not training him out of a patriarchal mindset. He did the same thing when he was called to her office, dropping to his knees and promising to pay ten thousand dollars to a charity of her choice.

He said he might have to make it seven thousand and seven hundred dollars because seventy-seven cents equals a dollar for feminists. He promised to make it seven thousand and eight hundred dollars if she believed that 78¢ was equivalent to a dollar. She smirked as she stood over him, thinking over her decision, and finally agreed that as penalty for his son not checking his privilege, he must directly transfer $7800 to her bank account so that she could decided which branch of the NOW to send it to. He handed her a cheque for the same amount at once, and she filed it away in her growing roster of cheques to be cashed.

She decided that as a final penalty, his son had to come to the office and get a tracking collar fixed to him so that he could be checked all the time on video camera to make sure he asked for consent to use the bathroom, enter the class, leave the classroom, and even enter the college campus. The job was soon done, and the parent's son was very close to being transformed into a sissy boy who would beg for his salary at the end of the year when he began working. He wouldn't work up the courage to get his dues at the end of each month or week as the case might be, and he wouldn't be able to handle anything normally for the rest of his life.

The dean blinked and focused on the phone. Anastasia was still talking.

'... and I'd also like to remind you of the dangers of curbing free speech!'

'Excuse me?'

'I was saying that there is a penalty nowadays on anyone who thinks free speech should be disallowed! You feminists yourself pushed forward that bill in hopes of promoting your hateful ideology!'

The dean gasped dramatically. 'Whatever do you mean, Ms Anastasia? Feminism has brought a lot of benefits to men and women! It's more like a way of life, a religion to us! We've taught men how dangerous their masculinity is to the environment, and how they can curb it by sitting quietly to apply their makeup instead of running out, playing, exploring and discovering things which we can use to build the world! We've also been drugging them regularly with Ritalin and other sedatives proven to reduce masculinity to almost zilch!

'We want the world to be overcome with the loving gentleness, plus the laziness along with a tendency to delegate tasks which are the core ideas of feminism and femininity! You don't understand how amazingly peaceful the world will be when either men or masculine energy is curbed! There will be no crime, just lots of happy fat women eating away forever! Even if there's no food being grown, we can chew on leaves, grass and mud. And anytime women have a fight, they can stab one another behind their backs, spread malicious lies or rumours, and cut each other down verbally before committing suicide instead of beating each other to a pulp like those men do!

'I mean, we all know women can forgive and forget better, even if they refuse to stop questioning their boyfriends' whereabouts or how many times they glanced at another girl! When all women are lesbians and boyfriends don't exist, we can be as jealous of prettier girls as we want! Testosterone is violent and dangerous, Ms Anastasia, even though science says it promotes calmness and a tendency to be fair while oestrogen can cause aggression. I don't believe in science, it's a patriarchal way of using facts to oppress us underprivileged women. Don't you see that, Ms Anastasia? You might want to come over to my office to join us.' She paused, waiting hopefully for a positive answer.

There was a dead silence on the other end of the line. For a whole minute or two.

'I'll certainly be there, Ms Asstight,' said Anastasia coldly, 'but not to join you. I'm not part of your crass ideology. Masculine and feminine are yin and yang, and I'd advise you to chew and swallow on that for your own good. Masculinity has built and bred most of what we have today. I know I have my own strengths, but my son can do things I cannot. So can I, of course, and it's not limited to giving birth.

'That's besides the point, though. Our life forces are those which create new life, not your lesbian fantasy of a horde of fat, greasy women licking a huge Egg McMuffin which will be between every woman's legs. You're a raging cunt who hates men, and you ought to admit it to yourself before you end up destroying yourself with bonbons' (the dean almost dropped the bonbon and McDonald's Filet-o-Fish she was eating) 'or hatred for the entire male sex. They've done nothing wrong by existing. If you don't realise how girls at coll destroy each other by rumours or slicing each others' faces with razor blades, you can get off your fat ass and walk out of your confined room to check the facts. You're a lump of lard mixed with hatred, bigotry, and prejudice.

'The rape statistics which you promote in the college's "Feminism Studies" class have all been shit out of a feminist's ass. The only evidence any feminist has given for their 1 in 4 statistic is their irrelevant feelings or a study which didn't control for different factors and simply counted uncertain answers as "yes". I've seen and heard enough about your dogma, and I've had enough of it fucking up my son's life.'

There was the sound of a chair sliding backwards and high heels being put on.

'I swear if my son's health or sanity is affected by the nonsense you promote, I'll be suing the college for everything it's got, including the land, building, and ownership. You might want to remember that if every fourth woman was attacked in DV cases or assaulted, by now, almost all women would be in hospital or a shelter. And as an ultimatum, that liberality bill you demanded extends support to everyone in the country, not just yourselves. That means anyone is allowed to criticise what they like.

'Unlike one blockhead who tried to pass a law which made it a criminal offence to criticise feminism, this bill was seen as fair to everyone and doesn't discriminate on the basis of the principles an individual follows. Anyone can object to your teachings or ask you questions on the bullshit you promote instead of taking your fatship's word for it, and there isn't a damn thing you can do. I'll be over soon to discuss what you've done to my son and how things will be from today onwards. Be ready. I should be there in half an hour.'

There was the sound of a phone being slammed back into its cradle, and the dial tone returned.

The dean remained shellshocked, staring at the receiver in her hand and wondering what tank had steamrollered her. She thought feminism had taken over the entire world and everyone was obeying its commandments better than Moses or Jesus — after all, feelings were the truth. She was not used to anyone questioning her authority and the veracity of her statements. But today, someone who was more than a match for her had put paid to her ideas along with her heavy self with so much force and precision, she thought it might not be possible for her to recover from it.

She placed the phone down and rested her forearms on the table, leaning her head on them. It was going to be a long day, and she needed to think of how exactly to use her feelings to overwhelm her new contender. She subconsciously reached out for another bonbon, grabbed one with enough force to squash it, and stuffed her face with it. She started chewing slowly, letting small chunks of it fall out on her desk.

*********************

Anastasia slammed her phone down on the cradle, fuming. This was the seventy-seventh time a feminist had disrupted her schedule. She hadn't actually counted, but it was easy enough to work that out using their criteria for how much a dollar was worth.

She grabbed a hand mirror from her bag and checked her appearance. Her lipstick was smudged on the right, probably because of sipping her tea. She grabbed her lipstick and dabbed it on the right corner of her lip. It wouldn't do if her appearance was marred in the slightest when she met the dean. She had a plan to get her little boy off. Not sexually, of course ... not yet. She realised that charges brought by a fat positive activist would have serious repercussions in today's society, but it was possible to hoist them with their own petard if you knew what they were doing.

She walked into the closet she had constructed on request and searched through her clothes. She needed something to show off her perfect figure and show that sow it was possible for today's woman to be slim, curvy and sexy. Not to mention happy, something they weren't very good at.

She took down a pair of leather pants hanging from a nearby hook and turned them over in her hands, her hand rubbing her chin. Yes, that would do. She pulled down her pencil skirt, placing it on the hook and put her legs into the leather pants. She shimmied herself sideways, pulling the skintight material over her strong calves and thick thighs. She pulled it halfway up, placing her hands on the back and front to tug them over her pussy and ass. She let the fabric snap over her waist.

Turning to a mirror, she admired herself, turning back and forth to check that no cameltoe showed through the front over her silk thong. She turned around and looked at her ass encased in leather, smiling at the sight. It would intimidate most of the boys there all right, and the developing girls had nothing on her. They were being trained to stuff themselves with cake instead of intelligent ideas and conversational topics. Their loss.

She bent over and looked at her ass from between her legs. She raised a hand and slapped her right buttock, watching it quiver from the impact. She raised her other hand and slapped the left one, smiling as it tensed at first, then jiggled around before resting almost instantly. That was what she needed in pants, tight enough to enclose her jiggly ass in material which would stop those buns causing earthquakes.

She took a gold chain out of a nearby drawer and placed it around her hip, attaching it at the middle. It rested on her tiny, sexy belly button. The look was of a clearly available woman, hot and bothered for the right person. She lifted the chain from her belly and let it fall back. She ran a hand around the chain, feeling her own skin and back in the process. She wasn't sure what made this indescribably sexy. Some men liked bellies, and girls like her loved to show off theirs for their pleasure. It must be like men wearing shirts tight around the arms. She loved watching those for her own inexplicable reasons.

She looked through her collection of blouses, settling on a satin one with no buttons for half of the décolleté. It would let enough cleavage spill out to be noticed by anyone looking, but not enough to be indecent. She had to tease her boy enough with hints of a boob-grabbing hug, so it should be enough.

Slipping into the blouse, she looked at her reflection. Her breasts were so large she had underestimated how much of her bosom would be exposed, but that was fine. He would get a direct boob hug when she saw him which he loved. She looked through her shoe collection, deciding on the over-the-knee snake design boots. They were a symbol of power to her, since boots almost always made someone appear dominant. Or in charge. This would be warranted for one visit.

She slipped the boots over her leather pants, surveying the result of her pick in the mirror one last time. It would do, unless there were any leather and latex lovers at the college who wore the same outfits. She somehow doubted that anyone made pants and crop tops of that size for feminists. The ghost of a smile flitted across her face. Her son wouldn't feel alone again when she was through with the dean.

She grabbed her keys and walked out of the door, flinging it open as she thought of all the dire things she would like to do to the dea. Like tie her to a chair and make her listen to a rap song with explicit lyrics for the rest of her life. That should show her what real oppression was like, being made to hear things you didn't. She was already forcing poor Shawn to listen to how worthless and violent he was every day.

She walked through the hallways, her face set and mouth horizontal. The rest of her employees sensed that her mood was off and instantly removed themselves from her way, They tossed a few greetings her way, and the Japanese ones even bowed slightly as was their won't. She didn't respond to anyone, though. She was steaming at the thought of her lovely boy suffering under a feminist yoke. She would do whatever it took to keep him out of trouble.

She reached the front door of her building. The guard standing instantly stood up and saluted as he saw her approaching. She realised that she was probably being a little too indifferent to her employees, and smiled at him slightly as she exited the building, knowing he might be jerking off to that when she left. The thought made her panties moist again, and she wondered how many other employees were fapping in the bathroom stalls when they were on lunch break or if they took frequent breaks to 'visit the water cooler.'

She raised an arm towards her Lexus and pressed the remote button on the fob. The car beeped twice as the latches opened. She reached her car and stood next to it, admiring the chrome polish which had been done last week. It looked damn good. She thought she might know why so many men with expensive cars took so much pride in them and got mad if there was one tiny scratch on the bumper. She still felt her lingerie, leather and latex outfits and bikinis were her most important assets, apart from the curvy ass and enormous tits she was already blessed with. It would be nice to add a car to her inventory now that she had one which was brag-worthy.