Her Panty Slave Boys
by Tanya Edwards


The lure of sexual domination can be a powerful factor in sexual 
experiences. Once we are taught that sex (through toilet training and 
modesty reinforcement) is verboten, as is so often done in our early years, 
it may require the pleasurable forced sex to achieve whole satisfaction. 

The following novel is typical of just such relationships, dealing with the 
seduction of young boys coupled with the enforced gratification of normal 
sex urges. Add the spice of the mystery of sensuality of women's 
undergarments, and you have Stella, school psychological counselor and 
Dominatrix unparalleled. She is truly a master at what she is studying: 
Sexuality in young boys-and what she enjoys: Mastery of young boys-including 
her daughter and virile son-in-law! 


CHAPTER ONE 

Timmy Fickas, the adolescent cub reporter for the North Jefferson School 
semi-weekly newspaper, The Maneater (so named after the school's various 
athletic teams, all called the Tigers), was sweating and twitching nervously 
as he sat in the small Guidance Counseling office. He was interviewing the 
part-time counselor, Mrs. Stella Hartley. At least, he was trying to. The 
mature woman had just crossed her legs with slow deliberation, prolonging 
the delightful whisper of nylon rubbing against sheer nylon as she did. At 
the moment, the boy's eyes were feasting on the shapely, beautifully 
stockinged legs of the woman. 

"You were asking?" Stella Hartley teased the boy as he licked suddenly dry 
lips. 

They were sitting together, side-by-side, on the small, red vinyl office 
couch. She had left her desk just a few moments ago to take a seat beside 
the boy so they could "talk easier," as she had said. But the seventh-grade 
student wasn't finding it easier. She had sat close to him, very close, and 
the warmth of her body, her soft, intoxicating perfume, and now the 
thrilling sight of her deliciously curved legs in smooth, shiny, dark, 
fine-denier hosiery was making it hard for him to speak. 

"Er-I-let me see if I've got this all straight now," the lad managed to tear 
his wide eyes away from her nyloned gams long enough to consult his notes in 
the spiral-bound book. "You've been an assistant guidance counselor 
for-uhhh-" 

"Nine months, now. I started last summer." 

"Uhhh, right. And before that, you were-were-" 

"A common housewife, Timmy. My husband, Mr. Jason Hartley, died some years 
ago. I recently received a Masters in Psychology from Washington University, 
so when this job became vacant, I took it to keep busy. I was living in 
Bel-Air, and my daughter and her husband were nice enough to let me come 
here to Fenton to live with them." She smiled as she watched the little boy 
scribble furiously in his notebook. "Am I going too fast for you, dear?" 

"N-no," Timmy looked up with a frown. "I'm supposed to ask you about your 
family and all that," he said, a bit apologetically. 

"Stella arched her eyebrows at him. "You're supposed to ask me?" 

"Uh-huh. Mrs. Medford, the paper sponsor, told me to. I-I'm kinda new at 
this." 

"Oh. I see," and her voice sounded disappointed. "And here I thought you 
were asking all these questions because you were interested in me." 

"Oh, gosh," Timmy sputtered, uncomfortable. "I-I didn't mean it that way, 
Mrs. Hartley. I'm interested in you; sure I am." 

"Mmmmm, good," she purred at him, teasingly. "I'm glad you're interested in 
me." Her dark eyes were openly provocative as she stared into his wide eyes. 

"Uhhhh-uhhhhh-" Timmy gulped. 

"Now. About my family." Mrs. Hartley leaned back, causing her already short 
skirt to ride up higher on her thighs, giving Timmy a generous view of how 
her rounded, heavy thighs stretched the sheer, silky fabric of her 
stockings, "As I said, I live with my daughter, Barbara, and her husband, 
Miles. They have a son, Bobby-" and here she smiled very warmly at 
Timmy-"Who's only about a year younger than you, dear. That's my family." 

"Gosh," Timmy was obviously amazed, the way his mouth hung open, displaying 
his buck teeth. "Gee-you-you have a grandson-just a year younger than me? 
That means-that means-" 

"That's right, dear. I'm a grandmother. You see, Timmy, dear, I've just 
turned forty-eight." 

"Gosh-gosh-I can't believe it-" Her smile was even wider and warmer. "Why, 
thank you, dear. Such a sweet compliment. You don't think I look that old? 
Hmmmmmmm?" 

"No-no way!" 

Stella gave a little, musical laugh of pleasure at the cute little boy's 
words. However, his reaction was understandable. Stella Hartley was a tall, 
buxom, well fleshed out woman-with the flesh in all the right places. Her 
form was generously curved and firm, showing the pleasing effects of 
constant exercise and dieting. Her breasts, which stretched her 38D 
brassiere, ballooned out the front of the clingy, lime-green dress she wore. 
The garment was low cut, displaying the delectable top mounds of her big 
bosom, and the deep cleavage between. Her figure hour-glassed down to a very 
trim waist, the ballooned out in the back with her large, firm, but soft 
buttocks and flaring, flesh-padded hips. The dress hugged her voluptuous 
figure like a tight glove. Her short dress hem was high enough to show off 
perhaps her best feature: her long, long, lovely legs, which were 
delightfully enhanced by a pair of smooth, sheer tan nylon stockings. And 
those shapely, nylon-sheathed legs were further highlighted when she walked 
by the open-toed, black patent leather pumps with the five-inch stilletto 
high heels she wore. 

Indeed, the only indication of the woman's mature years could be found on 
her slightly lined neck and face. Stella always wore heavy makeup, 
eyeshadow, rouge, lipstick, etc. But it couldn't hide the slight crow's feet 
at her eyes and the lines on her high forehead. But her face, framed by her 
long, thick blue-black hair-now done up in a bun at the back of her head-was 
still quite darkly beautiful with its large, wide, intense black eyes, sooty 
black eyebrows, long, angular, aristocratic nose, high cheekbones and thick, 
pouting, bee-stung lips. 

At the moment, the middle-aged woman was training those peculiarly intense, 
prodding eyes on the sweating, now-quivering little boy sitting beside her 
on the couch. There was both lust and a strange determination in her eyes. 
Young Timmy found her eyes haunting. His wide, innocent blue eyes couldn't 
seem to break away from her intense, black eyes. 

For a long moment, the woman and the boy gazed into each other's eyes, in 
the manner of a snake and a helpless bird. Timmy's notebook and Bic pen lay 
forgotten on his lap. 

"So you think I don't look my age, dear." Stella Hartley's voice was soft, 
but husky with passion. "You sweet boy. You little flatterer. Do you think 
I'm pretty, dear? Hmmmmm?" 

Timmy's voice sounded strangely disjoined. "Y-Yes, Mrs. Hartley. I-I think 
you're real pretty." 

"Do you think I'm sexy, dear?" 

Timmy was trembling now. Definitely. 

"Tell me, dear." Her voice was still soft and sweet, but there was a note of 
firmness in it that made the lad tremble more and his eyes widen as he 
continued staring into hers. 

"I-I d-do." 

"Does it excite you to sit close to me? Does it make you feel-sexy?" 

Timmy quivered more. "Yes-yes-" The middle-aged woman's heavily made-up face 
was slightly flushed now, with both victory and rising passion. She licked 
her lips, slowly, deliberately. Then she recrossed her legs, slowly sliding 
one slick stockinged leg against the other, and the whisper of nylon against 
nylon was now loud in the deathly quiet little office. Outside, the murmur 
of voices and the slapping of feet were audible, but both woman and boy were 
oblivious to the sounds. Her dress slipped even farther up on the smooth 
fabric of her hose, and now Timmy could see completely up her thighs, see 
the darker, rolled welt top of her stockings and the winking chrome tabs at 
the end of the thin, black garter suspenders that held them up. The sight of 
creamy white thigh, dark stocking welt and black garters was dizzying to the 
boy. 

"Look at my legs, dear," Mrs. Hartley softly commanded the sweating little 
adolescent beside her. 

Timmy did just that. His eyes were swimming with immature arousal as they 
raked up and down, down and up, the mature woman's fully exposed 
stocking-clad legs, lingering over the heavy, rounded thighs, dimpled knees, 
swelling calves, trim ankles and large, but shapely feet, all sleek and 
smooth and incredibly sexy in the taut, gauzy, dark-tinted nylon hose. The 
lad also took note of her stockinged feet in the high heeled pumps with her 
sweet, nyloned-snugged toes visible. 

"Like the way my nylons look on my legs?" Stella asked, teasing the sweating 
boy some more. 

"Ohh, yes, yes," he panted. 

"I noticed you looking at them before, dear, I could see you were a real leg 
man-a stocking fetishist. I'm not putting you down, dear. Most men-and 
boys-are, to some extent. I learned that from college. Besides, I like 
wearing stockings and garters for men who appreciate them. In fact, when I 
knew you were going to interview me today, I put on these nylons just for 
you." 

Timmy's head jerked up from her lovely nyloned legs back to her intense 
black eyes. "R-really?" 

"Yes, dear. Really." 

"B-but-why?" 

Now her eyes were simply devouring as they stared into the boy's. "Because 
you make me feel sexy, too, dear. From the very first time you came to my 
office. I want you, darling. I want us to make love." 

"Gosh-gosh-" and Timmy looked down, his face flaming with embarrassment and 
shock. 

"Don't you want to, dear. Hmmmmm?" 

"B-But w-we can't -we can't-it's wrong-wrong-" He started to rise. "I-I'd 
better leave now-" 

"Sit down, dear." 

Timmy hesitated. 

"Sit down." Again, the commanding tone. Timmy slowly slid back onto the 
couch. "Look into my eyes, dear." Timmy held his head down. "N-no-I-I 
Won't-" 

"You will." Her tone was quiet but intensely domineering. The boy, his eyes 
still averted, trembled anew at the sound of it. "Look in my eyes, dear. 
Look." 

"Slowly, the boy raised his head, as if unwillingly. But his eyes locked 
into hers again. They grew very wide, and he trembled, hard. Her eyes were 
humid and prodding and very, very intense. 

"That's right, dear. Look into my eyes. That's right. Look into them, dear, 
look. Look. Look deeper... deeper... deeper. Keep looking, dear. Deeper... 
deeper... deeper... deeper... deeper... deeper... " 

Her voice was soft, sweet, almost motherly in tone-and very compelling. The 
boy's wide eyes were very wide now-but were losing their animation now. They 
were becoming glazed. 

"Just keep looking into my eyes... good boy... deeper, dear, go deeper... 
deeper... deeper... " 

Timmy's body was relaxing against the back of the couch. His eyes were 
glazed and unblinking. 

"Now, darling, your eyes are getting tired... so tired... you are so 
tired... you want to sleep... sleep... sleep... " Her soft voice went on 
with its compelling, commanding tone. "You are sleepy, dear... very 
sleepy... you want to sleep... sleep .." 

The boy's eyelids were drooping now, and his head was beginning to sink 
down, down, toward his chest. 

"You can't keep your eyes open... you are alseep, now, dear. Alseep. Sleep, 
Timmy. Obey me and sleep." 

Timmy's eyes closed now and, with a sigh, his head dropped. 

Stella Hartley sighed, too, and there was exultation, lust and lewd 
depravity in that sigh. Her eyes were now nakedly glittering with lust as 
she surveyed the now hypnotized little boy sitting beside her. She had to 
take several deep breaths before she could settle herself somewhat from the 
excitement she was experiencing. 

She reached out and began to stroke the sleeping little boy's sweaty 
forehead with a shapley hand. 

"Can you hear me, Timmy?" she murmered. 

"Yes... " the boy mumbled. 

"Yes-Mistress-" she corrected him. 

"Yes, Mistress," Timmy mumbled again, deep in the trance. 

"I am your Mistress, dear. You will obey me unquestioningly. You will do 
everything I command you to do. Do you understand?" 

"Yes... Mistress... " 

"You have no will of your own. You will obey me completely. Do you 
understand me again?" 

"Yes... Mistress... " 

"Then repeat your Mistress' commands." 

"I-I will obey you-do anything you tell me. I got no will. I will obey you." 

Again, her face flushed with triumph. 

"Good, i dear. You learn fast and well. Your Mistress is very pleased." 

"Th-Thank you, Mistress." 

Now the middle-aged woman leaned forward and spent some minutes having the 
little boy repeat his instructions, making certain he was deep in the 
hypnotic trance. Finally, she sat back, satisfied. 

"Now, dear, I want you to stand before me and remove all your clothes." 

The boy trembled, but obeyed. Walking on unsteady feet, he placed himself in 
front of her, next to her desk, and began to undress, fumblingly. But his 
extreme adolescent shyness and uncoordination seemed to excite the 
middle-aged guidance counselor all the more. Her nostrils flared and her 
breathing increased as she watched. Timmy haltingly pulled off his 
sweatshirt and dropped his jeans on the carpeted floor. He kicked off his 
Adidas sneakers and pulled off the white tube socks. He stood before her 
now, his skinny, short, hairless body naked, save for his white cotton BVD 
shorts. 

"Take off your briefs, dear," Mrs. Hartley commanded. 

The lad trembled, but he obeyed her. He pushed down on the shorts and an 
instant later, they were in a pile at his feet. 

"Ooooooohhh, dear. You have such a nice little cock." Stella licked her 
painted lips as she gazed at the boy's adolescent cock. The hairless, small 
organ was evidently aroused, the little cock shaft swelling and stiffening, 
the small, wrinkled ball sac with its fuzz of pubic hair beginning to draw 
up, the little balls outlined in stark relief. "I can see it's getting hard, 
darling. That's a good boy. 

You obeyed your Mistress well." 

"Th-Thank you, Mistress," 

"Now it's my turn to undress. Won't that be nice, dear?" 

"Ohhh. yes." 

"Yes, what?" and her voice was. firm again. The naked boy trembled before 
her at that. "Y-Yes, Mistress." 

"You sweet boy." 

So saying, the woman rose to her high-heeled feet and walked over to her 
little, hypnotized love slave, her heavy, stockinged thighs swish-swishing 
together as she walked, which made the boy squirm and his cock harden more. 
Now she was standing beside him, a full head taller than the lad. 

"We don't have much time, dear," she murmured to him, reaching down, low. 
Her fingers slipped around the boy's jutting erection. He moaned as she 
began to fondle his cock and balls, softly, expertly, as she felt the penile 
shaft throb and stiffen in her hand. "There are all sorts of nice, naughty 
things I want us to do together. And we will, dear, we will. Sometime when 
we have more time. But you have to be back to class soon, or someone might- 
wonder. So we'll have a nice, quick cum together." She softly, lovingly 
squeezed his erecting little cock. He moaned at the exquisite sensations her 
grasping fingers caused. 

Now she stepped back a bit. She reached back behind her and fumbled a 
moment. The metallic sound of a zipper being pulled down was loud in the 
quiet room. Mrs. Hartley shrugged her white shoulders, and the dress 
slithered down her body and shimmered to the carpet. She stepped out of it. 

"How do I look, dear?" she asked Timmy. 

The hypnotized thirteen-year-old boy trembled like a leaf now as he looked 
at his Mistress. Her white, flawless skin contrasted vividly with the skimpy 
black lace bra, heavy with her breasts, equally skimpy black panties. 
Stretched to the splitting point by her wide hips and big buttocks, thin 
black lace garter belt that hugged her hips tightly, digging into the flesh 
there, as did the thin, stretched black suspenders on her heavy rounded 
thighs, and long, taut, smooth tan nylon stockings that rendered her lovely 
legs so smooth and dark and sleek. Her open-toed spike-heeled pumps 
completed the erotic picture. 

"Well, dear?" Stella prodded him. "How do I look? Hmmmmm?" 

"Gosh-gosh-you're so sexy, Mistress-" 

"I'm glad you think so, dear." 

Swiftly, she reached back behind her again and the black lace bra fluttered 
to the floor. Seconds later, she reached down, her freed, meaty breasts 
jiggling as she did, and her panties slithered down the smooth silken 
stockinged way to her feet. Timmy's hypnotized eyes were alternately glued 
on the middle-aged woman's big, firm, bobbing breasts with the big, black 
nipples, and the lush forest of black pubic hair between her stockinged 
thighs that not quiet hid the pink gash of her cunt hole and the red labia 
lips surrounding it. The boy could see that the curly black hair there was 
already matted and wet. 

"Now, dear," Stella murmured teasingly to the adolescent, hypnotized boy. 
"Shall I take off my nylons, or would you rather I keep them on so you can 
feel them while we fuck?" 

Timmy trembled violently. But, somehow, he managed to say, "K-keep them on. 
P-Please." 

She laughed, softly. "I knew you'd say that, my sweet little pan tie freak." 

"Y-Yes, Mistress." 

"Now, darling," she murmured huskily as she reached for the little boy. 
"Let's get on the couch." 

A few minutes later, the school exploded into life as the class-changing 
bell rang and students and teachers poured into the hallways. Voices 
shouted, feet pounded and locker doors slammed in a bedlam of humanity. 

But none of the noise penetrated beyond the locked door marked "Guidance 
Counselling." 

The naked, trembling, adolescent boy was lying on top of the middle-aged 
woman on her red couch now, moaning at the feel of her soft, firm breasts 
against his hard little chest and the incredible warmth and softness of her 
larger, mature, fleshy body. His thin little arms were wrapped round her 
middle, several fingers digging into the thin, tight, black bandeau of her 
garter belt. Her heavy arms were holding his skinny neck in a tight embrace. 

Woman and boy were in a deep embrace, kissing with lewd passion, their lips 
burning together. The middle-aged woman's tongue and the adolescent boy's 
tongue were intermingling sweetly as they French-kissed hotly. 

At the other end of the couch, the woman's shapely, dark-stockinged legs 
were spread, knees up, her nylon-sheathed feet in black patent, open-toed 
high heels flat on the couch. Between the middle-aged woman's raised, 
shapely, glossily-stockinged legs hovered the adolescent boy's small, white, 
hairless hips and bottom. His little cock was fully erect now, throbbing and 
throbbing, poised over the large, hairy cunt of Mrs. Hartley. 

Timmy's wide, glazed, mesmerized eyes were staring into Mrs. Hartley's deep, 
dark, humid eyes. Now she slowly licked her lips and said, "Darling, you 
know what we're going to do now, don't you?" 

The lad nodded his head slowly, his gaze still fixed on hers. . 

"We're going to make love. Your sweet little virgin cock is going to go deep 
inside your Mistress. I'm going to have you inside me, my sweet little slave 
boy. It'll be our own little love game, honey. You are going to fuck my 
cunt, fuck it as hard as you can, and then you are going to shoot your sweet 
virgin cum inside me. You are going to do this to please your Mistress, 
aren't you, my little slave boy?" 

"Y-Yes, Mistress," Timmy replied, monosyllabically. But immature desire 
glowed from his hypnotized eyes. 

With that, Stella snaked a hand down, down, and softly grasped the boy's 
throbbing cock. He moaned, and the adolescent penis lurched in her warm, 
soft palm. "Now, my honey," she murmured, huskily, and closed her eyes, "now 
my sweet slave." Slowly, she guided it down, down to her waiting cunt. And 
slowly, the boy's small white bottom sank between the middle-aged woman's 
raised, nylon stocking-clad legs. 

Both woman and boy groaned deeply as his stiff, hard little cock prodded the 
drooling lips of her cunt. With a louder moan, Timmy obeyed his Mistress, 
and pushed his erect penis into her pussy, inch by throbbing inch, until his 
hairless little ball sac rested against her warm inner thighs. 

Uhhhhhhhh-uhhhhhhhh-" Timmy groaned, as he felt his throbbing cock soak deep 
inside the woman's slic, wet, hot pussy. 

"Ooooooooohhhh, yes, darling, darling," Mrs. Hartley cooed to him, the 
feeling of his boycock inside her hungry cunt causing her insides to squirm 
with lewd lust. "Doesn't it feel good, darling? Doesn't it? You're so deep 
inside your Mistress now. So deep." And here she gave another deep moan at 
the thought of hypnotizing and seducing this sweet little lamb of a boy 
right in her own office at school. Her experiment was turning out 
fantastically! 

Timmy was moaning, too, at the new and mind-bending feelings shooting 
through him. He was lying fully on top of her large, soft, yielding, 
near-naked body now, his thin, hard chest mashing down the soft pillows of 
her huge breasts, the erect nipples pressing against him. His small fingers 
grabbed harder onto the stretched lace bandeau of her garter belt as his 
flat belly merged with her soft, warm belly, his bony little hips grinding 
against her flesh-padded hips. Her oily, warm pussy sheath was stroking and 
massaging his throbbing little boycock like a soft, clingy glove. It was 
stiffening, swelling with passion. 

"Now darling," Mrs. Hartley commanded her dominated little lover, 
breathlessly. "Slip your lovely little love tool in and out of your 
Mistress. That's it-ohhhhhh, yes-yes-that's it sweetheart-fuck me-fuck me-" 
Now Timmy's little buttocks were pumping up and down, up and down between 
Mrs. Hartley's lovely, nylon-sheathed legs, slowly working his cock in and 
out of her hairy, hot cunt hole. He drew out his penis, up to the flaring 
cockhead, and then, with a childish gasp, thrust it down, again, into the 
woman's depths, all the way, again and again. The bizarre couple, the 
middle-aged woman and the dominated, hypnotized, adolescent boy, were 
fucking, hot and heavy, moaning and groaning with burning lust and their 
bodies slapped together on the red leather couch in her small, quiet office. 
Outside, the sounds of feet and voices continued, but neither heard nor 
cared. 

"Uhhhhh-Uhhhhhh- M-M-Mistress- It-s so good-so good-ohhhhhhhh-" 

"Yes, Darling-ooooooooohhhh- so hard, so deep-ohhhhhh-sweet slave boy-take 
your fucking-Hake it-take it-Hake it-oooooooooo-.. 

The bodies of woman and boy were jerking, heaving, rocking on the small 
office couch now, rolling nearly to the edge of it, almost falling off as 
they battled hotly, sweat beading on their bodies, breath chugging from 
their lungs. Timmy's little white bottom was pumping even faster now between 
Mrs. Hartley's quivering, sheer stocking-clad legs as he plunged his 
thumping penile shaft into her hot, wet, gasping cunt hole with childish 
vigor. Now the woman gripped the boy's bobbing hips with her slickly 
stocking thighs, and there was the erotic swish-swish of naked flesh rubbing 
against sheer nylon. Timmy groaned deeply, and his little body quivered in 
response. 

"Yes, my little slave sweetheart," Mrs. Hartley moaned hotly to the shaking, 
sweating boy on top of her she held so tightly in her arms. "Feel your 
Mistress' nylon stockings rub against your naked flesh. Feels so good, 
darling, doesn't it? So good. Now fuck your Mistress as hard as you can and 
we'll have a nice big cum together." 

"Gosh-ohhhhhhhhhh-" Timmy cried, nearly overcome by the new, fiery lust that 
was fogging his childish brain. Her scratch-smooth stockings felt like they 
were electrified, sending passion-bolts rocketing into his body. Goosebumps 
were forming where her hose was rubbing against his skin, and his little 
cock was swelling even more inside her hot, churning depths. In response fc 
they hypnotized child obeyed his mature Dominatrix and thrust and thrust his 
boycock as fast, as hard, and as deep as he could into her juicy, hot pussy 
hole, their bodies slapping together wetly as he did. 

Meanwhile, low, guttural groans were issuing from Mrs. Hartley's mouth as 
she felt the lust-fire in her belly flare into an inferno, stoked by the 
pumping little erect penis of the boy on top of her. The hot love liquid was 
streaming from her drooling cunt hole, her pussy lips now clutching like a 
hand around his pumping shaft as it worked and worked in and out of her. The 
lewdness of the act itself was turning her on as much as the sex action, and 
the two were building a burning fireball in her loins, a fireball of orgasm. 
Her body began to undulate hotly on the couch, her hips heaving in delicious 
anticipations. 

"Ooooooohh, sweetheart, I'm so close-so close-" she groaned hotly in Timmy's 
ear. "You're going to make your Mistress cum. You want to cum, too, darling, 
don't you?" 

"Uhhhhh-Uhhhhh-" the adolescent boy, his small face now flushed and dripping 
with sweat, his eyes squeezed shut, could only gasp and groan in reply. His 
mind was consumed in lust fire, and his thumping little penis was swollen 
and stiff now, cherry-red with inflammation now as it plunged with squishy 
sounds in and out of her cunt hole. His little balls were drawn up tightly 
in the scrotal sac. His white little hairless behind was pumping crazily 
between her clinging, trembling legs in the sheer, gauzy, dark-tinted nylon 
stockings. 

'UHHHHHH-UHHHHH-" Timmy now yelled, as he felt the white-hot fluid shoot 
from his balls. He slammed his little body down on the mature woman's 
yielding flesh, convulsively, as his boycock exploded inside her. "UHHHH 
HHHHHH-UHHHHHHH-" he yelled and yelled, deliriously, as his burning virgin 
sperm spilled and spilled, massively, from his jolting cock, deep in the 
middle-aged woman's womb. "UHHH HHHHHHHHH-" 

"OOOOOOHHH-OOOOOOHHH -OOOOOOOHH-" Stella Hartley screamed, deliriously, as 
the spurt and surge inside her set off her own thunderous orgasm. "CUM' 
DARLING-CUM IN ME-EE-EE-EE-" Her long, lovely, stocking-clad legs wrapped 
around the lad's little behind now, as the middle-aged woman and the 
adolescent boy rolled off her office couch onto the carpet, as they came 
explosively, moaning and shaking and rolling on that carpet, for a long, 
slow time, and somewhere outside, a bell rang... 

CHAPTER TWO 

Several hours following her most interesting interlude with young Timmy 
Fickas in her office, Stella Hartley was at home with her family. Sitting in 
the bright yellow painted, plastic and chrome-motifed kitchen of the 
spacious ranch style house in the suburban outskirts of Fenton, she was 
avidly devouring the chicken and dumplings dinner she had helped prepare, 
along with her daughter, Barbara, her son-in-law, Miles, and her little 
grandson, Bobby. 

"Mmmm-mmmmm" Miles exclaimed, as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. "I 
have to hand it to you ladies. I never much cared for chicken and dumplings 
until I tasted this. Now I'm a regular fan." 

Both mother and daughter smiled at the husky, broad-shouldered man. Miles 
Horton was thirty-five, over six feet tall, and topped the scales at two 
hundred pounds. His barrel-chested, burly build-streamlined by his almost 
daily visits to the local YMCA-was evident even under the white shirt, dark 
grey tie and navy blue suit pants he wore. He was dark-complected, with wavy 
brown hair that spilled over his forehead, his ears, and down his brawny 
neck. He was a life insurance salesman, recently awarded yet another 
commendation for record sales. 

"Well, I have to confess, it's Mom's recipe," Barbara Horton smiled, 
glancing fondly over at Stella. 

"Phooey!" Stella replied, waving a hand depreciatingly. "I got it out of a 
cookbook." 

But she smiled warmly at her thirty-year-old daughter for the compliment. 
Barbara was a younger and more petite version of her mother. Her figure was 
slimmer and her measurements less fulsome, but she was quite shapely in the 
clinging burnt orange dress she wore, with contrasting taupe nylons and dark 
brown leather slingback sandals. Unlike her mother, she wore her hair 
loosely, letting it fall behind her back, in thick, raven-black waves. Her 
wide, black eyes, small, delicate nose, and pouting rosebud mouth gave her a 
Madonna appearance. 

"Besides, I have to do something to earn my keep around here," Stella added, 
lightly. 

"Oh, come off it, Mom," Barbara replied earnestly. "We love having you here. 
We bought this monster three-bedroom house, and had that one bedroom going 
to waste. Why, you did us a favor coming here!" 

"That's right," Mile's chimed in. "You're a member of the family now, and 
that's that. Besides, with the dinner, you've earned your keep for about a 
month, I'd say," and here he smacked his lips for emphasis. "And Bobby here 
likes having his grandmother around. Don't you, son?" 

All eyes were turned to little Bobby Horton, a skinny, freckled, 
buck-toothed specimen of adolescent boyhood in his white Tee-shirt and jeans 
and Keds. The lad looked at his grandmother with wide eyes, and said, "Uhhh, 
sure, Dad. Sure I do." 

A closer and more impartial observer might have noticed a certain agitation 
in the boy's manner, but Miles merely laughed and said, "Now that's 
something. You've been here about a year now, Stel, and Bobby here is still 
shy around you." 

"Well, that's true-and understandable," Barbara smiled. "Not many little 
boys have such a pretty grandmother." 

"Ill say," Miles returned. 

"Now stop it you two, or you'll turn an old woman's head," Stella laughed at 
them, a pleased glow on her smooth, unblemished cheeks. Then her black eyes 
caught Bobby's green ones, and held them in an intense gaze. The boy's jaw 
seemed to sag somewhat as he gazed up at his grandmother. Now she murmured, 
softly, "Bobby and I get along just fine, don't we, dear.?" 

"Yes," Bobby replied, slowly, still staring into his grandmother's eyes. 

"Good for you, son," Miles said, approvingly. "That's what I like-one big, 
happy family." 

"That's what we are, all right," Barbara beamed. 

"Amen to that," Stella added. 

They grew silent now as they resumed eating. Then young Bobby, who was 
seated next to his voluptuous grandmother, dropped his spoon under the 
table. He muttered an apology and dived under the table for it. Both his 
parents were engaged in a conversation about a neighbor, and took no notice 
of the incident. 

But Stella did. She knew the spoon-dropping was no accident. It was, in 
fact, a game-a sex game grandmother and grandson had played before. 

Beneath the table and tablecloth, and thus hidden from view, Bobby, while 
pretending to search for the spoon, was now avidly gazing at his 
grandmother's long, shapely legs sheathed in sheer nylon hosiery. For a long 
moment, his feverish gaze traveled up and down the mature woman's nice, 
dimpled knees, shapely, heavy calves, and trim ankles, all slick and glossy 
in the dark-tinted stockings. The boy especially gazed at his grandmother's 
smoothly-stockinged feet in the glittering black pumps with the wicked, 
five-inch spike heels. The open toes of the pumps allowed him a tantalizing 
view of her sweet toes snugged in the darker nylon pads of her hose. 

Slowly, deliberately, Stella crossed her stocking-clad legs. Nylon hissed 
erotically as she did, and the hem of her dress slipped up her thighs. 

Now the boy could see the darker, rolled welt tops of his grandmother's dark 
stockings high up her heavy thighs, and even the glittering chrome tabs of 
the garter suspenders holding them so taut. Bobby trembled violently at the 
sight, and sweat beaded on his forehead. With his heart pumping hard, the 
adolescent boy raised a quivering hand and dropped it on one of the woman's 
nyloned knees. He stroked the firm flesh there, loving the gauzy, 
scratchy-smooth texture of the sheer nylon of the mature woman's stockings. 
Then Stella slipped a shapely hand down and rested it on top of her 
grandson's hand. She squeezed it hard. 

"Say, Son, what are you doing down there-searching for buried treasure?" 
Miles called out jokingly. 

At that, Bobby popped up from beneath the table, spoon in hand. "I just 
found it," he muttered. 

"Why, Bobby, you're all sweaty," Barbara exclaimed to her son. "Are you 
feeling all right?" 

"Uhhh, it's pretty warm down there," the boy muttered to his mother. 

"It must be," his father commented. 

"Well, Miles, how was the office today," Stella quickly asked to change the 
subject. 

It worked. The big, brawny man began to complain about a customer, and the 
table was festive again. 

Several hours later, Stella was in her long pink velour bathrobe, sitting at 
the oak frame desk in her bedroom. She was still feeling the delicious glow 
of a good hot shower, and she had just finished brushing her long, thick, 
glossy black hair, and now it lay about her shoulders. As always, she was 
the last one to take her shower that night, and her table lamp was the only 
light burning in the still house. Everybody else was in bed. 

Stella started to reach for the sheath of papers bound in the vinyl folder 
which comprised the doctoral thesis for the doctorate of psychology she was 
seeking from the local university. She glanced at her tentative title: 
"FETISHISM AND PEDOPHILIA IN ABNORMAL SEXUALITY." It made her think of 
something else, something that made her eyes gleam hotly, and her nostrils 
flare. She reached down into her robe, found her hairy cunt, and began to 
stroke it softly. 

The seduction of little Timmy Fickas had been absolutely successful and 
absolutely delicious. It opened up new vistas in her sex life now that the 
school was a quite safe and convenient outlet for her immoral, illegal and 
bizarre sexual tastes and desires. All the cute little adolescent boys were 
hers for the picking now, and she planned to do some picking. And plucking. 
The thought sent an electric thrill through her, and she felt her pussy 
become moist. 

Damn, she was hot and horny again. And she knew the perfect way to remedy 
that condition. She remembered her grandson's hot little hand on her nyloned 
knee, and she shivered with passion. 

Now, she stood up. She walked to her bedroom door, and opened it. The dark, 
silent hallway yawned at her. 

Walking softly, she walked into the room beside hers. On the huge, canopied 
king-sized bed in the middle of the wood-paneled room lay her daughter and 
her son-in-law. Both were already fast asleep, with the sounds of deep-sleep 
breathing issuing from them. 

Stella stood on the side of the bed nearest her daughter, Barbara. In a 
soft, but intense voice, she murmured, "Barbara... Miles... Can you hear 
me?" 

Both man and woman fidgeted briefly. Then both replied, hollowly, "Yes... 
Mistress... " 

Stella felt thrilled that the post-hypnotic suggestion she had planted in 
both of them some time ago was still working. Her command of hypnotism was 
good, very good-much better than when she had taken that course back in 
college when she was working for her Masters Degree. 

Now she said, softly, "Good. I want you to sleep, tonight. Just sleep. You 
will hear nothing. Nothing will awaken you. You will sleep... sleep... 
sleep... Do you understand me? 

"Yes... Mistress... " Both Miles and Barbara replied, in those strange, 
sleepy voices. 

"Good... now sleep, you two." 

Stella could tell by the silence that they had obeyed her instructions. She 
was pleased. Now, any sounds that her nocturnal activities may make would 
not rouse Miles or Barbara. 

She quietly left the room and closed the door behind her. Then she padded on 
bare feet to the door at the end of the hall. 

She opened the door. 

In the darkened room, jumbles of toys and clothes and a smaller bed could be 
seen between the moon shadows. In the bed lay her adolescent grandson, 
Bobby. 

Stella moved into the room confidently, due to her handiwork in the boy's 
parents' room. Now she stood beside the bed, looking down at Bobby's cute 
little tousle-headed, freckled face. The lad was asleep. She murmured, 
softly, "Bobby, Bobby-do you hear me?" 

At the sound of her voice the boy stirred briefly. "Yes," he muttered. 

"Then open your eyes, darling, and look at your Mistress." 

Slowly, the boy's eyelids fluttered open, and he stared up at his 
grandmother. His eyes were glazed with the hypnotic trance she held him 
under. 

"Yes, Mistress," he said, tonelessly. 

"You sweet lamb," she murmured, lovingly. She sat down now, on the side of 
his bed. She softly stroked his cool forehead. "Are you glad to see your 
Mistress, honey?" she cooed. 

"Yes, Mistress," the child replied. 

"I'm glad to see you too, sweetheart. I was having the nicest dream about 
you. Were you dreaming about me, Bobby? Hmmmmmm?" 

The boy shivered in reply, his glazed eyes wide as he stared at his 
grandmother. 

"I'll bet you were, honey. A real naughty dream, too. You were a real 
naughty boy today, Bobby, looking at your Mistress' legs and looking up her 
dress. Did you like what you saw?" 

The lad was trembling. But he replied, "Oh, yes, Mistress." 

"I know you did. I'll bet you also liked how my stockings fit on my legs. 
Did you like feeling my stockings? Did it make you all excited?" 

"Yes-ohh, yes, Mistress." 

Bobby's forehead was no longer cool to her touch. It was hot and sweaty. 

"It made me all excited too, darling." 

She removed her hand from her grandson's forehead and used it to fling back 
his bedcovers. She sighed soulfully as she drank in his naked little body, 
so smooth and white and hairless. She gazed lovingly at the boy's little 
cock. It was throbbing now, beginning to stiffen with arousal. 

"Oh, honey, we're both so excited. Why don't we go back to my room and play 
that nice little game again? Would you like that, dear?" 

Bobby was trembling now. "Yes-yes, Mistress." 

"Then come along, darling," she ordered tenderly, holding out her hand... 

Very soon, they were in Stella's room, with its large, queen-sized bed. The 
naked boy was sitting on the edge of that bed, looking at his sexy 
grandmother. She had just slipped off her pink velour robe, and her 
gorgeous, flushy nude form was bathed in a golden hue from a small bedside 
lamp, the only illumination in her bedroom. 

The lad trembled with immature arousal as he stared up at his stark naked 
grandmother, his wide, glazed, hypnotized eyes ogling her jumbo-sized 
breasts, the size of giant grapefruits, but ten times as soft, he knew-as 
were her protuberant, round buttocks. Her cunt was a furry pelt between her 
heavy, firm rounded thighs, the scalloped pink lips of her labia just 
visible amidst the curly black pubic hair there. His inhibitions dissolved 
in his deep hypnotic trance, the boy felt burning lust in his adolescent 
loins for his middle-aged grandmother. 

And she, standing lewdly naked before her own daughter's son, felt the same 
lust for him. Only part of it was inflamed by her having complete control 
and mastery over the boy. And the fact that she was committing the vilest 
kind of incest only thrilled her the more. 

"Your eyes are so wide, sweetheart," she was murmuring, her voice husky with 
passion, teasing her grandson. "Do you like your Mistress' naked body that 
much?" 

"Yes, Mistress," the lad replied. "You are so pretty and sexy. You make my 
thing get hard all the time." 

"Poor boy," she murmured. "Your Mistress will see that you get relief 
tonight." 

"Thank you, Mistress," Bobby replied. 

"By the way, darling," Stella added as an afterthought. "Have you thought 
about my idea about wearing women's pretty underthings for your Mistress? 
Would you like that?" 

The boy made a face. "No, I guess not Mistress. I-I'd feel sort of silly." 

"It doesn't excite you at all?" 

"No." 

"All right then, dear." 

Stella was disappointed. She was most eager to experiment on the phenomenon 
of transvestite behavior in young boys and its relation to garment 
fetishism, a subject that consumed both her scientific and sexual interests. 
Although her grandson, under earlier hypnotic psychological interrogation, 
had revealed himself to have a few fetishes, with the common stocking fetish 
being the foremost (much like young Timmy Fickas), he obviously wasn't at 
the stage of wanting to wear them. And if he didn't have the desire 
somewhere buried in his psyche, she couldn't force it on him. Oh, well. 
She'd just have to find some other youth to experiment erotic transvestism 
on... She turned back to the subject at hand. 

"Well, honey, I guess we're ready for bed," she smiled, a bit devilishly. 
"Or are we? Hmmmmmm?" 

She was staring at her naked grandson, who was quivering, under the hold of 
a strong emotion. "Are we, Bobby?" she asked tenderly, again teasing the 
boy. "Are we ready for beddy-bye?" 

"N-No, Mistress," he stammered. 

"Oh? Are we forgetting something?" 

"Yes-yes, Mistress." 

"Tell me, dear," and her voice was sweet but commanding to her trembling 
little sex slave. 

"You-you forgot to put on-your sexy things... " his voice trailed off in a 
whimper. 

Stella felt her inside tingle erotically at her grandson's humiliation. "Oh, 
yes, darling, your Mistress nearly did forget. And she knows how her sweet 
little lover likes her to wear her sexy garter belt and stockings when they 
sleep together." 

"Oh, yes, Mistress." 

With a sweet smile at her naked grandson, the equally nude middle-aged woman 
padded on bare feet to her dresser drawers. She pulled the middle drawer 
open. Inside, the drawer was brimming with lacy, erotic bras, panties, 
garter belts, satin and lace corsets, and all shades of nylon hosiery. 
"Let's see now, honey," she murmured, rummaging through the lingerie. "Let's 
find something you'd like... Your mother asked me the other day why I have 
so much lingerie. If only she knew... Hmmmmmm... Yes. Yes. These should 
doit." 

Now she turned back to the trembling little naked boy on her bed, holding 
out the lingerie in her hands. In one hand she clasped a thin lacy band with 
straps dangling from it, and in the other, what looked like two thin strips 
of dark gossamer. 

"I think you'll like your Mistress in these naughty things," she told the 
boy lovingly, walking back to the bed and laying the stockings there, but 
retaining the garter belt. The latter was thin and nearly transparent, 
constructed of black lace with red lace trim, and little red bows on the 
garter suspenders. The gauzy nylon stockings were lustrous and of a dark, 
smoky tint. 

The voluptuous, middle-aged grandmother began to slip the black lace garter 
belt on, and her adolescent grandson leaned forward to watch with feverish 
fervor. The thin black bandeau stretched tight around her flaring hips, as 
she hooked it in back, contrasting delightfully with the alabaster white 
flesh there. Once she had the belt-strap hooked into place, she reached for 
a stocking, the red bow-tipped garter snaps popping noiselessly on het firm 
thighs as she did. 

"No wonder you love sheer stockings and garters, darling," Stella murmured 
warmly to the wide-eyed boy on her bed, as she began to bunch up the filmy 
stocking in her hands. "They're so wonderfully wicked and erotic. And they 
feel delicious on my legs. Women are so silly to wear pantyhose when all 
studies so clearly prove that men like the regular stockings better." 

Now, with the stocking properly bunched up, Stella extended one long, lovely 
bare leg, resting the smooth heel of her shapely foot on the mattress, quite 
close to the excited boy. With slow, deliberate movements, the middle-aged 
woman snugged her sweet toes and then her heel into the darker reinforced 
pads of the stocking. Her grandson devoured the scene hungrily, leaning 
closer to watch. With a pounding heart, he watched his grandmother roll the 
stocking up, up her long, shapely leg, sheathed her trim ankle and heavy, 
rounded calf in the sausage-skin-taut, gauzy nylon fabric of the sheer, 
fine-denier hose. Now she rolled the darker stocking welt over her dimpled 
knee and paused to bend that nice knee and insure the nylon was 
wrinkle-smooth over her flesh. Now she sheathed her large, rounded thigh in 
the dark, gossamer nylon. Bobby's mouth grew dry as he watched how his 
grandmother's big thigh stretched the gauzy nylon to a lighter shade as it 
merged with the whiteness of her skin. Then she was smoothly attaching the 
red bows of the garter snaps to the rolled welt top of the taut, stretched, 
well-filled stocking. 

A heartbeat later, Stella was sheathing her other leg in the other glossy, 
smoky-tinted stocking. Her grandson was visibly sweating when she finished 
the exquisite operation. 

Now the middle-aged woman was bent over, tugging at her garters, insuring 
that the dark hose was smooth and taut over her shapely legs, her large, 
meaty breasts bobbing as she did. "Got to make sure my stockings are nice 
and smooth for my little lover," she murmured huskily as she did. "How do 
they look to you, darling?" she added. 

"Ohhhh, yes, M-Mistress," Bobby croaked, his mouth dry. 

"I'm so glad you like them, sweetheart." 

With a little sign and a rustle of nylon, Stella sat down beside her 
sweating, trembling, naked little grandson. Her light, heady perfume, the 
heat of her body, the impact of her nearness, seemed to envelope the lad, 
and he trembled more. Now, with a loving smile on her slightly-parted, 
luscious red-painted lips, the dominant mature woman softly patted her 
smoothly-nyloned lap. "Come here to me, sweetheart, and let your Mistress 
show how much she loves you." 

The boy could only groan in reply. In response, Stella wrapped her arms 
around her agitated grandson, and smoothly pulled him onto her stocking-clad 
thighs. Bobby moaned and trembled anew at the delicious feeling of his naked 
bottom and thighs pressing on the slick, gauzy dark nylon sheathing her 
thighs, and the warm, firm flesh beneath. Now, Stella pressed her lips hard 
against his thin dry lips, and held him in a tight clinch, her heavy, 
pillowly breasts mashing against his thin chest. Bobby stopped trembling, 
and his small, thin arms slipped around his grandmother's trim waist. 

For a long moment, grandmother and grandson kissed, passionately, their 
naked flesh burning, melting together. Both moaned with rapture with their 
deep, hot soul kiss that had no end. Now the middle-aged woman's tongue 
slipped like a snake into her grandson's mouth, wandering all about. It met 
the adolescent boy's, and they moaned again. Their sweet, soft tongues 
slipped and intermingled as they French-kissed, hotly. 

Meanwhile, her soft hand was sliding up her grandson's smooth, hairless 
thigh, slowly, caressingly. It reached the top of his boney thigh and 
lingered there a bit. She slipped her fingers around her grandson's small, 
stiffening, swelling penis. She began to frig it softly. 

At that, Bobby broke off the kiss and groaned. 

Her hand was making his little cock throb hard, and his little bottom was 
tingling hotly from rubbing against her silky nylons as he had squirmed in 
her lap. 

Her soft lips found his ear. "Yes, my darling, it feels so good. Now let's 
do that naughty thing I showed you before. Your Mistress' pussy is already 
nice and wet for you." 

She kissed the child again, a long, slow time, and slowly began to push 
herself and him onto her bed. They rolled together onto the big mattress, 
the small, naked adolescent and his shapely, middle-aged grandmother, her 
nudity enhanced by the black lace garter belt and long, sheer, dark nylon 
stockings that seemed to glitter in the dim light from the bedside lamp... 

At that moment, in his bed at home, young Timmy Frickas was having a wet 
dream. He wasn't consciously aware of its origin, but it gripped him, hard. 
He was perspiring freely, his hand stroking his red-hot, thumping boycock, 
as he masturbated and dreamed the strange, forbidden but exciting dream. 

At least, he thought it was a dream. Actually, he was mentally reviewing the 
events in Mrs. Stella Hartley's office that afternoon. 

He had rolled endlessly on the office carpet with the middle-aged woman, in 
a tight clinch, kissing and kissing as his jolting little cock had shot 
stream after stream of sperm into her womb. When they stopped, she had held 
him tightly with her naked arms and smoothly stockinged legs awhile, kissing 
him sweetly, lovingly. Then she had murmured to him and released him. 
Trembling from his exertions, the lad had got up off her soft, yielding body 
slowly. His softening cock had slipped from her cunthole with a soft squishy 
sound and a low moan from the middle-aged woman. His cock was drenched with 
her love fluid. Slimy white droplets dripped from the head of his flaccid 
cock onto the carpet, a few dribbling on her thigh, the white of his semen 
contrasting lewdly with the dark tint of the stocking there. 

Then she had quickly gotten up off the carpet, and kissed and hugged him, a 
moment or two. Then she had quickly dressed, and helped him dress, too. And 
then... Timmy instantly conked out. His head slumped over the pillow, in 
deep sleep, just as his dominant Mistress had post-hypnotically suggested he 
do... 

Meanwhile, Bobby and his erotically clad grandmother were having a wet 
dream, too, on top of her big bed in the dimly lit bedroom. 

Stella was lying on her back on the bed, her black head resting on some 
pillows, her long, thick, raven-black hair spilled about them. Her little 
grandson was on top of her, facing the opposite direction, in perfect 
sixty-nine position. 

They were deep in a hot and wet cunnilingus/fellatio. 

Bobby's small, crew-cut head was buried deep between his grandmother's 
heavy, stockinged thighs, rubbing his lips adoringly over her rapidly 
wetting cunt, nibbling lightly at the glistening pink lips of her labia 
there. His palms were prickling deliciously as he ran his hands over her 
thick, firm thighs, rapturously stroking her sheer stockings. 

At the same time, his small, white bottom was bobbing and weaving in the 
air, held firmly by his grandmother's hands, as his throbbing little boycock 
slipped in and out of her wet, sucking mouth. 

The bodies of the small, nude, adolescent boy and the middle-aged, buxom 
woman clad only in skimpy garter belt and long, dark-tinted stockings, 
undulated and writhed on her large bed, their moans and sighs of burning 
passion muffled by their ardent licking and sucking. 

From long practice, the little boy rubbed his lips against his grandmother's 
furry cunt, stroking the pink, scalloped lips of her labia, which were 
beginning to swell and quiver with arousal. Her clit was standing stiffly 
erect and the lad's lips brushed it, once, twice, a third time, as 
instructed by his Mistress, each time sending electric jolts through her and 
causing her hot love fluid to dribble from her deep, dark, dank cunt hole 
between her pink labia. Stella groaned deeply, her mouth full of her 
grandson's throbbing cock, and her stomach quivered and her heavy, 
nylon-sheathed thighs closed tighter around his little, crew-cut head. Bobby 
sighed as the feel of the nylon and flesh brushing against his hairless 
cheeks, and continued kissing and nuzzling her steaming love nest. His small 
hands kept stroking the taut, gauzy mesh of the stockings which encase*d her 
luscious thighs. 

Up front, her black head sunk deep in pillows, Stella languidly closed her 
heavily made-up eyes as her grandson's mouth set her pussy on fire, and 
concentrated on sucking his little cock into palpitating erection. Bobby's 
cockpole was already stiff and hard, swelling with sexual heat, glistening 
from her saliva as it slipped wetly from her sucking mouth, and back in 
again, her red-painted lips a ring of fire around her sensitive cockflesh. 
She could feel the boy's small firm asscheeks quiver and clench in 
agitation, and the wrinkled little ball sac that had dangled in her face was 
now drawn up tight against the cock root. Her fiery tongue was caressing the 
adolescent phallus in her mouth, enfolding it, making it throb and throb 
even more. Her smooth rouged cheeks were collapsing inward from the force of 
her deep suction. 

Now, as woman and boy lost themselves in their lewd, immoral lust, their 
bodies began to shake and heave on the mattress, with hot urgency as their 
genitals were manipulated into maddening sexual arousal. Moans and groans 
grew louder and deeper now, the sounds quite audible to the adjoining 
bedroom, but not to Bobby's sleeping hypnotized mother and father. 

"Mmmmmmmm-mmmmmmmmmmm-" 

"Uhhhhhh-uhhhhhh-uhhhhhh-" Grandmother and grandson moaned and groaned 
hotly, their bodies quaking and sweating on her bed. Stella's insides were 
squirming with sharp erotic stimulation, as Bobby began to slip his small 
tongue around the pouting, quivering lips of her cunt, around and around, 
inflaming the glistening labia, now sliding that proving tongue into the 
steaming, hot hole within... deep, deeper, into her cunt sheath... her cunt 
liquid was spilling out of that hole, now, wetting the boy's flushed face... 
her soft belly was clenching and quivering with arousal, her depths in an 
uproar, her adolescent grandson's tongue sending chills down her spine... 
her heavy, stocking-clad thighs clamped tight around the boy's head in 
extreme agitation, her buttocks nearly lifting off the bed. In response, 
Stella took Bobby's cock entirely into her mouth, turning her black head to 
and fro on the pillows to let his flaring cockhead rub against her luscious 
inner mouth, her hot, stroking tongue whipping around the thumping, bloated 
cock pole. Bobby groaned helplessly, his mouth buried in his grandmother's 
pussy, his hands nearly settling off sparks as he rubbed his palms 
lingeringly against the silken, stockinged thighs which pressed so tightly 
against the sides of his head... 

At that moment, Barbara, like young Timmy Fickas, was having a wet dream as 
she snored softly beside her likewise mesmerized husband. Only it wasn't 
about her husband. Oh, no. It was a very wrong and naughty dream, buried 
deep in her psyche, liberated by her mother's hypnotism. It was, in fact, 
aided and abetted by her psycho-sexual student mother, who under the initial 
trance had learned to her delight of her daughter's secret, lewd, immoral 
desires, and, indeed, planned to make erotic use of them in the near future. 

Barbara was dreaming of her twelve-year-old son, Bobby, dreaming of having 
him all naked in her bed, and of doing all sorts of lovely, naughty things 
with him... 

In her torrid dream, her sweet little son was standing before her, trembling 
like a leaf. His face was flushed with embarrassment. For he was standing 
before her clad only in his shorts. 

"Come on, now, honey," she was purring to him. "Take off your shorts for 
Mama." 

Her little son trembled harder at her request. But he obeyed her. His little 
white cotton shorts slid down his skinny, hairless legs, and he clumsily 
stepped out of them. 

"That's a good boy, darling," Barbara sighed. "Such a good boy to obey his 
Mama." 

She was staring lustfully at her child's little cock. It was so small and 
sweet and hairless-not big and hairy and gross like his father's. She knew 
it would soon grow stiff with love and give her hotly itching cunt the soft, 
sweet, gentle fucking it craved. The thought made her shiver. 

"Now, darling," she said to her son in her dream, "I want you to sit on 
Mama's bed and watch. Mama's going to put on a little show for her little 
man." 

At this point, the sleeping Barbara gave a little groan in the dark bedroom, 
and a hand slid under the sheet and began to stroke her moistening cunt. 
Yes, it was so delicious, so sinful-she was going to give her son the 
sexiest strip-tease... 

In her feverish dream, the thirty-two-year-old woman was standing before her 
naked little son, sitting on her bed. She was wearing the slinky, black silk 
dress that complemented her raven-black hair that spilled far past her 
exposed, milk-white shoulders, and dark complection. She was also dressed to 
kill in filmy, black nylons that glowed on her shapely legs, exposed by the 
short hem of the dress, the shape of those glossily-stockinged legs accented 
by a pair of black patent leather, five-inch heeled pumps. Bobby's eyes 
widened at the sight of his voluptuous mother before him. 

"Do you like the way Mama's dressed, honey?" she teased him, putting her 
hand on her hips and slowly undulating those hips at him. She was putting 
her beautiful body through a series of sensuous movements, rocking back 
slightly on her high heels. 

"Yes, Mama," her son gulped, fascinated by Barbara's moves. 

"You sweetheart," she cooed to him, slowly reaching back behind her, her 
nimble fingers finding the back catches and the tongue of the zipper. The 
sound of her dress zipper going down was loud in the electric stillness of 
the bedroom. She shrugged her soft, white shoulders. The clingy, shimmery 
black dress slipped slowly, sensuously, off her, and down, down. It became a 
soft black puddle at her high-heeled feet. 

"Next time, I'll have you pull my little zipper-upper, honey," she promised 
huskily, stepping out of her dress. 

Bobby gasped softly as he viewed his mother's half-naked body. She was 
turning her beloved son on, in her dream. She looked at his little cock and 
licked her lips at how it was beginning to stir and swell as he ogled her 
erotic semi-nudity. Her lacy black bra barely contained her heavy, 
milk-white breasts, trembling with fullness as she moved. She could feel her 
nipples hardening in the stiff, black cups that molded her meaty jugs into 
two steeply pointed cones. Her lacy little black panties were the skimpiest 
bikini-style, barely covering her heavily-furred vulva and exposing the big 
white cheeks of her buttocks. For the erotic occasion, she was wearing 
instead of pantyhose, the black lace garter belt that held up her 
full-fashioned, sooty black nylon stockings so smooth and sleek over her 
long, lovely legs, a present from her mother (although she didn't know the 
real reason for the gift). Her black pumps glittered in the semi-gloom of 
the bedroom. 

"Do you like Mama in her naughty undies?" she teased her son. 

"Yes, Mama," he panted. 

The sweet little thing was nearly in shock! They both loved each other so 
much. So she would show him how much she loved him. The sight of the boy's 
growing, erected cock made her sigh deeply, and reach behind her again. "And 
I'll let you help Mama off with her big bra," she murmured, her fingers 
working at the catches and hooks. "I bet you'll like that." She slid the 
black bra straps off her white shoulders, and down. The lacy undergarment 
fluttered to the carpet. 

She let her son gaze longingly at her naked breasts which were visibly 
hardening, the nipples puckering with arousal, the tips standing out. "See 
how Mama's nipples are so big and hard," she murmured lovingly to her 
sweating son. "They're just dying for you to suck them." 

"Ohhh, Mama," her son was shaking hard in her dream, his; cute little face 
with the adorable crew cut red and sweaty. "I'm getting so excited. I love 
you so much." 

"Oh, my little lamb. I love you so much,, too." Now, she was walking, still 
attired in her black panties, garter belt, nylon hose and high-heeled pumps, 
toward her naked son sitting on her bed. "I think Mama will let her honey 
boy take off her panties." 

The mature woman was deep in the erotic dream, frigging herself hotly, 
moaning softly beside her sleeping husband on their bed. And, as she did, 
she was totally unconscious of the moans and groans and passionate voices 
issuing from her mother's;bedroom... 

Meanwhile, her son and mother were making hot, heavy love on the spacious 
bed. 

Bobby was lying on top of his grandmother now, his hard, thin chest mashing 
down on her huge, soft, naked breasts, his little belly squirming against 
hers. They were in a deep embrace, her heavy arms around his scrawny neck, 
his little hands gripping her naked, flesh-padded hips. They were kissing, 
deeply, hotly, their tongues intermingling, wetly. Both their eyes were 
closed, their faces flushed with passion, the warm sex-sweat beading on 
their bodies. The glow from the bedside lamp bathed the two bodies in a 
soft, warm glow. 

And the boy's white, hairless buttocks were pumping slowly, steadily, 
between his grandmother's raised, shapely legs in the smoky-tinted stocking 
as his stiff, throbbing cock worked in and out of her wet, juicy cunt hole. 

The adolescent boy fucked his middle-aged grandmother with the smoothness 
born of long practice. The hypnotized child was. obeying his Mistress' 
commands obediently, submissively, lovingly, her total sex slave. 

Stella broke off the deep soul-kiss. Her lips found Bobby's ear now, as his 
little head dropped on her soft, warm shoulder. "Yes-ss-ss-ss, my precious 
one," she moaned lovingly to the naked boy in her arms. "Your Mistress loves 
you so much... ohhhhhh, honey-that's it-in and out, in and out... ohhhhh... 
ohhhhh... ohhhhh... ohhhhh... you fuck your Mistress so good... ohhhhhhh... 
ohhh . yes-ss-ss-ss... go deep in me... deep... deep... ohhhhh-" Bobby 
groaned in reply. His stiff, thumping love tool throbbed and throbbed as it 
proved deeply into his grandmother's burning, slick, massaging pussy sheath, 
that was tight around his boycock like a steamy rubber glove. Her clasping, 
stroking depths were making his little organ grow stiffer and harder, making 
his head swim with overpowering sensations. His white little buttocks pumped 
faster now, between the middle-aged woman's trembling, dark 
stocking-sheathed legs, his little belly slapping wetly against hers, his 
small ball sac slapping against her inner thighs as he thrust and thrust, 
hard and deep, into her hairy cunt hole. 

'Ooooooohhh, ooooooohhh, sweetheart, my little sweetheart," Stella moaned 
deeply into her grandson's ear as she felt her insides squirm hotly with 
each hard, thrilling thrust of his stiff little cock into her hungry pussy. 
Her heavy arms tightened around Bobby's scrawny neck, crushing him against 
her, so her firm, but soft breasts flattened deliciously against his thin 
little chest. Bobby groaned and groaned, eyes, closed, his small hands 
gripping her wide hips so hard just above the thin, black bandeau of her 
lacy garter belt that the knuckles were white. Her adolescent grandson was 
panting now, hard, as he passionately raised and lowered, raised and lowered 
his little white bottom between her mature, shapely, sleekly stockinged 
legs, harder and faster, working his boycock deeper and deeper into her 
slick, hot, enfolding, succoring womb. His little head was spinning; he was 
dizzy with the strange but overpowering urges and pleasures, unable to 
resist his Mistress' hypnotic control. 

The small, male body and the larger female body were rocking and rocking on 
the firm but yielding mattress of the queen-sized bed, shaking and groaning 
and coupling with frenzied abandon, as both the little boy and his 
erotically clad grandmother lost themselves in hot fuck fever. 

Now Stella pressed her stocking-clad thighs against Bobby's pumping hips and 
buttocks, so that his sensitive flesh rubbed hissingly against the 
scratchy-smooth, gauzy texture of her sheer hose. Bobby groaned desperately 
as he felt his fetishistic flesh crawl at the electric feeling of nylon 
rasping against skin, again and again and again. Now, with every lunge into 
his grandmother's burning, boiling hole, his boney little hips brushed 
lingeringly against her slick, silky nylon stocking-sheathed inner thighs. 
The tingly, maddening sensation made fresh sweat break out on his back, and 
his thumping cock to stiffen and swell even more in her dreamy depths. 

"Yes-ss-ss, my little panty-freak lover," Stella moaned huskily into Bobby's 
ear, her sweet, warm breath caressing his flushed, sweaty face. "So silky... 
so soft... lovely, sexy nylons... feel them, darling... they feel so good... 
don't they, honey... " 

Bobby groaned helplessly in reply. 

He was fucking his grandmother at a breathless pace now, with short, hard, 
body-killing thrusts into her that made their bellies smack wetly together, 
and his little wrinkled ball sac to beat a tattoo against her buttocks, 
behind the thrilling lunge of his stiff, throbbing, swollen little penis 
into her drooling, steaming, palpitating large cunt. The pink, scalloped 
lips closed hungrily around the pumping pole of the boycock, urging it 
softly in, into her deep, fiery depths. Her warm, slick cunt walls grasped 
the childish love tool gently, massaging it lovingly, as her hot love liquid 
drenched it, dribbling out and around it, wetting her inner thighs and the 
dark, rolled welt tops of her stockings. 

As the panting little boy's pumping little cock made her large, buxom body 
upheave against his and tremble with lust, Stella's lips found her 
grandson's ear again. "Ooooohhh-oooooohhh-o oooohhh-ooooooohhh-so good, 
darling, so good - ooohhh-ohhh -sweet heart, my sweetheart-ooohhh, kiss me, 
darling-kiss me... " Now those red, luscious lips found the thin, trembling 
lips of the little boy. They locked in a burning kiss that had no end... 
Woman and boy kissed and kissed as his little white buttocks pumped and 
pumped and pumped with a hot, heavy beat between her long, lovely, clinging 
legs in the shimmery, smoky-tinted nylon stockings... 

In the adjoining bedroom, Barbara, in the same mesmerized sleep as her 
husband snoring beside her, was moaning, too, and frigging herself 
frenziedly as she continued dreaming her lewd, forbidden wet dream about her 
beloved son. 

Now she was standing before her naked little son who was perched on the edge 
of the bed, scant inches before her. She was wearing only her skimpy black 
lace bikini panties, the thin black lace garter belt, and the long, sooty 
black nylon stockings. She had just kicked off the glittering, black 
patent-leather spike-heeled pumps. 

"Now darling," she was telling the child in a pouting voice, "Mama told you 
she wants you to help her off with her little silky thing. Won't you be a 
good boy and help her?" 

Her son was staring up at his erotically clad mother, his wide eyes 
seemingly mesmerized by her large, firm, naked breasts with the stiff, erect 
nipples. 

In her dream, the mature brunette beauty smiled wickedly at her son. "I'll 
let you play with Mama's boobies, honey, all you want. But first you have to 
slip off her pretty little panties." 

Now his adolescent eyes locked on his mother's loins. He was noting how the 
skimpy black lace panty barely covered her big, puffy, furry vulva which 
bulged out from the tight, gossamer material. Strands of her curly, black 
pubic hair curled out around the stretched edges. Her son trembled anew. 

"Come on, sweetheart," Barbara cooed. "Show Mama what a big strong man you 
are. Pull down my panties." 

In her dream, an electric thrill ran .through her, as she saw her son's 
small, trembling hands reach out, slowly toward her. His little fingers dug 
into the tight, elastic top of the skimpy black lace garment. The boy's 
touch made her heart beat faster. She could see how his little cock lurched 
with passion at the feel of her buttery flesh. Now, his little hands were 
tugging down, down. The tight panties peeled off her hips and over her 
flaring buttocks with some effort on her son's part. Now the slightly rolled 
undergarment was slipping off her abdomen, and down to the tops of her lush 
thighs. Now, her large, protuberant, black-haired cunt was fully visible to 
Bobby. And he stared and stared at the furry, triangular, and slightly moist 
nest between his beautiful mother's shapely, nylon-sheathed thighs, framed 
by the thin, black lace bandeau and suspenders of her form-fitting garter 
belt. For a long moment, Bobby just stared in awe and immature arousal at 
his mother's fully exposed vagina. 

"Yes, my beloved son," Barbara murmured, her voice husky with love and lust. 
"Look at Mama's pussy. See how wet it is for you." 

Bobby gulped, and his boycock throbbed, hard. 

Now, Barbara said, "Hurry, darling, and get Mama's silkies off. She can't 
wait to go to bed with her wonderful son." 

The sweating lad now pulled his mother's black lace panties down her thighs 
and legs. The going was much easier now, once he forced the leg holes of the 
garment over her garter-striped thighs. The silky panty slipped smoothly 
over the slick, filmy fabric of her sheer, sooty black nylon stockings, the 
erotic rasp of lace against nylon loud in the quiet bedroom. He let the 
panties slip the rest of the way down her shapely calves, her ankles, and 
the garment crumpled at her pretty, stockinged feet. Barbara lifted one 
smoothly nyloned foot, then the other, stepping out of her panties. 

Now she stood before her naked, trembling son, her lovely body naked, too, 
save for the sexy garter belt and nylon stockings which seemed to glitter on 
her long, shapely legs, the black of the lingerie contrasting, vividly, 
erotically against the white of her skin. 

At this point, she began to reach for a garter snap to begin taking them 
off, but an inspiration struck her. "I have a lovely idea, darling," she 
breathed to Bobby. "I think Mama will leave her sexy hose on. I know by the 
way you're peeking at Mama's legs all the time that you like them. How does 
that sound, darling?" 

"G-Good, Mama," Bobby panted. 

"I thought you'd like it." She began walking toward the bed, her heavy, 
stocking-clad thighs hissing as they rubbed together. "Now, honey, lie on 
the bed. Mama will be there in a second." 

In a heartbeat, Barbara reached the bed. She slid in, smoothly. Instantly, 
her adolescent, naked, trembling son was in her arms. They kissed and 
kissed. His small hands stroked her soft breasts, making them swell with 
arousal. His small lips found her erect nipples and he sucked and sucked as 
she moaned and moaned... Finally, her hand found her son's penis. It was 
hard and fully erect, thumping in her soft grasp. Now she pulled the naked 
boy on top of her- In her hypnotized sleep, the furiously masturbating 
mature woman groaned loudly beside her sleeping husband as she came and 
came, violently, while she fucked and fucked her young son in her dreams... 

In the adjoining bedroom, her own son and her own mother were cumming, too. 

The sweating, gasping, adolescent boy was nearly crazed with hot fuck fever 
now. His small body was pounding and pounding down on the larger, soft, 
yielding body of his middle-aged grandmother, who was moaning with burning 
passion and heaving up her loins to meet his. His white little behind was 
almost a pumping blur between her clinging, dark stocking-sheathed legs. And 
with every breathless pelvic thrust, the boy was plunging his stiff, swollen 
cock to the root inside the middle-aged woman's burning, squishy cunt hole. 

Bobby's mind reeled from the burning-hot sensations pounding in his belly, 
that made his super-sensitive penis almost painfully stiff in his 
grandmother's hot, juicy cunt sheath. And Stella felt the deep, hard 
rumblings of climatic orgasm in her womb as it spasmed and spasmed at the 
heavy, thrilling thrusts of the boycock into her. 

Bobby's wining ballsac was no longer beating a tattoo against his 
grandmother's buttocks, but was drawn up tight into his scrotum, filling 
with fiery cum fluid. His small, hairless, sweaty ass cheeks were clenching 
and clenching with agitation. Goosebumps were forming where bis hips rubbed 
against his grandmother's slickly stocking-sheated inner thighs as he pumped 
into her depths, the swish-swish of sheer nylon brushing against flesh 
mingling with the smack-smack-smack of his sweaty belly slapping against 
hers, the squeaks of the box springs, and their passionate moans and groans. 

"Oooohhhh - ooooohhh-ooooohhhh-honey-my honey boy-your lovely 
cock-ohhhh-ooohhh-is going to make your Mistress cum-ooooohhhhh-" 

"Uhhhhh-uh h hhhh-I-I-uhhhhhh-so hot-f-feel so funny-uhhhhh-uhhh-uhhhhhhhh- 
Mistress-" The two of them, the little naked boy and the statuesque 
middle-aged woman, naked save for garter belt and long, dark stockings,were 
coupling furiously, frantically, going out of their minds, driven mad by 
impending orgasm. Stella held her little grandson in a tight embrace, 
crushing his pounding, burning body against hers. His fingers dig into her 
fleshy hips, just above the stretched-taut black and red lace bandeau of her 
garter belt. The boy's flushed, sweaty face was lying on one of her soft 
shoulders, his mouth panting and panting at his exertions. His thin lips 
were smeared with his grandmother's lipstick where she had broken off their 
soul-kiss. Stella's painted mouth was wide, too, as she groaned and groaned, 
more and more urgently. Her long, deliriously curved legs in the smooth, 
gauzy, smoky-tinted nylon stockings pressed harder against Bobby's pumping 
hips. 

Then grandmother and grandson began to cum. 

"OOOOHHHH-OOOOOHHH-MY SWEET HONEY BOY-OOOOOOOHHH-" 

"UHHHHH-UHHHH-OHHHHH-MISTRESS- I-I-UHHHHHHHHH-" Bobby yelled and yelled, 
deliriously, as he plunged his rock-hard, bloated, thumping boycock all the 
way, massively, into his grandmother's cunt hole, and felt the white hot 
fluid pour out of his clenching testicles. Deep in her womb, his inflamed 
penis jolted and jolted as his sperm spilled out of the flaring red 
cockhead, filling her, thrilling her, killing her. Her palpitating pussy 
exploded, as streams of bubbling love liquid spilled out and around her 
stretched cunt hole, out and around his penile shaft. Stella upheaved 
violently, actually carrying her grandson's shaking body with her, as her 
stockinged feet pressed into the mattress, and her buttocks left it. At the 
head of the bed her thick, long raven-black hair flew as her head flopped 
from side to side on the pillows, her eyes closed, her nostrils flaring, her 
mouth slack in complete abandon. Her glossy, dark stocking-clad legs wrapped 
around Bobby's shuddering little buttocks, her nyloned heels digging into 
his ass cheeks, as she rocked and rocked with him on her bed, moaning and 
groaning, cumming and cumming. 

"OOOOOOHHH-THAT'S RIGHT DARLING-" she yelled, mindlessly, to her panting 
grandson-OOOOOOOHHHH MY DARLING -CUM IN ME-CUM-CUM-" She continued yelling, 
nearly screaming with supreme orgasmic relief, as her convulsing grandson 
gasped and groaned on top of her and filled her middle-aged womb with his 
adolescent semen as they rocked and rolled on the sweat- and cum-drenched 
sheets... 

CHAPTER THREE 

When Stella reached the kitchen table around ten the next morning, a 
Saturday, her daughter, Barbara, and her son-in-law, Miles, were already 
there, sipping their coffee. 

"Morning, Mom!" Barbara called out gaily to Stella. She was attired in a 
pinstriped blouse, with dark blue cotton vest and matching skirt, dark grey 
nylon hose, and open-toed dark blue pumps. Her dark-brown leather purse lay 
on the chair beside her. Miles, wearing only a dark-green bathrobe, but 
freshly shaved and showered, grinned at Stella from where he was nursing his 
coffee. 

"Good morning, kids," Stella returned with a bright smile. She hesitated a 
second, then slid into a chair directly opposite from Miles. 

"Where's Bobby," Stella asked casually, glancing at the chair beside her 
that was empty save for Barbara's purse. 

"Oh, he's already bolted his breakfast and is upstairs brushing his teeth," 
Barbara replied, rising to get her mother a cup of coffee. "At least he'd 
better be. Cream and sugar, Mom?" 

"That's right, dear. Thanks." 

Stella's question had only been a ruse. She had bumped into her grandson in 
the bathroom, and had taken the opportunity to place the lad under the 
post-hypnotic trance again and make sure what had occurred the night before 
remained locked in his subconscious. 

"He ought to be down in a moment," Barbara was saying as she poured coffee 
from the Mr. Coffee gadget next to the stove. "I want to leave in a moment, 
before all the stores are mobbed." 

"Er, that's right," Stella said, slowly, "I forgot. You're taking Bobby to 
buy him some clothes." 

"That's right," Miles grinned. "That woman of mine's going out to spend more 
of my hard-earned money again. I'll bet she comes back with a dress or two 
for herself." 

"Oh, pooh," Barbara wrinkled her pert nose at her husband as she sat down, 
placing the filled coffee cup next to Stella. "You know Bobby grows out of 
his clothes in nothing flat. And I hardly ever get something for myself." 

"Sure-only every other day," Miles retorted cheerfully. 

Stella was thoughtfully stirring her coffee while the younger adults 
playfully bickered. "Uh, you plan to be gone all afternoon, Barbie?" 

Her daughter shrugged. "I guess so. Bobby's so hard to buy for. He hates my 
taste in clothes. Why? You want to come along?" 

"Heavens, no," Stella replied quickly. "You be with your son alone for a 
while. I have my thesis to work on, and besides, I have to prepare that skit 
for the den meeting Monday afternoon." 

Miles groaned. "That den! You deserve a medal for taking that bunch of 
scouts off the hands of the mothers around here." 

"Really," Barbara nodded. "One of the mothers, Martha Brown, was just 
telling me the other day how great it was you took over when Julie Foster 
and her family moved away." 

"Oh, I was glad to. It gives me another activity, and you know how I like 
boys. Besides, Bobby's in the den, so it's not like I don't have an 
interest." 

"Well, I think it's a Godsend, and so do the other mothers. None of us 
really had the time to spare, and the den is so important to the boys____" 
While Barbara prattled on about the local Scout situation, Stella mused. 
Martha Brown? Must be the mother of that cute, teenaged den chief of hers, 
Ronnie Brown. She felt a tingle in her loins. She had plans for that 
adorable lamb of a teenaged boy. After the next meeting, in fact... 

That made her think of something. "Now you and Miles will be gone during the 
afternoon during Monday's den meeting?" she asked with forced casualness. 

"Oh, sure, we're going to look at cars again," Miles replied. "Don't worry, 
we'll leave you alone with those kids." He grinned. "Gladly." 

"Well, fine," Stella replied. "The boys get kind of uptight with all the 
adult authority figures around, and-" 

"We get the point, Joyce Brothers," Barbara teased. "Besides, Miles is dying 
to show me his latest dream car." 

"You bet," Miles said enthusiastically. "It's a BMW530i and it's fantastic. 
It's even practical. Why-" And while he prattled on, Stella mused some more. 
What a lovely coincidence! She and her son-in-law would be alone together, 
just the two of them, all afternoon. Just when she was beginning to feel 
horny again by talking about the cub scouts. Last night with her grandson, 
Bobby had been utterly delicious, and she was hungry for more... 

Stella had partially dressed when she had decided to forget it and slipped 
on her pink velour robe. Under the robe, she had on panties and bra-and her 
garter belt and sheer, tan nylon stockings. Now, as her daughter talked, she 
quietly slipped her heelless bedroom slippers off her nyloned feet. She 
began to extend a nyloned leg forward, under the kitchen table... 

".. ; and the girls all think it's wonderful how you two get along," Barbara 
was smiling at her husband and her mother. 

"Really?" Stella murmured. At the same time, she slid her smoothly 
stockinged foot over her son'n-law's bare one under the table. "That's nice, 
dear." 

Barbara went on talking, as usual, oblivious to the sudden tension in her 
husband's face. Her mother was playing footsies with Miles, stroking her 
stocking-sheathed foot against his, her toes beginning to wriggle against 
his ankle, teasingly. 

"Oh, yes," Barbara gushed. "It's rare for a mother-and-law and son-in-law to 
get along as well as you two do. I think it's wonderful, too." 

"Thank you, dear," Stella replied lightly. "Miles and I get along real well, 
don't we?" 

"Uhhh-yeah. Yeah." Miles' face had lost it's tenseness, and was relaxed. 
Stella had hypnotized her handsome son-in-law well. The footplay was a 
signal, triggering Miles' relapse into the post-hypnotic state his 
mother-in-law held him under, and had used last night on both him and her 
daughter. 

Under the table, her nylon-snugged toes were rubbing up and down Miles' bare 
calf. 

"What time were you and Bobby leaving?" Stella now prodded. 

"Oh, heavens! We've gotta go! Oh, Bobby!" her daughter jumped out of her 
chair and grabbed her purse. 

In a second, the young lad appeared, wearing his usual t-shirt and scuffed 
jeans. He looked for a moment into his grandmother's dark eyes, trembled, 
then turned toward his mother. As she languidly played footsies with the 
boy's father, she watched how the lad's eyes grew round as he watched his 
mother absently smooth a white hand over one of her dark-grey 
nylon-stockinged legs as she reached down for her purse. With a thrill, 
Stella recalled what her daughter had revealed to her under hypnosis, about 
how she sexually craved her own little son. Oh, yes, indeed. She's have to 
set up a little sex show with them sometime soon... 

With a flurry, Barbara and her son, Bobby, managed to say goodbye to, and 
kiss, both Stella and Miles. Then they all but flew out the kitchen door to 
the adjoining garage, ready for a day of shopping. 

The fifty-year-old woman waited until she heard the car softly roar away. 
Then she turned to her son-in-law, who was sitting before her, staring into 
space. 

"Miles," she said to him, softly, but "firmly. "Close your eyes and go to 
sleep. A deep, deep sleep." 

The mature husband and father complied. His eyelids closed over his grey 
eyes, and he slumped forward in the chair, his chin almost resting on his 
barrel chest. 

"That's right, dear. Go deeper... deeper... deeper... " Stella's voice was 
soft and firm, and hauntingly compelling in tone. "Deeper, still, dear... 
all the way... Now, open your eyes." 

Her son-in-law obeyed. Now his grey eyes were deeply glazed, almost 
unblinking. 

"Now, dear," Stella prodded her hypnotized subject. "Who am I?" 

"You are my Mistress," Miles recited hollowly. 

"Yes, dear," Stella said. "But who am I, specifically?" 

"You're-You*re Aunt Beverly." 

Stella's black eyes sparkled with delight. Miles had retained everything 
from their previous hypnotic session. A session in which Stella, in both a 
scientific (for her thesis) and a sexual (for herself) spirit, had 
psychoanalyzed her son-in-law about his adolescent fantasies and sex dreams. 
It had been a fishing expedition, for sure... until Miles had mentioned his 
Aunt Beverly Thompson, an aunt on his mother's side, who used to babysit him 
when his parents went out for the evening. 

"And how old are you now, dear?" Stella asked. 

"F-Fourteen years old, Aunt Beverly," the mature man replied in a trembling 
voice. 

It seemed from Miles' earlier interview that Aunt Beverly, a tall, dark, 
beautiful spinster, was something of a disciplinarian. And, probably, 
something of a dominatrix. When she had babies at the adolescent Miles, she 
had been very strict with him. Being a young boy, he had disobeyed her 
often; and every time, she had spanked him. Not a simple swat or two on his 
pants with him leaning against the kitchen table, but a real, old-fashioned 
hand spanking over her knees, with the boy's pants and shorts pulled down. 
The tableau, as described by Miles, really turned Stella on; the little boy 
lying on top of his mature Aunt's lap as she spanked his bare bottom a fiery 
red. Stella was always interested with trying out erotic, fetishistic 
discipline with a male-and here was one made to order for for her! And her 
son-in-law to boot! 

"And what else are you?" Stella prodded Miles. 

"A-A bad boy, Aunt Beverly. I-I'm sorry." 

"You should be, dear, because you disobey your Aunt much too often. She 
loves her sweet little nephew and wants him to be a good boy, so she can be 
proud of him." 

"Y-Yes, Aunt Beverly." 

Now her voice was severe. "You know what this means, don't you?" 

"Miles" voice was trembling with childish anxiety. "A-A spanking?" 

"Yes, dear. A spanking. Just like all the times before. Your Aunt Beverly is 
going to make you pull down your trousers and shorts and lie on her lap. 
You'll be lying on my thighs, dear, against my silky nylon stockings, while 
I spank your bum bright red. Your hard little thing will rub against my 
nylons as my hand takes care of your backside. Just like all the times 
before. Isn't that right, dear?" 

The big, mature man's face was flushed with agitation and he was trembling. 
"Yes, yes, Aunty," he replied in a high-pitched gasp. 

"Very well, then, Miles," Stella told him, gently but firmly. "I'm going to 
go to my room to prepare myself for your punishment. I want you to come to 
my room in five minutes. If you try to put it off, or are late for any 
reason, it will mean ten extra spanks. Is that understood?" 

"I-I understand, Aunt Beverly." 

Stella couldn't help marvelling at the power of hypnotism. Before her was 
seated a mature, thirty-five-year-old successful businessman. Now, under her 
power, he was reduced to an overgrown, fourteen-year-old boy. She sighed 
with satisfaction. 

Now, she rose and started toward her bedroom. 

Exactly five minutes later, Stella heard a soft, hesitant knock on her 
bedroom door. "Come in, Miles, dear," she called out firmly yet gently. 

The door slowly swung open. Miles Horton gingerly stepped in, trembling. 

Stella could barely restrain a gasp of pleasure. The big, brawny, handsome 
husband of her daughter was clad only in a pair of white boxer shorts. In 
the front of the shorts was the massive bulge of the man's already erecting 
cock. Stella studied that big pubic bulge hungrily. 

Miles stepped further into the room, hanging his head in abject shame, the 
very picture of a little boy about to be punished. 

He stopped short, and his eyes bulged with wonder and desire as he looked 
upon his mother-in-law, thought-to-be-Aunt, who sat, waiting for him, on the 
edge of her bed. 

The fifty-year-old Dominatrix was a stunning package of creamy white skin 
and black lingerie. Her lined face was heavily made up, and her thick, 
raven-black hair was done up in a severe bun at the back of her head. Her 
busty, voluptuous mature form was wrapped in a skin-tight, black satin 
corset. The heavy, shiny black fabric hugged her curves and bulges like an 
ebony condom. The cups of the garment were extremely low-cut, holding up her 
huge, heavy, melon-like breasts, yet exposing the black, quarter-sized 
nipples with the long, hard tips. The black satin traced her supple chest, 
her hourglass waist, and ended at her hips, just above her exposed, flaring 
buttocks, and her heavily-furred vagina. Thin, shirred black garter 
suspenders stretched down from the hem of the corset, pressing into the 
white flesh of her heavy, sculptured thighs. The garters only extended 
shortly down her thighs, where the chrome tabs clasped the darker, rolled 
welt tops of her nylon stockings. The sheer, shiny hose was a sooty, 
midnight-black shade, with razor-thin seams in back, sheathing her long, 
lovely legs like a second skin. And on her feet, the voluptuous, dominant 
woman wore her shiny, black patent leather pumps- with the six-inch spike 
heels that forced her feet into a ballerina-like pose and accented the 
heart-stopping shape of her stocking-sheathed legs. 

Her son-in-law gasped at her. Stella smiled. To his hypnotized, dominated 
mind, she was his adolescent sexual goddess, his Aunt Beverly. 

"Come here, Miles," Stella said firmly to her son-in-law. 

The hypnotized mature man trembled visibly, but obeyed. He took slow, 
hesitant steps toward the older woman, his mother-in-law, seated on the edge 
of her large bed. In his feverish, dominated, mesmerized mind, he was 
approaching Aunt Beverly once again, just as he had done many years ago. 
Gosh, she looked so sexy. No panties, either. He could harldy take his eyes 
off her furry bush. He stared now at her legs. Black nylon stockings. He 
couldn't imagine anything more erotic. It made his cock begin to throb in 
his white cotton shorts. 

Stella licked her lips lewdly as she watched the growing bulge in the white 
boxer shorts of the big brawny man now approaching her so cowering and 
submissive. As much as she liked dominating little boys, she always got a 
special thrill out of turning her tall, husky son-in-law into her obedient 
panty slave. 

Now Miles was standing less than a foot away. She looked up at his flushed, 
craggy face. "Your Aunt loves you, Miles," she said softly. "But you must 
learn to obey me. I can tolerate no insubordination from you. If you obey me 
unquestioningly and lovingly, I can promise you great pleasures. But if you 
disobey me, you must be punished. Do you understand, dear?" 

"Yes-yes, Aunt Beverly," Miles muttered, hanging his head. 

"Very well, then. We must prepare for your discipline." Stella quickly 
slipped the fingers of both hands into the elastic waistband of the man's 
shorts and tugged them down, down his hips, and now his muscular buttocks. 
She let the shorts slide down the man's thick, hairy, sinewy legs. He 
stepped out of them. 

The erotically dressed, middle-aged woman took a second or two to admire the 
man's thick, long cock pole and droopy brown sac bulging with his heavy 
balls, all covered with wiry black pubic hair. Such a contrast to his little 
son's hairless penis..But each thrilling to her in their own, special way... 

"Now, dear," Stella said softly, but firmly, a shapely hand patting a nicely 
rounded, nylon-sheathed thigh. "I want you to bend over here and place your 
tummy on my lap. You know the way. Make it quick. The sooner you receive 
your spanking, the sooner we can do something more pleasant." 

With a nearly childish groan, the burly, mature man leaned over, holding on 
to the side of the bed. Slowly, he bent forward, easing his lean stomach and 
abdomen down, until they were resting on top of his mother-in-law's 
smoothly-nyloned thighs. He groaned louder as his huge, pounding hard-on 
pressed against the firm, satiny warm thigh flesh beneath the gauzy, 
prickled whisper-sheer fabric of the taut stockings. Now the 
thirty-five-year-old man was bent over the lap of his forty-eight-year-old 
mother-in-law, in the old-fashioned spanking position, his white, sinewy 
buttocks high in the air, his hands and feet holding his balance on either 
side of her legs. 

Once again, Stella felt the rush of gratification of finding she could 
comfortably hold a large, well-built man in that humiliating position. 
Already, the prospect of disciplining those mature male buttocks was making 
her insides squirm with arousal. 

"That's a good boy, Miles," she murmured to the man now, feeling his stiff 
phallus throb hotly as it pressed against her stockings and watching his 
asscheeks clench and clench with anticipation. "I want you to take your 
spanking like a little man. Make your Aunt Beverly proud of you." 

"Y-Yes, Aunt Beverly," the man-child whimpered agitatedly. 

Stella smiled lovingly' down at her hypnotized male slave. Now, holding him 
firmly with her left hand and forearm, she raised her right hand in the air 
and took careful aim. 

SMACK! 

Her hand crashed down on one of Miles' large, protuberant, firmly muscled 
asscheeks. 

The man jerked and gasped, childishly, although the blow wasn't hard. But in 
his mind, he was being soundly spanked by his domineering Aunt Beverly. 

Stella raised her hand and saw the bright pink flush that had appeared on 
the man's asscheek. She smiled, wickedly, and raised her hand again- SMACK! 

Her son-in-law kicked his muscular legs in the air, and his burly, heavy 
body jerked on her lap as if pulled by strings. He whimpered, louder, from 
the imagined pain. But his mesmerized mind was also spinning from the 
delicious sensation of his swelling, hardening cock rubbing against the 
scratchy-smooth texture of the nylon stockings that were like a second skin 
on her warm, firm thighs. 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Stella's right arm raised and fell smoothly, quickly, 
as she delivered three stinging spanks to Miles' squirming, reddening 
buttocks. The hypnotized mature man's whimpers became sobs now, his voice 
high and quivery like a young boy's. The bizarre performance was exciting 
Stella immensely. Her thin, aristocratic nostrils flared, and her deep, hard 
breathing made her huge breasts rise and fall in the tight cups of the black 
satin corset. The middle-aged dominatrix was getting turned on, immensely- 
not just his hard, thick penis brushing against her nyloned thighs, but also 
the act of dominating and controlling her daughter's husband. 

Her arm was pumping like a well-oiled piston as it continued to deliver 
hard, sharp, stinging spanks to the clenching and clenching male buttocks on 
her lap. 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! 

"Owwwww! Owwwwwww! A-Aunt B-B-Beverly )owwww-owwwww-" The hypnotized man-boy 
held the tears back no longer and began to openly cry just like a little 
boy. His big, husky body began to shake with sobs, as his legs began to kick 
and kick in response to Stella's spanking hand. 

With a strange, lustful light in her black eyes, the mature, erotically clad 
dominatrix continued to spank and spank as the naked man continued to sob 
and sob... 

At about this time, some houses away, young Ronnie Brown, the den chief of 
the Scout den Stella was filling in a den mother of, was alone in his 
bedroom. He was also alone in the house, his mother having left a few 
minutes before to make her appointment with her favorite beautician. 

The skinny, gangly boy was fully naked now, having taken off the scout 
uniform he had worn to a special den chief's meeting he had attended 
earlier. He had just placed the uniform items into the wicker clothes hamper 
beside his walnut bureau.- Now the naked boy was reaching deep into one of 
the drawers of the bureau. His peach-fuzzed, adolescent cock was fully 
erect, throbbing in the air, as he bent over. 

For, once again, the only child had peered through the tiny hole he had 
bored in the wall separating his bedroom from his mother's. And, once again, 
he had watched his beautiful, sexy blonde-haired mother, naked from her 
bath, dress herself. And it had made his organ get so hard and stiff. Now he 
was going to finish the job. 

He straightened, pulling his hand from the recesses of the bureau drawer. In 
the hand he held one of his mother's long, dark-tinted, sheer stockings. He 
had liberated it from her hamper and he knew he had to use it before she 
noticed it was missing. Quickly, the boy crossed over to his single bed, and 
climbed on top of it, still carrying the woman's stocking. 

With a deep, soulful sigh, the adolescent boy slipped the stocking over his 
erect cock pole, bunching the welt as he did. Now his penis was sheathed in 
the foot of the stocking, the flaring cockhead tenting the darker, 
reinforced toe pad. Then he closed his eyes. His hand began to softly frig 
the stocking against his supersensitive cock flesh, making it stiffen and 
swell more and more in its nylon condom. 

The lad closed his eyes. He began to dream of his mother, standing beside 
the bed, full naked. She had just strapped on a frilly white garter belt. 
Now she was slowly rolling a dark stocking-that dark stocking-onto her 
shapely white legs. First one... and then the other... 

Yes... the silky stocking in his hand was on his beloved mother's heavenly 
leg. His hot, hard cock was where her exquisite foot had been... 

Ronnie began to moan deeply on the bed. His hand pumped and pumped at his 
stocking-covered cock. 

Now he was in her bedroom. She was standing before him, her glorious nudity 
only enhanced by garter belt and stockings. She was watching him, with her 
loving, motherly look, as he put on a pair of her stockings, too, attached 
them to one of her garter belts around his naked waist. 

Ronnie's body was covered with sweat, as he groaned and groaned helplessly. 
His hand was a blur as he masturbated with his mother's stocking. 

Now they were in bed. Together. Their bodies were one. He could feel her 
stockinged legs stroke his buttocks as she guided his pounding cock into 
her... deeply... 

Ronnie bucked on the bed, spasmodically, as he came into the bunched 
stocking in his hand... 

"All right, dear." 

Stella Hartley now raised her stinging palm from her son-in-law's naked 
buttocks. Miles was whimpering softly now, his burly, tanned body shaking 
and shaking with emotion and stimulation on her lap. The dominant 
mother-in-law surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction. The man's big, firm 
ass cheeks were glowing with rosy inflammation from her sound hand spanking. 
Those red cheeks were now clenching and clenching from the fire those hard 
smacks had built up on the sensitive flesh. 

"You may rise now, dear. I think you've been punished enough. Don't you 
think so?" 

"Y-Y-Yes-Yes, Aunt Beverly," the mature, mesmerized man blubbered in a 
fourteen-year-old voice. 

Slowly, the naked, powerfully-built man rose from her smoothly nyloned lap. 
Stella saw, with a thrill, that tears streamed from his eyes, down his lean, 
stubbly cheeks. It was yet another indication to her how deeply hypnotized 
and cowed her son-in-law was. It was with a different kind of thrill that 
she noted how stiff and swollen his large penis was. He was reliving his 
boyhood wet dream, and it excited him immensely. 

"You poor boy," she cooed softly, lovingly, to him. "I'm sorry I had to 
spank you so soundly. But you must learn to obey your Aunt Beverly. She 
loves her sweet little nephew-very much." 

"Do-do you?" Miles blubbered. 

"Oh, yes, darling. You were a very good, obedient boy to take your spanking 
like you did. Such a good boy. I think you deserve a reward, dear." 

"A-a reward?" The mature man's eyes lit Up with immature arousal. "You 
mean-like last time?" 

"Yes, dear. Just like last time. You'd like that, wouldn't you dear?" 

"Gosh, Auntie-gosh!" Miles appeared beside himself with excitement. 

The sitting, voluptuous, erotically clad woman smiled sweetly. "I can see 
you would. I would, too, dear." 

"You-You would? Really, Auntie?" 

"Of course, sweetheart," Stella said with a soft laugh. "It makes me feel 
good, just as it does you." 

"Gosh-gee-" Miles appeared intrigued. "There's so much I don't understand 
about-"that." 

Stella's deep, black eyes glittered. "Don't worry, my sweet nephew," she 
murmured, her voice husky with passion. "Your Aunt will teach you-a lot." 

At her lascivious tone, Miles trembled boyishly, and his big cock throbbed. 
Stella felt that familiar tingling of lewd lust in her loins. She had toyed 
with him long enough. Now, she wanted her daughter's husband-turned little 
boy. And she wanted him now. 

She petted the edge of the mattress next to her. "Come sit beside me, dear." 
Her eyes were commanding, nearly sending out hot sparks with the naked, 
hungry desire in them. 

Miles trembled more at her words, and she was reminded rather thrillingly of 
the son. Slowly and gingerly, Miles sat down beside his dominant, older 
mother-in-law. 

Her nearness seemed to overpower him. Her warmth, her bewitching perfume, 
surrounded him, intoxicated him. He stared with rapture at her big, black 
nipples with the erect tips that peeked over the lace-fringed cups of the 
black satin corset, at the deep cleavage between the milk-white mounds of 
her heavy breasts that overfilled those cups. His gaze traveled down, noting 
how the skin-tight black satin foundation garment hugged her generous 
curves. The thin, shirred garter suspenders seemed taut as piano wire from 
the hem of the black corset as they stretched down her heavy, rounded, 
alabaster thighs. Her puffy, hairy vulva was framed perfectly between the 
suspenders. For a long, breathless moment, Miles studied his mother-in-law's 
opera-length, super-sheer, lustrous black nylon stockings sheathed her 
beautiful legs like a second, glittering skin. His cock throbbed anew at the 
thought of how it had felt rubbing against those glossy, smooth stockings. 
The black patent leather high-heeled pumps were a perfect compliment to the 
erotic tableau before him. 

Now she was opening her arms, causing her large, soft breasts to wriggle in 
the corset cups as she did. Her strong, smooth arms wrapped around his neck, 
pulling him to her. Now her lips were on his, and the probing flame of her 
tongue was in his mouth, searching for his. They met. 

And now, slowly, they rolled onto her bed. Mouth to mouth in a burning, 
proving kiss of flaming passion. They were in a deep, hot clinch. Moans and 
sighs grew louder, more passionate. Now Miles broke off the heart-pounding 
kiss and began to groan and groan, as her hand began to gently fondle his 
thumping cock. Her lips! found his again. They kissed and kissed some more, 
the thirty-five-year-old, stark naked man and his forty-eight-year-old 
mother-in-law, wearing only the black satin corset, long, glossy black 
stockings and glittering black spike-heeled pumps... 

"Whew! Let's sit a minute, Bobby." 

"Okay, Mom." 

Barbara Horton and her little son, Bobby, paused in their shopping at the 
local shopping center to sit at one of the small, wooden benches in the 
mall. The mature, beautiful brunette gratefully eased down on the bench, and 
the adolescent boy plopped down beside her. Close beside her. Mindlessly, 
she crossed her long, shapely, stocking-sheathed legs with a soft brushing 
of sheer nylon, and slipped off one of her open-toed dark-blue pumps. She 
massaged the dark nylon-snugged foot, tenderly, wriggling her sweet little 
nylon-padded toes for circulation. Suddenly, she was conscious of her son's 
avid gaze on her nylon-clad legs, seeming to concentrate on her smoothly 
nyloned foot. immediately, she felt her tummy quake with arousal. She tried 
to suppress it, but the obviously-desiring gaze of her beloved little son 
set off all the deep, buried subconscious lusts and made them conscious. Her 
mind automatically flashed back to her wild, wicked, incestuous dream of the 
night before. Now her loins were prickling with arousal- God! Dear God! What 
was wrong with her? The more she tried to suppress her wicked, lewd 
feelings, the more they seemed to rebound right back at her... 

Naughty, naughty," she teased her son, in an attempt to lighten the 
situation. "Mama's going to have to wear pants suits if you keep looking at 
her legs like that." 

Bobby flushed, and averted his gaze. "I-I'm sorry, Mama," he muttered, in an 
embarrassed way that only made her heart go out to him more. 

"Don't be embarrassed, dear," she laughed, softly, tousling his crew-cut 
head. "It's nice such a handsome boy thinks my legs are pretty." 

"Aw, Mom," Bobby muttered, embarrassed. He was keenly aware of her soft, 
warm hand now caressing his forehead-as was she enraptured by the feeling of 
his smooth, flawless, boyish skin. 

For his part, Bobby had spent much of the shopping trip covertly gazing at 
his mother's beautifully stockinged legs... and the legs of other women in 
the various stores he had been in. In fact, the various hosiery departments 
he had wondered through had claimed his attention. Now, sitting beside his 
lovely mother, he was acutely conscious of the warmth of her body, her 
perfume, the generous curves that bulged out her blouse and skirt. And it 
was making his little organ hard and stiff again in his tight jeans. He had 
already had to visit the restroom once to relieve himself... where he had 
thought of how smoothly and sleekly those glossy, skin-tight dark grey nylon 
stockings fit on his mother's beautifully curved legs, and had pumped nearly 
a gallon of semen into the toilet bowl... 

"It's only natural for a growing boy to notice things like a woman's legs, 
dear," Barbara was saying. "I'm flattered that you notice mine. Of course, 
it's no wonder you look at legs. Your grandmother's legs are awfully pretty, 
too, aren't they?" 

"Uh-huh," Bobby gulped. Now visions of his grandmother's lovely legs, always 
clad in dark, sexy hose, filled his mind. It also reminded him of the 
naughty, forbidden, but fantastically erotic wet dream he had had last 
night. It all seemed so real. He could again feel his grandmother's gauzy, 
scratchy-smooth stockings on her legs rubbing on his shivering skin as he 
pumped his super-hard organ into her burning depths-... It had seemed so 
real... His boycock gave a lurch in his jeans at the thoughts crowding his 
head. 

"Bobby-are you all right?" His mother's hand caressed his now sweating 
forehead. "You seem hot, and you're flushed." 

"I'M all right, Mom. Really." 

The poor little lamb, Barbara thought. Look how I excite him! I should be 
shot! But it showed to the mature woman that her son desired her as much as 
she desired him. She shifted slightly, and then realized that the front of 
her nylon panties were getting wet. Good Lord! 

"Both-both you and Grandma have real pretty legs," Bobby said now, with an 
effort. 

"Why, thank you, darling," Barbara replied, trying to retain the light tone. 
"We're both glad to hear that, I'm sure." 

"Well, it's true," Bobby replied. Barbara smiled lovingly at her son. 
Suddenly, an overpowering impulse hit her, and she slowly recrossed her 
legs, slowly brushing one slickly stockinged leg against the other, so that 
the electric swish of nylon against nylon was quite audible. With 
gratification, she watched her son's eyes feverishly devour the scene. The 
leg action also caused the hem of her dark blue skirt to slip on the smooth 
nylon of her hose and display more of her thick, heavy, sculptured thighs, 
and the cobwebby dark grey nylon stretched so taut and smoothly over them. 
With a start, she realized she was deliberately teasing her own son-and 
enjoying his obvious arousal. 

"Tell me, dear," she purred, warmly, softly. "How do you like our legs? Mine 
and your grandmother's Do you prefer them bare, or in a pair of sheer 
stockings-like these?" Playfully, she brushed a shapely white hand against 
one of her crossed, dark-nylon-sheathed thighs. 

Bobby was almost trembling. But, gamely, he replied, "In-in stockings, 
Mama." 

His answer thrilled her. She thought of her dream last night where she had 
that inspiration about leaving her garter belt and hose on. So it was 
true... 

"I see, dear," Barbara replied softly, still keeping her voice light and 
playful, just like any woman would with her young son. "Of course, that's 
why women wear hose-really. Your preference is very natural, son. Of course, 
there's all kinds of hose. For example, do you like the flesh-tone stockings 
some women wear, or do you find the dark, sheer, full-fashioned kind more to 
your liking?" 

"The-the dark kind. Like-like you're wearing, Mama," Bobby gulped. 

"Oh, really, dear? How nice. I'm glad you like my hose, son. It is more 
sexy, isn't it?" 

"Uh-huh." 

Barbara smiled, sweetly. "And I suppose I don't have to ask whether you 
prefer pantyhose or regular nylons with garters. You think garter belts 
are-sexy. Right?" 

Bobby was clearly agitated. But he answered, "Y-Yes, Mama." 

"Hmmmmm," Barbara said, as much to herself as to Bobby. Her face was 
suddenly thoughtful. "And here I used to think your grandmother was so 
old-fashioned with her garter belts and corsets and all! I'm the one behind 
the times, I guess." 

Bobby didn't reply. He was too busy ogling his mother's sensuous, shapely, 
stockinged legs again. 

While Barbara and Bobby were deep in their interesting discussion, her 
deeply hypnotized, fully dominated husband was in bed with her middle-aged 
mother. His rosy-red, freshly spanked buttocks were hovering between those 
lovely legs so smooth and dark and shimmery in the opera-length 
midnight-black nylon stockings. His buttocks sank now, and they both groaned 
deeply as his stiff, pounding cock slipped smoothly into her hot, hairy cunt 
hole. 

"OOOOHHHHHH-YES-S-S-S-S-DARLING-" Stella moaned as her guts squirmed hotly 
at the sensation of her son-in-law's huge, long, stiff phallus probing the 
depths of her spasming cunt sheath, filling her fully-"GO DEEP IN ME-DEEPER' 
MY HONEY B O Y -D EEPER-DEEPER-OOOHHHHHHHH-" Miles groaned in reply to the 
undulating, older woman beneath him, as his low-hanging, hairy ball sac now 
touched her soft, smooth inner thighs. Her palpitating, puffy pussy lips 
grasped gently around his thick cock root. He was fully impaled into his 
mother-in-law's cunt, his flaring cockhead pressing against the velvety 
walls of her burning-hot womb. Her slick cunt walls were squeezing and 
stroking his throbbing pole like a warm, loving, wet hand. Her incredibly 
delicious pussy sheath was making his immense organ swell and stiffen even 
more with horny inflammation. He groaned and groaned, eyes closed, his 
sweating face just inches above hers, enslaved by his burning lust and her 
hypnotic spell. UHHHHH - UHHH H.H - A - A U N T BEVERLY-I-I FEEL SO 
FUNNY-I-I'M BURNING UP-" he groaned deeply to his thought-to-be Aunt, as his 
big, brawny body seemed to melt against her yielding, soft, erotically clad 
body, his skin rubbing shiveringly against the smooth, tight black satin of 
her form-fitting corset, which was delightfully warmed by her pounding body 
beneath. His large, sinewy hands gripped her flesh-padded hips hard, just 
below the lace-fringed hem of the erotic foundation garment. And her arms 
held his thick, muscular neck in a tight embrace. 

The thirty-five-year-old man and the forty-eight-year-old woman continued 
groaning and moaning' as his erect cock soaked in her steaming cunt. 

"Now, my honey," Stella whispered to Miles just above her, her sweet, warm 
breath caressing his flushed face. "Now, darling, move your lovely cock in 
and out of me... slowly, darling, slowly... mmmmmmmmmmm-... ooooooooohhh... 
yes, yes, lovely honey... " 

Obediently, his large, muscular, rosy-red behind was raising and lowering, 
raising and lowering, slowly, between the woman's trembling, raised, black 
stocking-sheathed legs. As he did, she dug the spike heels of her glittering 
pumps into the mattress in agitation. Wet juicy sounds became audible in the 
quiet bedroom as the man's throbbing penile shaft began to work in and out 
of his mother-in-law's hairy, bubbling cunt hole. "Kiss me-my love-" Stella 
moaned. 

"Yes-Auntie-I-I love you so," gasped back the hypnotized mature man in the 
fourteen-year-old voice. 

Their mouths met. And fused. They kissed, deeply, slowly, lingeringly. Their 
soft, warm tongues intermingled. The middle-aged woman tightened her arms 
around her son-in-law's thick neck, crushing him against her, so that her 
firm, meaty breasts in the stiff half cups of the black satin corset 
flattened against his naked, barrel chest, and her arm muscles trembled with 
the effort. They moaned, still in their dreamy soul kiss. And, as if to an 
erotic love beat, his red-spanked, naked buttocks pumped in and out, in and 
out, between her upraised, long, beautiful legs. Muscles trembled there, 
too, beneath the shimmery, filmy black gauze of her nylon hose. Each deep, 
hard, breathtaking thrust of his pounding penis into her drooling cunt hole, 
her sweet, nylon-snugged toes clenched in her patent-leather pumps, and she 
dug the spike heels deeper into the mattress. It was a hot, wet and juicy 
fuck. 

They broke off the kiss with groans of burning passion. The sweat was 
beading on their straining, coupling bodies, and they were breathing harder, 
deeper, beginning to pant. 

"OOOOOOOHHH-OOOOOOOHHHH-SO LOVELY-LOVELY-" Stella gasped to the man pressing 
down on her, as his hard pelvic thrusts, the deep, deep penetration of his 
immense love tool, sent Shockwaves through her agitated system. "NOW MY 
HONEY BOY-" she cried, breathlessly, but commandingly, "GO 
DEEPER-HARDER-FUCK ME-FUCK ME-MAKE ME CUMMMMMM WITH YOUR LOVELY 
COCK-OOOOHHHH-" And obediently the sweating, groaning man stepped up the hot 
pace, spurred on by her commands, forcing his overheated body to pound and 
pound down on her soft, yielding, erotically clad body, pumping his stiff, 
swollen, throbbing prick faster and harder and deeper into her delicious, 
fiery, massaging pussy sheath. She took his downward plunges, thrust for 
body-killing thrust, with a rhythmic upheaving that caused their thundering 
hips and bellies to slap wetly against each other with an audible 
smack-smack-smack! The bedsprings creaked in protest at the heavy action on 
the mattress of the queen-sized bed. 

Miles' mesmerized, dominated mind was reeling from the jolting sensations 
that nearly numbed him. The thought that he was making love to his 
beautiful, worshipped Aunt made his temples pound defeaningly, as the 
stroking, hot, slick, and palpitating grip of the woman's velvety cunt 
around his still swelling and stiffening, inflamed cock sent shudders 
blasting through his jangled nerves. His swinging, hairy ball sac was 
beginning to draw up tight under his plunging cock pole as the heavy balls 
filled with steaming love fluid in preparation for a heavy, hard, 
mind-blowing cum. 

Now, through the white-hot haze that was enveloping his head, he heard his 
mother-in-law, thought-to-be Aunt, murmur something lovingly to him, her 
puffing breath warm on his sweating face just inches above hers. Smoothly, 
her nylon stocking-sheathed legs pressed against his pumping hips and 
buttocks. His super-sensitive flesh there began to rub and rub against her 
scratch-smooth, slick stockings and the firm, warm, heavenly flesh beneath 
the taut nylon mesh. He groaned anew, and fresh sweat popped out on his back 
as his skin crawled against the electric kiss of her gossamer nylon hosiery. 

Her red-painted lips found his ear. "Feel good, darling? I'll bet it does... 
Soft, silky nylons... feel them... honey... " 

Miles groaned helplessly in reply, again in the fourteen-year-old voice. 
There was the static hiss of nylon brushing against skin as he continued his 
breathtaking pelvic thrusts that were sending them both into horny heaven. 

"UHHHHH-UHHHHHHHHH-" Miles gasped and gasped, at the thousands of fiery 
sparks racing up and down his spine. Stella's tight, clutching cunt lips 
were a ring of fire around his pounding cock shaft, and her deep, stroking 
depths were like a bubbling cauldron, the delicious friction of fornication 
inflaming his already swollen and rock-hard formidable organ. 

His mother-in-law's magnificent cunt was sucking his cock, sucking so hard 
and hard and wet, making it grow harder, bigger, and throb furiously. His 
ball sac was now tightly drawn up, his big balls quivering with steamy cum. 
His hairy white and pink spanked ass cheeks were beginning to clench and 
clench in anticipation of the shattering orgasm that was so near as they now 
pumped crazily behind the passionate, breathtaking thrusts of his cock all 
the way into her womb. Meanwhile, goose bumps were forming on his hips and 
buttocks as they continued rubbing tinglingly against his mother-in-law's 
pressing, surrounding, trembling legs swathed in the lustrous, black-tinted 
sheer stockings. 

Beneath his straining, pounding body, Stella was gasping and groaning, too, 
as she felt his stabbing cock stroke a bonfire in her loins, a bonfire that 
grew hotter and hotter each second. Her lined, heavily made-up face was 
twisted with a leer of lewd depravity as she upheaved her fleshy hips to 
meet his sinewy hips, making their bellies smack wetly together. She was 
totally engulfed in the stupendous orgasm that was building inside her, her 
mind becoming fogged with hot fuck fever and the ecstatic thrill of 
dominating and seducing her own daughter's husband. 

All the while, their, heaving, rocking, bucking bodies coupled furiously, 
frenziedly atop Stella's big bed. Their breath pounded, sweat poured off 
their jerking bodies, and their gasps and groans grew louder and louder, 
more and more desperate. And still, the naked, brawny, mature man, and the 
older, statuesque, voluptuous woman clad in only skin-tight black corset, 
long, sheer, sooty black stockings and glittering, spike-heeled black pumps 
fucked and fucked and fucked- "OOOOOOOHHH-OOOOOOHHHH- OOOOOOOHHHH-" Stella 
cried, her voice rising to a scream, as her black corset-clad body began to 
jerk and jerk under her son-in-law's body. "OOOOOOOOOOOHHH-" Her busty body 
heaved and heaved, forced down only by the man's pounding mass, as her 
burning, boiling pussy exploded in a body-killing cum. Her head flopped from 
side to side in ecstatic abandon, her painted mouth sagging open, her 
blue-tinted eyelids shut, her nostrils flaring, causing strands of her raven 
black hair to work from the tight bun behind her head. She crushed Miles' 
pounding body against hers in a tight clench. Her long, shapely, black 
stocking-clad legs began to kick on either side of his pumping, naked 
buttocks, her black pump-shot feet reaching for the ceiling. 
"OOOOOOOHHH-OOOOOOOHHH-OOOOOOOHHH-MY DARLING-I-I'M CUMMING -CUMMMMMING FOR 
MY DARLING-" Suddenly, Miles snapped back his head and shouted. "UUUHHH 
-UHHHHHH - UHHHHHHH-G-GOSH-GOSH-I'M-I'M-" His behind became a pumping blur 
as it madly drove his bursting cock into his mother-in-law's convulsing, 
creaming cunt hole, the flow of her boiling love liquid only inflaming his 
raging hard-on more-He was shudderingly close to orgasm- "OH YES, DARLING-" 
Stella moaned lewdly, urgently, to her son-in-law -"MY SWEETHEART-MY 
LOVE-DONT HOLD IT BACK' DARLING-CUM, HONEY-FEELS SO GOOD - CUMMMMM F OR 
ME-CUMMM-CUMMM-CUMMMMMM-" 

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH-" Miles roared, and fell down, falling on his 
mother-in-law's bucking body, as he plunged his bloated, thumping, engorged 
cock all the way into her womb. A heartbeat later, that holting, inflamed 
organ began to spurt and spurt, filling her womb with its burning sperm- 
"OOOOHHHH-OOOOOHHHH-OOOOHHHHHHHHH-"" Stella screamed mindlessly, the feeling 
of the volcanic surge of his spilling cock totally blowing her mind. Now her 
kicking, black nylon-stocking sheathed legs wrapped around his clenching, 
sweating behind, her spike heels digging into the hard ass cheeks. The 
bodies of woman and man began to rock vigorously back and forth on the bed, 
as they moaned and groaned and came, stupendously in a massive 
double-orgasm. Now those intertwined bodies began to roll around on the 
mattress as mother-in-law and son-in-law began to kiss, passionately between 
groans and sighs, their arms locked around each other, her glossy, 
stockinged legs holding his behind in a convulsive grip. They continued, a 
long, dreamy, while as his shuddering cock filled her with his cum... 

CHAPTER FOUR 

"Okay, boys!" Stella Hartley called out, clapping her hands, briskly. 
"Time's about up." 

Her words brought groans from the six little boys seated around the kitchen 
table. 

"Now, come on, you guys," Ronnie Brown added, standing at one side of the 
table. "Mrs. Hartley's let you have the whole meeting to study your lines 
for the program. So let's move it." 

Stella smiled warmly at the teenaged boy as he glanced her way. He was so 
cute and serious in his Boy Scout uniform with the rakish red barret. 
Although he was skinny enough for the khaki uniform to hang on his slight 
frame, and was still a few inches shorter than she, he was doing his best to 
act like an adult. The middle-aged woman found him charming, cute... and 
arousing. Quickly, she recovered, and walked around the kitchen table, 
talking to each little scout in turn about his part in the den's upcoming 
program for the Banquet. Besides little Bobby, her grandson, there was 
Jimmy, Teddy, Sidney, Patrick and Lonny. All of them were around Bobby's 
tender years, and all were the sons of her friends and neighbors. They were 
attentive and polite to her... and secretly ogled her voluptuous form when 
they thought they could get away with it. And, of course, she encouraged 
this, allowing the boys plenty of opportunities to get a good look up her 
legs, or down her bosom. She cock-teased the little boys and Ronnie 
purposely, getting a tremendous thrill from it, and also laying a foundation 
for her future plans. 

Now, as she chatted and smiled down at the little scouts who looked so 
wide-eyed up at her, Stella put some more thought into those plans. 
Basically, she planned to hypnotize, seduce and make sexual use of all the 
boys in her den-that was why she had volunteered for the seemingly thankless 
job in the first place, after all the mothers had turned it down. She smiled 
inwardly as she thought of those grateful mothers-and fathers. If only they 
knew! But, fortunately, thanks to her powers of hypnosis, they wouldn't. 

Yes, she thought as she made her rounds, she was going to ball every little 
boy there... one by one, slowly but steadily... and their den chief, Ronnie, 
would be first... 

With that, she glanced up and caught him once again ogling her. He quickly 
dropped his eyes and pretended to collect the papers of one of the boys for 
him. She drew her glance around the table. She smiled wickedly. She had 
caught a few more gazes her way from the cubs. 

Of course, it was quite understandable. She was wearing the regulation 
Mother's outfit of pale yellow, short-sleeved blouse, navy-blue skirt, and 
small cap with her long, thick raven hair piled up inside it. However, she 
wore the blouse quite tight, emphasizing the generous tenting of her big, 
heavy bosom, with the first few buttons, undone, allowing the boys a 
thrilling peek of her considerable cleavage. The dark blue skirt was, 
perhaps, a bit shorter than usually worn, exposing her knees, calves, ankles 
and feet to her cubs' wide eyes. Those gorgeous legs were dark and glossy in 
a pair of dark brown nylon stickings, their shape brought into stark relief 
by the black patent, high-heeled pumps that encased her stockinged feet. 

Thus, when Stella purposely bent over or walked by, it was not surprising 
that the innocent eyes of her little boys followed her. 

But now they were taking their leave, having picked up their materials and 
beginning to head for the kitchen door, carrying on a rapid-fire 
conversation with each other as they did. Stella watched the adolescent boys 
a moment, so cute in their scout uniforms, and felt the surge of pedophiliac 
lust in her loins. 

The half-dozen boys were almost through that door before she stopped them. 

"Now, remember, boys, I want those pieces learned by next Monday's meeting," 
she told them, firmly. 

"Awww, gee, Mrs. Hartley." That was young Jimmy Johnston, an adorable, 
freckle-faced redhead. "Do we have to?" 

"Yes, you do. The banquet isn't far off." 

"Golly!" returned Lonny Merrill. He turned to Bobby. "She's your 
grandmother, man. Talk to her." 

Bobby fidgeted uneasily. Stella broke the tension with a musical laugh. 

"Bobby knows I mean what I say, Lonny," she said, lightly. "Don't you, 
dear?" 

"Uhh-yeah, yeah," her grandson muttered. He kept his eyes averted from her. 

"Okay, you guys," Ronnie broke in, firmly. "You heard Mrs. Hartley. You get 
those pieces learned by next meeting. I'll bet the other dens have learned 
theirs already." 

Up against the firmness of Mother and den chief, the cubs saw there was no 
appeal. With groans and mutters, the boys went out the door, with the 
exception of Bobby and Ronnie, who were busily cleaning off the kitchen 
table. Stella saw that it was time to make her move. 

"Stay for a moment, Ronnie," she said to the teenaged boy, laying a hand 
softly on his shoulder. She felt him quiver slightly at her touch. 

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied obediently. 

Now she walked up to Bobby, who was standing at the screen door of thy 
kitchen. At the click-click of her high heels, he looked up at her, and his 
eyes noticeably widened. 

Stella quickly glanced behind her, saw that Ronnie was too occupied to 
notice them. Now, she stared down into her little grandson's eyes intensely. 
Bobby's eyes grew glazed and his body seemed to stiffen. For a moment, she 
continued staring deeply into the little boy's eyes, then waved her hand in 
front of them. Bobby did not blink. He was once again in her hypnotic power. 

"Bobby," she murmured, low but firmly. "You will obey me." 

"Yes, Mistress," he replied, monosyllabically. 

"I want you to leave the house for awhile. Your parents won't be home for an 
hour, and I want you to be gone that long. Is there some place you can go?" 

"Yes," her little grandson replied in that same spiritless monotone. "The 
guys are gonna play over at Jimmy's house." 

"Fine. Then you go there. Now." 

"Yes, Mistress." 

"And," she added, maternally, "be sure not to get that uniform too mussed 
up. Your mother will skin you alive if she has to mend it again." 

"Yes, Mistress." 

"Obey," she told him firmly. 

Obediently, Bobby turned and eased out the screened door. Stella watched him 
walk out through the garage, until he disappeared from sight. She felt a 
quick shiver of delight at this demonstration of her power over the lad. 

Then she turned, and flashed a quick smile at Ronnie. 

"I see you've got everything cleaned up, dear," she told him. ___________ 
"Yes, Mrs. Hartley," the den chief replied. 

"That's a good boy," she commented with a warm smile. She saw that the boy 
looked rather agitated at that; there was no doubt he was infatuated with 
her. Sexually infatuated. The dear boy was at his teen years a mass of 
suppressed sexual drives, literally at the height of his sexual prowess, 
despite his immaturity. She wondered, idly, what kind of cock was concealed 
in his tight khaki pants. She felt the familiar tingling in her loins. She 
wanted this child, wanted to seduce this trembling adolescent boy, wanted to 
taste his tender young flesh. And he would only be the first. Soon, all the 
boys in the den would be hers... 

Then she mentally shrugged. It was time to get down to the business at hand. 
She had a lot to accomplish before her daughter and son-in-law returned from 
that car dealer. 

"Well, Ronnie, I see that we're alone," she said, staring directly at him, 
with her warm smile. 

Ronnie visible quivered. "Uhhh, yeah, Mrs. Hartley." 

She walked up to him, slowly. "You know, dear, we've never taken the time to 
get to know each other better. You know?" 

"I-I guess not," Ronnie replied. 

"Do you have a little while, dear? You don't have to go home right now, do 
you?" 

Ronnie was staring into her wide, limpid black eyes. "No... I don't." 

"Good. Then let's go over to the couch and have a little chat." 

"Uhhhh... " Ronnie hesitated, clearly agitated at the prospect of being at 
such close, intimate proximity with one of the women who filled his wet 
dreams. 

"Com'on, Ronnie," Stella laughed. "I won't bite. I promise." 

"Oh-okay," he said. 

Stella led the way to the living room, fully aware of the lad's eyes 
feasting on her large, protuberant buttocks swaying in her tight skirt, her 
flashing,, glossily stockinged legs, her swaying hips. She let her heavy 
thighs brush together as she walked, causing the erotic sound of sheer nylon 
swishing against sheer nylon. 

They reached the couch, and she saw the short trip had already caused Ronnie 
to start perspiring just the smallest bit. That was good. She was already 
weaving him in her mature, sexual spell. With a rustle of clingy fabric and 
static nylon, she seated" herself on the firm but comfortable brown leather 
couch which dominated the wood paneled living room. She patted a spot on the 
couch close beside her. "Sit down, dear," she invited. 

Ronnie hesitated a bit; then sat down, gingerly. Stella flashed the teenaged 
boy scout her warmest smile as she turned to him. She saw his wide eyes 
roving over her form, noted the fact that his breathing had increased. The 
warmth of her ripe body, her soft, enticing perfume, her physical nearness, 
were all enveloping him, arousing him. 

"Comfortable, dear?" she asked. 

"Yes-yes," he replied. 

"Good. Now we can talk easier." She flashed him another smile. "I think the 
boys will do very well at the banquet, don't you?" 

"I-I think so. The program is kinda neat-using those historical quotes for 
the benediction," Ronnie replied with some enthusiasm. "I think it'll-" And 
then he stopped. For, the buxom, statuesque, middle-aged woman had crossed 
her stocking-clad legs, slowly, teasingly. The lad's eyes had immediately 
riveted on the sight, his mouth hanging open, slightly. Slowly, so slowly, 
Stella slipped one slickly stockinged leg over the other, prolonging the 
electric rasp of nylon against nylon. The hem of her tight, navy-blue 
uniform skirt slipped sleekly on the smooth gauze of her dark-brown tinted 
stockings, exposing a generous portion of her heavy, but firmly rounded 
thighs which stretched the filmy nylon hose to a lighter shade. Ronnie's 
eyes seemed somewhat glassy as they raked over his den mother's long, 
shapely, stocking-sheathed legs, taking in her glittering black pump-shod 
feet as well. 

Surprised elation swept over Stella as she clinically and professionally 
evaluated the boy's reaction to the sexual stimulus. The little lamb was in 
the grip of a strong sexual fetish-perhaps several of them. Like so many 
small boys, lingerie played a prominent role in his sexual 
desires-stockings, high heels, bras, panties, corsets, gloves, all the 
intimate feminine apparel that was all the boys usually were allowed to see 
of the exciting, mysterious world of Sex. It wasn't surprising that such 
garments had such a powerful fascination for them-and hold over them. 

And, of course, this was more than all right to Stella. She, herself, was 
fascinated with the use of erotic fetishism in sex-especially its use for 
seduction and sexual slavery. Her den chief, Ronnie, was a prime candidate 
to join her pedophiliac stud stable as a panty slave. The realization made 
her quiver with anticipation as she stared at the agitated, infatuated boy. 

"Yes, dear?" she prodded. "You were saying?" With an effort, Ronnie tore his 
nearly bulging eyes from her displayed, stockinged legs. "I-I was saying I 
thought the program would go over real well, Mrs. Hartley," he managed to 
stammer. 

"Ronnie, dear, are you all right?" Stella asked with feigned concern. "You 
seem so-jumpy." 

"I-I'm all right, Mrs. Hartley." 

"No, you seem rather agitated to me," the middle-aged woman returned firmly. 
"Ill bet you've let school and scout work run you down. I'm right, aren't 
I?" 

"Well," Ronnie began hesitantly, and then grasped at the straw purposely 
offered by Stella to explain his fetishistic reaction to her impromptu leg 
show. "I-I guess you're right." 

"I know I'm right, dear. Remember, dear, I have a degree m psychology. I can 
teW ftve svgcvs oi strain. I'm glad we're having this little talk, Ronnie. I 
can help you." 

"H-Help me?" 

"Help you leam to relax. I learned it in college, dear. It works wonders. 
I've used it myself." 

"You have?" 

"Um-hmm. I know it would help you. Would you like to give it a try?" 

"Well... " Ronnie looked a bit confused. 

"Come on, Ronnie. It won't hurt. I know you'll feel better afterward. It's 
just a way to calm down after you get uptight about things." 

Ronnie looked at her with wide, but trusting eyes. It was evident he was 
already a little dominated by the vivacious attractive older woman. 

"O-Ok'ay, if you say so," he said. 

"I say so," she replied, softening it with a particularly warm smile that 
made Ronnie gulp. 

"Wh-What do I do?" he asked. 

"Well, dear, it's basically relaxation, while you concentrate on one thing, 
to clear your mind of anxiety." Stella explained smoothly, not giving Ronnie 
a chance to think. "So, just lie back on the couch... that's right.' Now 
just relax. Let your body go limp, dear." 

The teenaged boy obeyed her, settling back against the padded back cushions 
of the leather davenport. His thin, gawky body visibly became less tense. 
Stella turned half around to face him, slowly leaning toward him. Now, she 
was inches Xhxa , "]"\vo \"gaiv \,o qtxwei \t\ response. A.gain, the 
middle-aged den mother smiled encouragement to the lad. 

"That's a good boy, Ronnie," she purred, leaning even closer to the boy. 
"now that you're relaxed, all you need to do is concentrate." 

"H-How do I do that?" Ronnie asked. 

"Simple, dear. All you have to do is look in my eyes. Concentrate on that, 
dear. Just look into my eyes and think of nothing. Let everything go... all 
your troubles fly away... Just look into my eyes... " 

Now she was leaning over the teenaged den chief, her lined, heavily made-up 
face only scant inches from his smaller, hairless, ruddy face. But 
trustingly, Ronnie obeyed his den mother. His light green eyes stared into 
her deep, black ones. Instantly, her eyes became intense and compelling. 
Ronnie began to tremble again. 

"That's the way, dear. Look into my eyes... just look, dear... look... 
look... look... think of nothing... nothing... " 

Ronnie, with a gasp, tried, to tear his eyes from the strange, magnetic, 
overpowering ebony eyes of the older woman. But he couldn't. Her words, so ; 
warm and soft and caressing, massaged his senses, [ became a steady drone 
that made his mind wander... 

"Yes, dear... yes... you're completely i relaxed... so relaxed... you feel 
so warm, so comfortable... so totally relaxed... you are I drifting... 
drifting... " 

Ronnie had ceased his trembling. He was staring wide-eyed into Mrs. 
Hartley's eyes. And the boy's eyes were becoming glazed. 

"Oh, dear... you're becoming sleepy... so sleepy... Your eyelids are so 
heavy... so heavy... because you are so sleepy... " 

The young, impressionable child was quickly falling into the middle-aged 
dominatrix's hypnotic trance. His eyes had become quite glassy and staring, 
and now his eyelids were fluttering. 

"Now you can't keep your eyelids up... you are so sleepy, my dear... so very 
sleepy... all you want to do is sleep... sleep... sleep... " 

The boy's eyelids were definately drooping, and his head was tilting, as if 
it were too heavy for his neck. 

"Go to sleep, dear. Close your eyes and sleep. Obey me and go into a nice, 
deep, dreamy sleep... sleep, dear... " 

Ronnie's eyes were closed. With a tremulous sigh, his head dropped forward, 
his chin touching his collarbone. 

Ronnie Brown was deep in a hypnotic trance. 

Air hissed between Stella's clenched teeth as she suppressed a cry of sheer 
delight at her facile hypnotizing of the teenaged boy. Her eyes glittered 
hotly as they now surveyed the now-sleeping form of the adolescent lad in 
the boy scout uniform. 

Then she collected herself. It was time to probe a little bit, and see just 
what use she could make of the child... and confirm her psychological 
diagnosis of his fetishism. 

"Ronnie, dear," she began, softly. "Can you hear me?" 

"Yes... " The boy's voice was toneless. 

"You will concentrate on my voice. You will obey my voice. You will obey me. 
You have no will of your own. All you want to do is please me. Do you 
understand what I'm saying?" 

"Yes... " 

"I am your Mistress. I have total control over you. You will obey all my 
commands because you love your Mistress and want to please her." 

"Yes... Mistress." 

"Who am I, dear?" 

"You-You are my... Mistress. I do what you say. I-I love you. I-I want to 
please you." Ronnie's voice stumbled as he sought to remember what he was 
told. 

Stella smiled, wickedly. She had been right. Ronnie was naturally submissive 
to women... such as his mother. Stripped of his inhibitions, he would obey 
her without trouble. Just like Bobby... and Timmy... and, yes, Miles... 

"That's fine, dear. If you obey me well, you will be rewarded. You will find 
much pleasure in obeying me... and much pain in disobeying me. Do you 
understand that, dear?" 

"Yes... I understand... Mistress." 

'Now it was time to probe deeper. "Who am I to you, dear? Besides your 
Mistress, I mean." 

"You're-you're Mrs. Hartley." 

"Do you like me, dear?" 

"Oh, yes... yes... I do... a lot." 

"Why do you like me, dear?" 

"You-You're so pretty and-and sexy... " the boy's words trailed off. 

"You little sweetheart," Stella murmured, as she felt a warm glow in her 
tummy... and the tingling in her loins. "Your Mistress is pleased... Now, 
dear, what exactly do you like about me?" 

"You're so shapely... your b-breasts are so big, they look so soft and 
firm... I-I'd like to touch them. 

"You will, my darling," Stella told him, her voice warm and loving. Softly, 
she stroked the boy's forehead with a shapely hand. "What else, dear?" 

"I-I-" he hesitated. 

"Go on, Ronnie," and firmness underlined the velvet in her voice. "Tell me." 

"Your-Your legs... " 

"Stella shivered with excitement. Yes, she was right! Young Ronnie Brown 
was, indeed, a panty freak. 

"What about my legs?" she prodded. 

"They're so pretty, so long and-and sexy... I love to look at them... 
especially with stockings on them... and... and your pretty shoes... " 

Flushed with gratification, Stella probed deeper. "So you like your 
Mistress' legs, darling? You like them with stockings, you say... and high 
heels. Is that what you like? My legs in nylons and spike heels? Hmmmmmm?" 

"Ohhh, yes-yes, Mistress," Ronnie replied, excitement evident in his 
quavering voice, despite the hypnotic trance. "I love it... I dream about it 
all the time... " 

"You sweet little lamb," Stella told him, warmly. "Is it stockings you 
especially like? And women's shoes-with high heels and open toes and heels?" 

"Uh-huh," and the hypnotized boy was nearly panting. "Those real dark 
stockings you wear... they're so sexy... and your high heeled shoes... I 
love to look at them... I dream of touching them... rubbing my hand on 
them... " 

"Ooooooh, that's real sexy darling, feeling a woman's stockinged leg. You'll 
get your chance, darling. Now, tell me, do other women's pretty underthings 
excite you? Like bras, panties, corsets-that sort of thing?" 

"Oh, yes," he gulped, "and garter belts and-and- well, all that. I love 
seeing women in them, in the catalogs and the shop windows... they make my 
thing get hard... " 

"Poor dear," Stella murmured. "I can see it's getting hard right now, just 
talking about these sexy things." 

The lad's adolescent cock was indeed making a visible bulge in the front of 
his khaki uniform pants. The sight of the childish erection made sparks 
radiate in the middle-aged woman's vulva. She knew the front of her lace 
panties was already getting moist. 

"Now, dear, I want you to tell me if other women's legs and bodies make you 
get hard." 

"Y-Yes, Mistress." 

"Who, dear?" 

"My-my mother," the lad blurted. 

Stella had to suppress a sharp exclamation. She took a deep breath. Incest! 
The little lamb sexually desired his own mother-with a fetish and submissive 
angle, to boot. Just like her grandson, Bobby, and her daughter, Barbara. 
Prickly heat was starting to warm up her panties, which were getting more 
moist by the second. But, with a strong grip on herself, the middle-aged den 
mother dominatrix returned to the subject at hand. 

"So you think your mother is sexy, too," Stella said, slowly. "Do you dream 
about sleeping with your mother and even making love? Do you?" 

"Yes-Yes-" Ronnie shook with the intensity of his feelings. 

Stella had an inspiration. "Tell me, dear-have you ever spied on your 
mother? Watch her while she dressed?" 

Ronnie trembled, more. "Yes... Mistress." 

"I see," Stella said. "So you watch your mother put on her pretty bra and 
panties and nylons. I'll bet it gets you real hard, Ronnie." 

"Yes-" 

"Then what do you do?" 

"I-I take one of Mama's stockings and-I-I put my thing in it, and-and- -" 

"And you masturbate-you beat off," Stella finished for him, the idea adding 
to her rising passion. "My, you do have a strong fetish, dear... I wonder 
how strong... " 

Stella studied the hypnotized den chief for a moment. It was a long shot, 
but it might pay off. A child so addicted to garment and lingerie fetishism 
could be a good prospect for her hitherto untried experiment. 

"Ronnie, dear, tell me... do you ever dream about wearing some of that sexy 
lingerie in your fantasies?" 

"Yes," Ronnie replied, simply. Ye Gods! Stella fell back in the couch, her 
face glowing with gratification. Here was what she was looking for-a child 
with transvestite tendencies to further her studies-and her fun. And here he 
was, right under her nose. She would have to take advantage of this, for 
sure. 

"I see... you'd like to wear sexy lingerie when you meet with your dream 
women. You'd like to wear it when they're wearing it, when you're making 
love-having sex. Am I right?" 

The bulge in the boy's trousers was more noticeable. "Ohhhh, yes, Mistress," 
the boy nearly whimpered. "I-I'd love to do that-it'd be so neat... just 
like in my dreams... " 

"I can see how much you'd like to do it, dear," Stella told him, her voice 
husky with passion. "You know what? Your Mistress would like to do it, too. 
With you. Would you like that, darling?" 

Ronnie gasped softly at the suggestion. He trembled anew. 

"Think of it, sweetheart," Stella whispered. "I'll let you wear some of my 
lacy undies, and I'll wear some nice things, too. My sexiest stockings and 
my high heels. Then we'll make love, my precious one, sweet, sweet love... 
just as you've dreamed for so long... you would like to make love to me, 
wouldn't you?" 

"Yes, Mistress," Ronnie managed to say. "Good, darling. Very good. Then well 
set up a meeting time. Next week, sometime." Stella's mind was racing with 
plans and preparations. She'd have to get her family out of the house for a 
few hours, and get Ronnie over here on some pretext... den business, most 
likely. 

"I-I'd like that... M-Mistress," Ronnie said, eagerly. 

"Then it's a date, darling," Stella smirked. 

For a heartbeat, the middle-aged woman dressed in the den mother uniform 
stared lustfully at the teen boy dressed in the boy scout uniform. God, she 
was hot and horny, right now! She'd love to ball the delicious little lamb 
right here and now... Quickly, she disregarded the impulse. There was no 
telling when the kids would get back. She couldn't take the chance... then a 
thought came to her. After all, she'd have to do something about Ronnie's 
erection. It must be hurting the poor dear, and, besides, she certainly 
didn't want his parents to see it. 

"All right then, Ronnie, your Mistress will let you know when she wants you 
next. It's too bad we can't have our fun now. But there is something we can 
do... and it'll help give you relief, dear. Your hard-on is about to burst 
your pants." 

"Wh-What is it?" Ronnie asked. 

"Why, you suggested it yourself, honey. A delightful way to masturbate. 
Don't you remember?" 

Ronnie trembled, and his penis made a visible spasm in his pants. 

"I see you remember, dear. It's so sexy. Your Mistress is going to frig her 
little slave's sweet cock in one of her silky stockings." 

Smoothly, she tugged up the hem of her clingy, navy-blue uniform skirt. 
"Open your eyes, dear," she commanded. 

Ronnie obeyed. He caught sight of his den mother's large, shapely thighs, 
high enough to spot the darker, rolled welt top of her glossy, dark-brown 
tinted nylon stockings, and the thin, black garter suspenders holding them 
up, striping her creamy thigh flesh. Enthralled, the mesmerized teen boy 
watched the middle-aged grandmother's shapely hands smoothly unclasp the 
gleaming chrome garter clips from the stretched, dark bank of one of her 
stocking welts. Now, that sleekly stockinged leg was extended. Stella kicked 
off the high heeled pump, and began to slide the gauzy stocking sheath off 
that long, shapely feminine limb. 

Moments later, Stella was holding one of her dark stockings in one hand. 
Ronnie was standing before her, staring down with glazed, hypnotized eyes as 
she unhooked his pants and pulled down the coppery zipper tongue. The metal 
rasp of the pants zipper descending was loud in the deathly quiet living 
room. 

Ronnie groaned, loudly, as he felt Mrs. Hartley's hand on his boycock. She 
was softly fondling his penis, admiring its length and girth as she did. 
Ronnie was still a boy but was also well-hung for his tender years. 

"Your cock is so hard, sweetheart," Stella cooed to the sweating boy 
standing before her on the couch, as she gently frigged his throbbing 
phallus. "So hard with love. Your sweet little balls are so heavy with cum. 
Sweet cum. Your Mistress will help you haye a nice, big cum." 

Stella rolled the chiffon stocking in her hands, to about halfway. Then she 
smoothly slipped it over the boy's swollen, erect penile shaft. Ronnie 
groaned louder as she did, at the first feel of silky nylon mesh on his 
super-sensitive cock. Stella worked the nylon stocking on that cock so his 
flaring, bulbous cockhead was tenting out the darker, reinforced toe pad of 
the dark hose. 

Ronnie groaned, more. 

Stella took a second to stare at the deliciously bizarre sight of the 
dark-tinted, woman's nylon stocking encasing the stiff, throbbing pole of 
the boy's cock. That adolescent penis was sheathed tightly in the stocking, 
the cockhead snugged in the toe pad. Already, dark blotches of pre-cum fluid 
were visible on the nylon mesh there. 

Now, Stella's hand grasped the stocking-sheathed boycock and began to pump, 
slowly, rubbing the scratchy-smooth sheer nylon against it, exquisitely. 

"OOOOHHH-OOHHHHH- UHHHHHH-" Ronnie groaned above her, his body shaking with 
spasms. 

"That's it, darling," Stella murmured huskily to him. "Feel your Mistress' 
silky stocking on your cock. Feel it, darling. Feels good, doesn't it? 
Ohhhh, your sweet little cockhead is pushing on the toe pad. Just think, 
darling, my toes were there a few minutes before. That's it, darling, feel 
it stroke so hotly on your hard little thing- feel it... " 

Ronnie's face was beet red, and sweat was beginning to drip down his brow. 
His skinny little body shook like a paint mixer. Stella felt his stiff, 
bloated cock lurch and lurch, violently, in her hand. And still she pumped, 
frigging that boycock with her stocking, her hand beginning to blur with 
speed. 

"OOOHHH-UHHHH-UHHHHHH-" 

"Ooooohhh, yes, darling... you're so big... so hard... my stocking's so 
silky, isn't it... making you so hard... I'll bet you're ready to cum, 
darling. That's it, honey. Cum. Cum. Cum in my stocking, dear. Cum... " 

"UHHHHHHHH-" Ronnie yelled, deliriously, as his boney hips bucked forward, 
spasmodically. Stella felt his stiff, erect cock begin to jerk and jerk in 
the gauzy stocking sheath. A second later, she saw huge white blobs of sperm 
dribble out of the toe pad of her stocking. She squeezed her 
stocking-sheathed, spurting boycock lovingly, and the child groaned and 
moaned and came, violently. 

"That's a good baby," she purred. "Such a big cum for your Mistress... " 

As interesting as her interview with young Ronnie Brown had been, it was no 
more interesting than her interview with Mona Washington the next morning in 
her guidance counselling office at the junior high school. 

Mona Washington was an English teacher at the school. She was also the 
school's only black teacher. She was a medium-sized, but busty woman, whose 
shapeliness denied her thirty-six years of age. Her skin was flawless, 
chocolate-brown hue, and unlike other members of her race, she wore her hair 
long and straight down her shoulders. Her eyes were large and brown, her 
nose rather straight, her lips thick and pouting, all of which complemented 
her heart-shaped face... which, in turn, complemented her hour-glass shaped 
figure. That figure was nicely displayed today in her sleeveless, tight, tan 
and brown-checked dress, tan stockings that made her long, shapely, brown 
legs glitter darkly, and tan high heeled sandals on her largish feet. The 
thin, sheer fabric of the dress clearly outlined an ample bust and an 
equally fulsome pair of buttocks. 

Mona was a divorcee, and the mother of a young boy, Rufus, who attended the 
same grade school as Stella's grandson, Bobby. In fact, the two boys were in 
the same class. 

This data ran through Stella's mind now as she sat at her small wooden desk 
studying Mona, who sat in a straight chair opposite the desk. Mona's dark, 
pretty, heavily made-up features mirrored agitation. 

"Well, Mona, I guess you know why I called you in here," Stella told her, 
her voice frank. 

"I-I guess I do," the black female teacher replied, quietly. Her shapely 
hands twisted nervously on her lap. "Has-has someone-a parent-complained? 
Or-?" 

Stella shook her head. "No, Mona. No one has said anything. The fact is I 
more or less figured it out, having sat in on your classes a few times." 

"But-I was so careful-how-how do you know?" 

Stella smiled thinly. "I know," she said, "because I have a Master's in 
psychology from a very tough university. I've been trained to know the 
signs. Besides, I've specialized in abnormal sexuality for some time now, 
and so I'm alert to it, so to speak. I've seen you touch the boys a bit more 
than necessary. You've hovered over them a bit longer than need be. That's 
all I needed to see, really. Also, the fact that you were so willing to 
transfer from an integrated school to this all-white school." 

"I-I transferred because it is becoming integrated," Mona sputtered. "I 
would be the first. After me-" 

"Hold it, girl," Stella raised a hand. "That's not the real reason, and you 
and I know it. You've as much as confessed it a few minutes ago." 

After her brief outburst, that seemed to take the fight out of the 
attractive, mature black teacher. She sighed, helplessly, and sat back in 
the chair. 

"You're right," she said, slowly. "I can't help myself. Someone was bound to 
find out sooner or later." 

"Stella nodded. "That's right, Mona. You're lucky it was me. If the 
principal, Mr. Rogers, knew you had a real thing for young white boys, he'd 
have a heart attack. And the PTA would have you drawn and quartered-or 
worse!" 

Now Mona nodded, sadly. "I-I've never went so far as seducing one of the 
boys. But-you're right. I can't seem to be able to keep my hands off them. 
God, they're so cute-so adorable. I just want to. :." 

"Fuck them?" Stella prompted. Mona stared at her, mouth agape. "Why-why-" 

"Come on, Mona, we're both adults here," Stella told her, impatiently. 
"Admit it. You have a fetish for adolescent boys-particularly if they're 
white. I don't know if that's why your married life broke up, but you 
definitely want to have sex with little boys-and you've suppressed it so 
much and so long that you can't help but touch them, be near them, maybe 
even cock tease them a little... am I right?" 

Mona shivered, and looked down at her hands. "You-You're right," she said at 
length. "There's no use denying it." She flashed Stella a wan smile. "I'm 
glad you're so understanding about it. Most people would think I'm some sort 
of a monster." 

"Don't be silly," and here Stella smiled. "I don't think you're a monster at 
all. In fact, a lot of women share your sexual inclinations. It's called 
pedophilia, and a lot of adults have it-women as well as men. I know. I've 
done extensive research, some of it at the Kinsey Center in Bloomington, 
Indiana, and I've found it to be rather frequent in older adults. In fact 
I'm doing a thesis for my Doctorate on that very subject, along with another 
subject." 

"What other subject?" Mona asked, fascinated. The fear had left her dark 
features, and she was leaning forward, listening raptly. 

"Fetishism," Stella told her. "Erotic fetishism." 

Mona shivered, involuntarily. "You mean-you mean, corsets, high heels, 
lingerie-that sort of thing?" 

"Exactly. And I've found that it has a powerful influence in the sexual 
awakening of little boys. In fact, in some of the cases I've examined, the 
women subjects used 'that sort of thing,' as you put it, to seduce their 
so-called young victims.' " Mona's eyes glittered. A tremor passed through 
her as she sat back, digesting this information. 

Stella, eyeing the mature black woman closely, suddenly asked, "That excites 
you, doesn't it?" 

Crimson actually deepened the color of Mona's face. "I-I-" she sputtered. 
Then she stared down at her writhing black hands again. "Yes," she muttered. 

Stella shook her head. 

"Don't be like that," she said."I'm not trying to embarrass you. Not at all. 
Fetishism is very common. It's considered by most sexologists as a 
legitimate sexual aid. No more. No less." 

"But-you caught me-I-" 

"Wait a minute. I just wanted the truth from you. I got it. So I have no 
intention of turning you in to the principal. This will be our own little 
secret." 

Hope made the attractive black woman perk up. "Do you mean that?" she asked. 
"Yes, I do." 

Mona nearly collapsed against the back of the wooden, school-issue straight 
chair. "Thank God. Oh, Thank God. I-I'll change. You'll see. I keep myself 
under control. I'll-" Once again, Stella stopped her with a motion of her 
hand. "Stop. Stop right there. I'm not asking you to stop lusting after 
little white boys. You can't. Any more than a homosexual can become 
straight. What you need is to be able to-er-satisfy your sexual cravings 
from time to time. Then you'll be able to carry on, having let out a little 
steam from the pressure cooker of your libido." 

Mona looked amazed. "You-You're crazy-or you're just teasing me. The first 
time I really start feeling up one of my boys, the word'll get out and-" 

"I know, I know," Stella said. "And the wrath of society will fall on 
you-hard. You're right. But there is a way... a very special way... you can 
have all the boys you want and never get caught... I know. I found the way." 
Mona nearly squealed with surprise. "YOU?!" 

Stella smiled, wickedly. "Yes, dear. Me. You see, once I began my abnormal 
sexual studies, to fill the void after the death of my husband, I discovered 
something. I discovered that I had a strong pedophiliac tendency. In fact, 
it was so strong that I really couldn't resist it. So... I found a way to 
seduce and have sex with all the little boys I want-one of them right here 
in my office." 

"My God!" Mona cried, staring intently at the statuesque, middle-aged white 
woman. "You're not kidding! You mean it!" 

"I do." 

"But-how?" 

Stella smiled. "With hypnosis. As part of my studies in psychology, I became 
very skilled in hypnosis-for laboratory experiments. I found it is very 
powerful and, if applied properly and skillfully, it can make anyone your 
slave. It will turn that cold fish of a person into a raging sexual animal. 
And that person will obey all your commands. You can keep him in a 
post-hypnotic state forever. And put him in your power with just a special 
gesture-or code word." 

The black teacher let out a long breath. "You mean to tell me that you 
hypnotize these little boys, and then make them have sex with you?" 

Stella nodded, smiling. 

Mona shook her head. "It's-It's incredible!" 

Now Stella shook her head. "No, Mona-it's applied psychology. Young 
children-especially boys-are very impressionable. They're as susceptible to 
hypnotic suggestion as any population segment-and more than most. The boys 
I-had-were quite simple to hypnotize. I now have four boys currently under 
my power, ready to do as I tell them... although one is a bit older than the 
rest. I've had three of them, and I will soon have the fourth." 

"Good Lord," Mona said, rolling her eyes. "You lucky devil... who are these 
boys?" 

"One is my grandson." 

"Incest-My Good God-" 

"Is pedophilia any better?" Stella pointed out. 

"No... No, I guess not. I have to admit, I've had thoughts about my own boy, 
Rufus." 

"We can arrange that." 

Mona leaned forward, excitement evident in her actions. "What do you 
mean-exactly?" 

"I mean I'll set up a demonstration to show you that I'm telling the truth. 
Once you're convinced, I'll teach you some hypnotic technique, so you can 
have all the little white boys you want." 

"What-What kind of demonstration?" 

"I think we'll have to hold it in your apartment. Perhaps this weekend. You 
have Rufus there. I'll bring Bobby, my grandson." Stella smiled knowingly at 
Mona. "You'd like to get your hands on him, wouldn't you, dear?" 

Mona sighed soulfully. "You know it girl. I've met him, you know, and he's 
such a sweet little lamb." 

"He's more than that," Stella told her. "He's a thoroughly trained, 
disciplined, submissive slave. I've turned him into quite an adequate lover. 
He's also an ardent panty-freak, a lingerie fetisher. You'll have to dress 
for the occasion." 

"Oh? What do you mean?" 

"To excite and stimulate him," Stella explained. "To turn him on, so to 
speak. He likes stockings, garter belts, corsets, high-heels, and so on. I 
assume you have something suitable for the seduction?" 

"Yes indeed," and a leer played on Mona's dark features. "I know just the 
stuff. It'll be exciting." 

"Indeed it will." Stella leaned back on her padded office chair. "I'll 
quickly put Bobby and your son, Rufus, under a trance. I'll demonstrate just 
how effective it is. Then I'll give my grandson to you to have some fun 
with... I assume your apartment has two bedrooms?" 

"Yes." 

"Good... then you and Bobby can share one, and... " 

Mona nodded. "I get you. And you and Rufus can have the other. Right?" 

"That's right," Stella agreed. She gave Mona a long, searching look. "You 
don't mind?" 

Mona shrugged her shapely shoulders. "Believe it or not, I don't. After all, 
he's ready for sex, if Bobby is. They're the same age and all. It's an even 
swap I guess." She smiled, rather impishly. "And after all, I plan to have 
Rufus myself, so what's the difference? Now, you're sure the boys won't be 
conscious of any of this?" 

"Absolutely not. It will stay locked in their subconscious. At most, it'll 
be like a dream to them." Stella smiled devilishly, at that. "A very naughty 
dream. A very wet dream." 

Mona laughed, musically. "My Rufus has had some of those, even at his age. I 
wash his sheets, you know." 

"I know. He's more than ready to offer you pleasure. Not to mention the 
other little boys-little white boys-you'll have." 

A dreamy, humid glow eminated from Mona's snapping black eyes. "Yes... it'll 
be heavenly." 

"You bet it will... so, it's this Saturday. At your place. About twelvish?" 

"It's a date," Mona laughed. 

"A double date," Stella laughed back. 

CHAPTER FIVE 

"No," Stella Hartley said into the receiver. 

She was in her office, having returned from a quick cup of coffee in the 
teacher's lounge. Almost as soon as she had opened her office door, the 
phone had rang. It was her daughter, Barbara. 

"You sure? After all, our going to the movies tonight was your idea." 

"Of course," Stella told her. "You need to function as a family unit. You, 
Miles and Bobby. Go out and have a family outing, without grandma tagging 
along. You all need it, and besides, I need to work on my thesis." 

"Okay, okay," Barbara laughingly backed down. "I don't need a full, 
socoiological report. Just a simple 'no' will do." 

"No," Stella Hartley said again. 

Barbara laughed. "Well, that's simple and to the point, for you. Okay, be 
that way. We'll leave at six-thirty and have dinner out. I assume you can 
see about your own supper?" 

"Listen to her," Stella returned. "I only saw about you and your father's 
suppers for how many years-?" 

"Too many," her daughter agreed. "Okay. Well, you'll know where we are then, 
if you get home late this evening. Now, Mom, we'll probably be late. Maybe 
ten o'clock. You know how Miles and Bobby like to stop and get ice cream 
everytime we go out." 

"I know. I've been involved in a few of those outings myself," Stella told 
her. "You three just have a good time, and don't worry about me. I'll find 
some way to amuse myself." 

"Sure," Barbara sniffed. "Some fun. Digging in dusty old psychology books." 

"Different strokes," Stella laughed. 

"Amen," Barbara replied. 

Mother and daughter exchanged good-byes, then both rang off. 

Stella stared at the phone a moment, then smiled, lewdly. It was all set. 
Ronnie would be hers tonight. She'd have to remember to stop off at that 
weird, expensive shop off the Strip that specialized in erotic lingerie-in 
all sizes. Her order was ready-it had better be ready. Tonight was the 
night. 

Stella looked at her phone again. Dusty old books, indeed. 

That reminded her. She had smuggled one of the books from the Kinsey Center 
in from her locked and double-locked files at home. She quickly unlocked her 
desk drawer and pulled it out. 

It was a large, glossy, picture magazine, a well-made example of the best of 
Swedish pornography. Entitled, "BALLING LITTLE BOYS," it was the 
hardest-core child pronography-viz., "kiddie porn," and depicted actual 
adolescent boys being sexually used and abused by older women. 

The cover was excellent, clear and in beautiful color. It showed a busty, 
red-headed woman of obviously mature years and of Swedish extraction, naked 
save for a red satin garter belt and charcoal-grey tinted stockings, 
straddling a boy of apparent tender years, naked also, both on top of a 
huge, white-sheeted bed. The camera angle was such that a clear view of 
their joined genital organs was afforded. The erect, small, childish penis 
was thrust deeply into the large, puffy, red-haired cunt. 

Stella sighed, began to turn the page-There was a loud rapping at her door. 
Stella hastily stashed the magazine and slammed the drawer closed. "Come 
in," she said. 

It wasn't the Raven who entered, but a very mad Mrs. Adele Frobisher, an 
elderly matron who acted as girl's gym coach and history teacher. She was 
dragging in a very bemused looking little boy still in his blue and white 
gym shorts, gym shirt and tennis shoes. "Yes," Stella prompted, a bit taken 
aback. "Sorry to bother you, Stel, but I caught Stevie White here sneaking 
into the girl's locker room again. I've warned him before." She now turned 
to the boy and shook him. "Haven't I, boy?" 

Stevie stared down at his tennies. "Y-Yes, ma'am," he muttered, abashedly. 

"You see?" Adele told Stella. "Now, I could take him to Mr. Rogers and have 
him punished. But if you think you could talk to him-?" 

Stella smiled. If Mrs. Frobisher had been a bit less credulous, she would 
have noticed the gleam in the guidance counsellor's eyes. 

"I see. And you're quite right. I think I can talk to young Stevie here and 
find out his problem." 

"Think you can get him to cut it out? I mean it, Stel, one more incident 
and-" 

"I know, I know. To the dungeon." Adele shrugged. "We have to have 
discipline." Stella nodded. "Oh, yes. Indeed we do." She was looking not at 
Adele but at little Stevie. He was a boy she knew. His mother attended 
Stella's church. With his short, curly brown, almost auburn hair and big 
green eyes, he was simply adorable... 

"So I'll leave him here. You can send him on to his next class when you're 
done. I hope you can get him to straighten up and fly right." 

"I'll try," Stella said, deadpan. "Okay." The matronly woman turned to the 
child. "You listen to what Mrs. Hartley has to say, young man. And listen 
good. The next time, it's the office, for sure." 

"Yes, ma'am," Stevie muttered, still studying his (untied) tennis shoes. 

"See that you do," Adele replied curtly. Then, with a nod to Stella, she 
left, banging the door behind her. 

For a moment, the boy and the middle-aged woman guidance counsellor stared 
at each other. Then, Stella arose from her desk. She felt the boy's eyes on 
her, knew he was ogling her form through the clingy, pastel-rose, sleeveless 
dress she was wearing today. She felt the familiar, undeniable flame begin 
to flare in her loins... 

She smiled at the lad, warmly. 

"Let's sit on the couch where we can talk easier," she suggested. "Just lock 
the door behind you, dear. This may take quite a while... " 

Some minutes later, a somewhat baffled Barbara Horton hung up the phone in 
her bedroom. She was lying on the bed, catching a few winks before her 
husband and Bobby and Stella got home, rest she would need for the long 
evening ahead. She smiled, wanly. She must be getting old. Not too long ago, 
she could have danced the night away... 

The mature brunette beauty was naked, lying on top of the coverlet. 

Strange. She had tried to call her mother back again, to remind her of the 
cold cuts in the refrigerator, but the line had been busy. So, she had 
called back ten minutes later, and the line was still busy. Could her mother 
still be on the phone? 

She shrugged. 

She lay back on the pillows, with a sigh. She closed her eyes. Slowly, a 
hand traveled to the furry black-haired bush between her shapely white 
thighs. She moaned as she began to masturbate slowly, deliciously. 

She began to dream of her son, Bobby. And as she dreamed, her moans 
increased, and her stroking hand began to become quite wet... 

At about this time, Stella, who had taken the phone off the hook, was 
standing in front of the couch. On the couch lay young Stevie White. His gym 
clothes were neatly draped over the wooden, straight-back chair. His nude, 
hairless, immature form was nearly white against the brown leather of the 
office couch. 

Stella was dropping: her skimpy, black lace panties on the top of her desk, 
where she had deposited her dress, slip, and bra. The only garments that 
still adorned her tall, buxom, naked form Was the thin, shirred, black lace 
garter belt that erotically bisected her trim waist and taut suspenders that 
stripped her heavy, alabaster thighs. They held up a pair of glittering, 
midnight-brown nylon stockings over her long and lovely legs. 

Stevie's eyes were glazed with the hypnotic trance the middle-aged woman had 
him under. 

"Well, darling," Stella was cooing to him. "Now, you've actually gotten to 
see a naked woman... how do you like it?" 

"It's-it's wonderful," the hypnotized lad mumbled, his voice catching. "I 
never dreamed it would be like this." 

"You little flatterer. Your Mistress is going to reward you... shall I take 
off my stockings?" 

"No-no-please-k-keep them on-they're so pretty and-and-" 

"Sexy," the middle-aged woman prompted. 

"Yes," the adolescent boy replied. 

Stella stared at the boy's loins. His little boycock, so sweet and hairless, 
was already erect and throbbing on his flat belly. 

"Your sweet little love tool is so hard," she breathed to the little boy. 
"Shall I take a ride on you? A nice, long, hot ride? Then my little slave 
and his Mistress can have a big, hard cum together." 

Stevie trembled, and his boycock throbbed harder... 

Minutes later, the dominant, voluptuous, middle-aged woman, and her little 
submissive mesmerized boy slave were taking that ride. 

The boy was lying on his back on the smooth, cool leather of the office 
couch. That supple leather was beginning to darken with his sweat. The 
larger, shapely body of the mature guidance counselor, nude save for the 
black lace garter belt and glossy, dark-tinted nylon stockings, was 
straddling him, on top of him, her hands clasping his skinny arms, her 
nylon-sheathed legs pressing against his sides. Her large, protuberant 
buttocks, framed by the thin, shirred black garter belt, were bobbing up and 
down, as she impaled herself again and again, on his stiff, erect little 
cockpole. 

She rode the boy hard, pumping and pumping, up and down on his loins, so 
that his cock penetrated to the root in her burning, steaming womb... just 
like the woman on the magazine cover. 

Beneath her, Stevie groaned and upthrust his hips and groin, his little 
behind lifting from the couch, thrusting himself into his Dominatrix, with 
childish vigor. As he did, his sides rubbed tantalizingly against the gauzy 
mesh of her silky stockings, that sent chills through him and made his 
thrust even harder. 

"OHHHHH - UHHHHH - GOSH - I-I-UHHHHHH-" he groaned, helplessly. 

"THAT'S IT, DARLING-" Stella moaned back at him. "TAKE YOUR FUCKING-TAKE 
IT-TAKE IT-TAKE IT-TAKE IT-" They came, explosively-Later that evening, at 
home, Stella was again talking on the telephone. 

"Now Ronnie," she was saying in a soft, slow, but firm voice, "do you 
understand my instructions?" 

She heard his monotone: "Yes, Mistress." She smiled, gleefully. She had 
reactivated the young den chief's hypnotic trance over the phone-a not 
inconsiderable feat. 

"All right, then. Tell your mother what I have instructed you to tell her. 
I'll expect you in about half an hour, dear. The door will be open. Just 
walk in and come up the stairs to my bedroom door-the third on the right. 
Knock on the door, and I will instruct you further. Do you have that 
straight, dear?" 

"Yes, Mistress. I dd." 

"Obey me, then." 

"Yes, Mistress." 

Softly, Stella replaced the receiver. 

Almost exactly a half an hour later, the teenaged den chief, Ronnie Brown, 
was knocking on his den mother, Stella Hartley's, bedroom door. He was 
wearing his boy scout uniform, as instructed, and he was sweating in the 
khaki outfit, although the air conditioning was purring softly in the big, 
silent house. 

"Come on in, dear," he heard his Mistress say. 

"Yes, Mistress," he mumbled. He opened the door and stepped in. 

Stella Hartley's bedroom was dimly-lit, by the shaded bedside lamp. However, 
the young body was able to see the middle-aged woman clearly. She was 
standing beside her bed, smiling at him. Her long, glossy, raven-black hair 
was done up into a severe bun at the back of her head. Her lined but darkly 
attractive face was heavily made up. She wore her long, pink velour 
bathrobe. 

"Such a good little slave boy," she purred to Ronnie. "You obeyed your 
Mistress well. Very well. Your Mistress is pleased with you, dear." 

"Th-Thank you, Mistress," the mesmerized lad mumbled back. 

"Now, you're sure you explained everything correctly to your mother?" Stella 
probed, delicately. "You told her you were coming here to work on the skit 
for the banquet?" 

"I-I did, Mistress." 

"Good... and she accepted that?" 

"Yes, Mistress. She-She believed me." 

"I'm glad to hear that, dear," Stella murmured, her voice warm and husky. 
"This must remain our little secret. Now we're free to play our little 
games... those sexy little games we talked about in the office. Remember, 
dear?" 

Ronnie shuddered. "Y-Yes, Mistress," he stammered. 

"And you want to play them, don't you, dear?" 

"Ohhhh, yes-yes-" 

"All right, then... I want you to close your eyes, dear. Close them, and go 
into a deep sleep... sleep... " 

The thin, gawky body of the adolescent boy seemed to slump forward, slowly, 
and his head dropped, listlessly, his chin hitting his chest as he closed 
his eyes. The action caused his red Scout beret to topple off his head and 
land on the thick carpet softly. 

"Yes, dear... you're in a deep sleep... so deep... you are completely in my 
power... you will obey me, without questions, lovingly, obediently... 
because I am your Mistress... and you are my little slave... my love 
slave... " Stella's voice became quite husky with passion as she spoke, her 
eyes glittering with lewd, bizarre lust for the little boy. 

"Yes, Mistress," Ronnie muttered docilely, his voice thick, eyes closed. 

The middle-aged grandmother licked her lips with suppressed excitement. 
Quickly, her shapely hands worked at the knot of the loose, long robe she 
wore. As she did, she said, "Are you ready to service your Mistress, my 
darling? Are you ready to give her pleasure?" 

"Yes, yes," the sleeping, hypnotized teen muttered, excitement evident even 
in the monotone. 

"You little angel. Your Mistress will reward you well for your obedience." 
The tie-belt parted. Stella shrugged off the pink robe. It shimmered into a 
puddle at her feet. 

"Open your eyes, dear." 

Ronnie obeyed. Now he stared through hypnosis-glazed eyes at his Mistress. 
Those eyes widened, and he began to tremble violently, for his middle-aged 
den mother was the stuff of his hottest wet dreams. 

The tall, buxom, statuesque, middle-aged woman was nearly stark naked, her 
firm, nearly flawless flesh alabaster white, glowing somewhat in the gloom 
of the room. The black lace lingerie she wore contrasted vividly, erotically 
against it. 

Her melon-sized, meaty breasts were uplifted high in a black lace French 
half-bra. The stiff, frilly cups of the fetish bra cupped the mature woman's 
firm, pillowy breasts, covering the bottom swell of her bosom, but exposing 
the big black nipples and cleavage in stark relief. The hypnotized teenaged 
boy stared hungrily at his den mother's nipples in particular, the swollen 
aureole, the stiffening tips. Those large, firm, discoid breasts were 
erotically highlighted in the blace lace half bra. 

Stella Hartley's vulva was equally highlighted as well in a pair of skimpy, 
tight black lace panties. Only these undies were crotchless-the front of the 
garment sported a large opening in the translucent, frilly black lace that 
exposed the middle-aged woman's large, puffy, black haired cunt to her 
wide-eyed little den chief. Her curly black pubic hair resembled a furry 
pelt, framed in the frilled edges of the bizarre, crotchless panties. But 
the lad could make out the glistening pink lips of her labia, buried deep in 
the pubic hair there, resembling two rolls of meat not entirely pressed 
together. 

Pussy and open panties were framed erotically by the heavy black satin 
garter belt that hugged the middle-aged grandmother's hips. The bandeau was 
wide and shiny-black, with white lace fringes. The garter suspenders were 
thin and also fringed with white lace. They emerged from the legholes of her 
black lace crotchless panties, and striped her heavy, rounded thighs to 
about mid-thigh; there, gleaming chrome garter tabs pinched and pulled up 
the rolled welt tops of her hose. 

Ronnie Brown's glazed, hypnotized eyes widened more as they raked up and 
down his mature den mother's stocking-sheathed legs with fetishistic fervor. 

Stella's long, heavy, deliriously curved legs glittered and gleamed in a 
pair of ultra-sheer* seamed nylon stockings. The exquisite hosiery was of an 
inky, charcoal-grey tint, with a tight, tiny diamond-pattern woven into the 
gossamer nylon fabric. It rendered the middle-aged woman's long, lovely legs 
dark and glossy, the diamond mesh emphasizing their breathtaking shape. 
Stella wore her glittering, black patent leather pumps with the six-inch 
heels that dramatically highlighted the curvature of her 
beautifully-stockinged legs. 

Stella smiled warmly at the adolescent boy in the boy scout uniform as she 
watched him ogle her lingerie-clad form. "How do I look to you, dear?" she 
murmured. 

"R-Real good, M-Mistress," Ronnie stuttered with agitation. "You're so-so 
beautiful... " his voice trailed off into a whimper. 

Stella's smile widened, and her eyes grew humid as she gazed on her 
hypnotized little boy-slave. "Thank you, my darling. I can see how excited 
you are. I know how long you've dreamed of a woman who would wear sexy 
undies and stockings for you. Well, darling, your dream will come true. 
Tonight. Your Mistress will teach you the ways of love." 

"Y-Yes, Mistress. I-I want you to." 

"J know you do, dear... Now, it's time for you to take your clothes off for 
your Mistress." 

The lad gulped, trembled... but, slowly and haltingly obeyed her. 
Fumblingly, he undid his neckerchief, and unbuttoned his uniform shirt. 

"Put your things on the dressing table beside you," Stella ordered. "We 
mustn't get your uniform mussed." 

Ronnie obeyed her. He kicked off his shoes, and reached down and pulled off 
his socks. Then, trembling more, he unsnapped. the web belt buckle. He 
unbuttoned his pants, pulled down the fly. A moment later he was folding his 
kaki pants over the chair by her dressing table. 

"Now, dear, take off your shorts." Stella's eyes were brighter and her 
breathing had noticeably increased. 

The boy did so. His white cotton shorts skimmed down his skinny, hairless 
legs. He stepped out of them. 

"Oooooohhhhh," the middle-aged den mother sighed as she stared at her 
teenaged den chief's boycock. It was quite immature in development, but 
large and thick for a boy his age. She could make out a downy dusting of 
adolescent pubic hair around his scrotum. She licked her lips, slowly, as 
she continued to stare at Ronnie's childish penis. 

"Such a nice little cock you have, dear," Stella murmured huskily. 

"Th-Thank you, Mistress," Ronnie gulped. 

"Now, dear," Stella continued. "Do you remember that nice little chat we 
had? About all your sexy dreams?" 

"Yes, Mistress." 

"Good, good. Do you remember the part about how you love your mother so 
much? How you desire your mother's shapely body... especially her pretty 
legs? And especially when she's wearing sexy stockings and lingerie?" 

Stella had been watching Ronnie's cock as she spoke to him. She was rewarded 
by the sight of his adolescent penis throbbing, beginning to swell as she 
led him to think of his adored mother. 

"Yes... yes, Mistress," Ronnie gasped. 

"Since we talked, have you spied on your mother again?" 

"Y-Yes, Mistress." 

"Tell me about it, dear." 

The lad's face was flushing, and his cock began to throb harder. "She-she 
had just taken a bath, and she was in h-her bedroom. I-I was peeking through 
the hole I made in the wall. She-she was n-naked. I-I watcher her put on her 
bra, her p-panties, her garter belt and her-her-" Ronnie groaned and his 
stiffening cock gave a hard lurch. 

"You watched your mother roll her stockings up her pretty legs?" Stella 
prompted. 

"Yes-yes-" 

"You poor boy. I bet you were all excited. Did you put your hard little cock 
in one of your mother's nylons and masturbate?" 

"Yes, and I-I cleaned up real good afterward." 

"I'll bet you did, dear." Stella paused, then: "I'll be you also wanted to 
dress up in her undies, didn't you, dear?" 

"Oh, yes, yes," Ronnie replied, dreamily. "But I wasn't sure when she'd come 
back when she left." 

"Of course. Well, darling, your Mistress is going to let you have your 
chance tonight." 

"R-Really?" 

"Yes, dear... come over here, to the bed." 

The naked, trembling, adolescent boy walked slowly, trance-like, over to the 
large, queen-sized bed that dominated the bedroom. When the boy saw what was 
on the bed, he stopped and gasped. 

On the flat, ivory-white sheet of the large mattress lay a small, red satin 
garter belt, long, tan nylon stockings, and a pair of skimpy, red satin 
panties. 

Ronnie stared at the lingerie a moment. 

"Yes, dear," Stella cooed to him. "These are for you. For you to wear, dear. 
I ordered them specially from a store that specializes in transvestite 
fashions. They should fit you. Try them on, dear. I know you want to." 

The lad was shaking hard. 

"You sweet little lamb," Stella murmured sympathetically to him. "I know how 
excited you must feel. Here, I'll help you put the sexy things on." 

The erotically clad, dominant middle-aged woman walked over to where the 
naked little boy stood, her heavy, nylon-sheated thighs swishing together as 
she did. 

"Let's start with the pretty garter belt," she murmured, picking up the 
frilly garment. She slipped it around the boy's narrow waist, letting her 
hands slide pleasurably on his warm, smooth, young flesh. Ronnie trembled at 
her touch. Then she had the bandeau stretched around his bony hips, and 
affixed the back stays. The shiny, red satin garter belt fit him like a 
glove. 

For a moment, Stella surveyed the effect, the frilly, feminine garment on 
the boy's immature, adolescent body. A hard shiver went through her, and she 
felt wetness seeping from her cunt. She was already wet for the boy! 

"Now, honey," she cooed, her voice soft and warm and husky. "Now you can put 
on the sexy nylons." 

Ronnie trembled hard, his eyes glazing more as she stared at the 
dark-tinted, sheer stockings laying on the bed. Quickly, Stella picked up 
one of the gossamer nylon sheaths, bunched it in her hands. She bent over 
and slipped one of Ronnie's small, hairless feet into the foot of the 
stocking, carefully fitting his small toes and heel into the reinforced 
pads. Slowly, she drew the dark, sheer stocking up the boy's thin leg that 
had only the barest dusting of hair, rolling the dark welt over his bony 
knee, up his thigh. Ronnie assisted her, fumblingly, his face flushed with 
excitement. Now, she helped the teenaged boy attach the garter tabs to the 
rolled welt that was now high up his thighs. 

"Now the other stocking, darling," Stella murmured. 

A heartbeat later, the other lustrous, tan-tinted nylon stocking was 
sheathed tautly on Ronnie's other leg. 

"And the nice little panties, too," Stella added. 

It was hard to work the tight, slippery red satin panties over Ronnie's 
growing erection, but Stella managed it. The panties were skin-tight on the 
boy's loins, with the tenting bulge in the front that gave them a decided 
kinky appearance. Ronnie's face was glowing and his eyes were wide and 
worshipping as they gazed at his lingerie-clad Dominatrix. 

"Does it feel good to wear the sexy lingerie, dear?" Stella asked him, 
softly. 

"Ohhhh, Mistress-it's wonderful," Ronnie blurted, his hypnotized, glazed 
eyes bright. "I-I dreamed of this for so long-to be with you-like this-" 

"I know, my darling one," Stella replied in a sweet, loving tone of voice. 
"And your Mistress is excited, too. We're both going to have our fantasies 
fulfilled tonight." 

"Yes, Mistress." 

Stella was staring at her near naked, teenaged den chief, feeling her blood 
boil at the incredibly bizarre and erotic sight he presented, the red satin 
garter belt and panties on his childish body, the dark, shiny stockings on 
his thin legs, the way the garter suspenders framed his erecting boycock... 
The lust-fire was building up in her loins. She was burning to fuck the 
little boy. Now. 

"Oh, honey," she murmured softly to the little panty slave standing before 
her. "Your Mistress is feeling so hot and horny for her little lover. She's 
about ready to burn up. How do you feel, honey? The same?" 

Ronnie's eyes were ogling her big, meaty breasts in the black lace half bra, 
her big, hairy cunt framed in the crotchless, black lace panties and garter 
belt, her long, lovely legs in the sooty, black mesh stockings and 
spike-heeled pumps on her feet. The bulge in his red satin panties was much 
bigger now; "Yes, Mistress," he breathed. 

She held out her hand. "Then let's come to bed, darling. We have all evening 
to play... " 

Barbara Horton stiffened in her seat in the dark, stuffy movie theatre. 
Although she and; her husband and son were watching what was supposed to be 
an exciting action film, her reaction wajs not caused by anything happening 
up on the screen. 

She had felt her son, Bobby's, little hand brush against her nylon-clad 
knee. And a wave of irrepressible arousal had washed over her. 

Miles had left to buy the usual popcorn and soda for them, and mother and 
son were sitting quite alone at one corner of the theatre. 

Barbara wondered if the action was accidental. If it was, she was getting 
all excited for nothing. But if it wasn't... No! she told herself. Bobby was 
just a little boy, barely out of diapers-and her own son! She couldn't... 
she couldn't... 

Those thoughts were driven aside as she felt his hand rest softly once again 
on one of her nylon-sheathed knees. 

Once again she stiffened, arousal twisting knots in her belly. 

The little hand hesitated there a moment... then it began to travel up her 
warm, firm thigh, stroking her gauzy, smooth nylon stocking and the satiny 
flesh beneath... 

Dear God! Barbara thought. The sweet little lamb wants me as much as I want 
him! 

She knew she should remove his hand, and admonish him. But she couldn't... 
his very touch made her heart beat faster... and she knew the front of her 
panties were getting moist... 

His hand moved higher up her stockinged thigh, touching the hem of her 
skirt... it began to push up that hem... 

Then Miles was standing beside them, bearing cardboard boxes of popcorn and 
cups of soft drinks. "I'm back with the loot," she heard him whisper. 

"Fine, dear," she whispered back. She didn't have to tell Bobby to remove 
his hand. He had already done so... 

Meanwhile, young Ronnie Brown's hand was deep between her mother's spread, 
stocking-clad legs, stroking her hairy pussy framed in the black lace 
crotchless panties as they lay together on her large bed. And Stella's hand 
was between the young boy's own stocking-clad legs, softly frigging his 
swelling, stiffening boycock. His little red satin panties lay on the carpet 
beside the bed. 

The two of them, the middle-aged woman clad in black lace French bra, 
crotchless panties, satin garter belt, long, sooty-black stockings and 
glittering high heels, and the teenaged boy bizarrely attired in red satin 
garter belt and tan-shaded nylon stockings, had kissed, caressed, a long, 
slow time. At this moment, their lips were sealed in a deep, probing soul 
kiss. Young Ronnie's head was swimming at the feeling of his den mother's 
soft but firm breasts pressing on his naked chest, her hard nipples scraping 
against his flesh there, and of her warm hand slowly but expertly fingering 
his throbbing cock, pumping at it with firm strokes. 

Stella felt her insides squirm hotly as she kissed and kissed the young boy, 
passionately. His little, inexperienced hand was making her pussy ooze out 
the steaming love liquid from between her palpitating pussy lips. His hard 
little childish body felt delicious against her, and even his childish 
kisses were making her blood boil. Once again, her pedophiliac lust was 
sending her to homy heaven. 

Woman and boy's faces were flushing and shiny with sweat, their eyes closed, 
their lips joined, fused with lust, kissing and kissing, moaning with 
mounting passion. Now Stella slipped her tongue into Ronnie's mouth, like a 
snake. It wandered all around his mouth, hotly, until it found his tongue. 
Ronnie groaned. Now the middle-aged tongue and the adolescent tongue were 
intermingling together sweetly as they French-kissed, on and on... 

At length, the middle-aged woman broke off that burning kiss, coming up for 
air. Her lips found Ronnie's ear. "Ohhhh, my little darling, your Mistress 
is so hot for you... so wet for you... can you feel how wet, darling?" 

"Yes-yes-" Ronnie gasped. His penis was fully erect now, stiff and swollen 
with arousal, throbbing urgently in her pumping hand. 

"I'm wet for you, darling... your Mistress' pussy is all ready to receive 
your sweet little cock... mmmmmmm, it's so big and hard, darling... " 

"Ohhhhh, Mistress," Ronnie groaned. "It's so hard, it hurts, it hurts-" 

"I know, darling. You're so horny. So am I, dear, There's so many nice 
things we can do, dear, and we will, we will. Another time, very soon. But 
now I want my little virgin slave to put his sweet cock in his Mistress' 
pussy and have a nice big cum with her." Stella kissed the boy's shell-like 
ear. "All right, darling?" 

"Ohhhhh yes-yes-Mistress-" Ronnie groaned. 

The middle-aged den mother released her adolescent den chief's throbbing 
cock. "Climb on top of me, dear," she murmured softly. 

Gasping and groaning, the trembling teenaged boy mounted the mature, 
statuesque woman. He climbed on top her her slowly, his hard little hairless 
chest mashing down on her firm, spongy breasts in the tight, black lace half 
bra, his flat tummy merging with her rounded belly, his naked loins tingling 
pleasurably against the slippery satin of her garter belt and the cobwebby 
lace of her crotchless panties. The lad's small hands grabbed hold of her 
flesh-padded hips hard as she wrapped her heavy arms against his thin neck, 
crushing his hard little skinny body down against her larger, softer body. 
His garter belt-framed little hairless buttocks hovered between her raised, 
black mesh stocking-sheathed legs. Her stockinged feet in the high-heeled 
black patent leather pumps were flat on the bed, the spike heels digging 
into the mattress. 

Ronnie's hanging cock throbbed and throbbed, poised over the middle-aged 
woman's cunt framed by the black lace crotchless panties. 

"Ummmmm, you feel so good on top of me, darling," Stella cooed to him now. 
"So good. Now you're going to have your first fuck, darling. It's going to 
be so good." 

"Yes-yes, Mistress," Ronnie panted as he stared down at her with his glazed, 
hypnotized eyes. Now, he saw her heavily made up eyes close. He groaned as 
he felt her hand close around his throbbing cock. 

"Now, darling," she breathed. "Now, my darling." 

Slowly, she urged his stiff, swollen adolescent penis down, down to her 
steaming, middle-aged cunt. Just as slowly, the lad's small, garter 
belt-framed buttocks sank deep between the woman's raised, encircling legs 
so dark and glossy in the sheer, dark-tinted nylon stockings. 

Woman and boy both groaned at the first contact of cock and cunt. Ronnie 
felt his throbbing, engorged prick slice into his den mother's wet, hot 
hole, felt her velvety labia lips grip softly around his cock root. He 
groaned again and thrust forward, inserting his penis into her vagina inch 
by throbbing inch. 

"Ooooooohhh, sweet darling-" Stella moaned, deeply, as she felt her guts 
twist, spasmodically, at the feeling of the boy's cock entering her. "That's 
r.i g h t - o o o o o h h h h h - s w e e t, sweet lover-deeper-deeper in 
me-" The boy obeyed. With a loud groan, his garter belt-framed buttocks sank 
the rest of the way between her now-quivering, stocking-clad legs, his 
abdomen smacking against hers as his stiff, swollen prick slipped to the 
root into her hairy cunt hole, his little ball sac slapping against her 
black lace-covered buttocks. 

"UHHHHH-UHHHHHH-MISTRESS-IT'S SO-SO-" the teenaged den chief groaned 
helplessly to his middle-aged den mother beneath him as his pounding little 
cock soaked deep in her womb, her velvety cunt sheath gripping and stroking 
hot, wetly, exquisitely. The lad groaned again as he felt his cock become 
itchy with the stimulation, begin to grow even more stiff, even more swollen 
inside her steamy hole. 

"YES, SWEET BABY, IT'S SO GOOD-" Stella moaned back to Ronnie, her abdomen 
upheaving spasmodically, lifting the boy up, somewhat, affording even more 
deep penetration of his childish penis into her. God, she loved balling 
little boys! Ronnie was a few years older than Bobby, but his immaturity was 
making the lust-fire blaze in her womb, stoked by his small, but exciting 
penile shaft. The bizarre, depraved act itself turned her on-as well as the 
thrill of dominating and using the adorable little lambs for her own 
pleasure. Awakening Ronnie's secret transvestite tendencies was an added 
plus. Now, Stella moaned again as she felt the boy's throbbing cock begin to 
move in the loving grasp of her oily cunt sheath. 

"THAT'S RIGHT, DARLING, MOVE-MOVE-IN AND OUT-OHHH YES-OOOOOOHHHHH-" The 
virgin boy, sweating and groaning, obeyed his Mistress. He began to pump his 
white little naked buttocks, framed so bizarrely by the thin, black, frilly 
farter belt that encircled his small waist and extended down his thin 
thighs, pumping slowly, hotly, between Stella's raised, black mesh 
stocking-sheathed legs. His little tummy was beginning to slap and slap 
against her soft, yielding stomach. And his erect adolescent cockpole began 
to work in and out of her large, hairy cunt hole. 

"OOOOOHHHH-OOOOOHHHH-" Stella groaned as the exquisite friction sent hot 
sparks radiating throughout her hypersensitive body. She felt her mind 
whirling with fierce, depraved pleasure, her pedophiliac lust totally 
gratified. She closed her heavily made-up eyes now and lay her black head on 
the cottony pillow, letting the pleasure consume her, letting her body heave 
and buck and strain as she fucked and fucked the little boy on top of her. 

Ronnie's brain was buzzing with hot fever, the new feelings and sensations 
overpowering him. His body seemed to have a mind of its own as it 
instinctively pumped and pumped down on the soft, warm, fleshy body of the 
middle-aged woman beneath him. Through sweat-blurred eyes, he watched his 
Mistress close her eyes, her large, wrinkled, but lovely face glowing with 
hot passion and twisting with it. Then the boy groaned again and dropped his 
head on one of her firm, spongy, black lace-covered breasts, closing his 
eyes, too. The garter belt was tight on his jerking, straining little body, 
but not unpleasantly so, and the skin-tight nylon stockings made his legs 
tingle erotically. Her burning, clutching, oily pussy sheath continued to 
massage his pounding boycock, as he thrust and thrust and thrust into her, 
his adolescent male weight massing down on her as he did. 

The dim, silent bedroom was now filled with the moans and groans of woman 
and boy as the middle-aged den mother, clad in black lace French bra, 
crotchless panties, satin garter belt attached to the inky, black 
diamond-mesh nylon stockings that glowed on her long, shapely legs and spike 
high-heeled pumps that glittered on her stockinged feet jerked and heaved 
against the thin, smaller, gawky body of the adolescent boy on top of her, 
his white-skinned, youthfully masculine form contrasting vividly with the 
red satin garter belt on his hips and the lustrous tan nylon stockings on 
his legs. 

"UHHHHH-MISTRESS-" Ronnie gasped as he felt his boycock begin to lurch and 
lurch, hard, as it continued stabbing into her steaming cunt hole. That 
little cock pole was listening with the middle-aged woman's love liquid as 
it poured feverishly from that cunt hole, and her fluttering pink cunt lips 
were actually climbing on the boy's shaft, drawing him in, into her, again 
and again. The lad felt his guts rumble, his thing becoming almost painfully 
stiff and swollen, his whole body jerking with hard, body-killing spasms. 
Still, his garter belt-framed bottom kept pumping passionately between her 
trembling, stocking-sheathed legs, and his immensely erect prick kept 
spearing into his Mistress' drooling, palpitating pussy. 

"UHHHHHH-U HHHHHHHH-MISTRESS-" the teenaged boy gasped again, still in the 
grip of the hypnotic trance she held him over, despite the haze of lust that 
enveloped his mind. "MY THING-UHHHHHH-IT'S SO HARD-UHHHHHHH-" 

"GOD YES-YES-DARLING BOY-" Stella moaned back to him, nearly insane with the 
fiery climax that was building in her own loins. "YOUR HARD COCK IS GOING TO 
CUMMMMMMM-OHHH-CUMMMM FOR YOUR MISTRESS-OOOOHHHH-OOOOHHHHH-AND YOU'RE GOING 
TO MAKE YOUR MISTRESS CUMMMM, TOOOOOOO-" The middle-aged den mother crushed 
her little den chief against her, passionately, as she ground the spike 
heels of her glittering black pumps into the mattress, upheaving her abdomen 
to meet his, they met in mid-air smackingly, his steel-hard boy cock 
plunging forcefully into her depths, again, again, again. Spasmodically, her 
heavy, nylon-sheathed thighs clamped about Ronnie's bobbing buttocks. The 
lad groaned desperately at the feeling of his Mistress' gauzy, 
scratchy-smooth nylon stockings rubbing exquisitely against his naked hips 
as he continued pumping and pumping his cock into her, mindless with fuck 
fever. The feeling of the stockings on his own legs tingled madly as they 
slid smoothly against the mattress only increased that fever. 

"UHHHHH-GOSH-GOSH-UHHHHHH-" 

"OOOOOOHHH-SO GOOD-GOOD-" Woman and boy fucked and fucked- Meanwhile, 
Stella's mature daughter, Barbara, was finding it hard to keep still in her 
seat at the theatre. But, she knew she had to... her husband, Miles, staring 
avidly at the screen beside her, must not see what their son, Bobby, sitting 
on the other side of her in the darkened theatre, was doing. 

Yet it was driving her out of her mind, making her cunt grow wetter and 
wetter, moistening the front of her lace panties. 

For her son had resumed his slow, adoring feeling up of his mother's heavy, 
shapely, nyloned thigh. And his little hand was pushing the hem of her skirt 
up high, explosing a large expanse of her smooth, firm thigh flesh, dark and 
glossy in her fine-denier nylon hose. 

Her young son's trembling little hand was now reaching the bunched, rolled 
welt top of the stocking and the clips of her garter suspenders. Bobby's 
palm prickled deliciously as it rubbed hissingly on the tight, silky mesh of 
the sheer nylon, also feeling the warm, satiny flesh beneath the filmy 
gauze. 

Barbara was seething inside, using will power to keep still in the theatre 
seat. But her child's hand on her thigh was sending little, persistent 
electrical thrills through her. She wanted to grasp the boy, crush him to 
her, wrap her body around his. 

She didn't, however. 

Instead, she placed a soft warm hand on her son's stroking hand. She felt 
him tremble. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, trying to convey all her * 
love and understanding in the gesture. 

Bobby stopped trembling. Instead, his little hand slipped into hers. 

Now mother and son watched the movie. 

"UHHHHH-I-I-GOSH-UHHHHHHH-" the teenaged den chief groaned, deliriously, as 
he drove his sweating, shaking body down, forcefully, on the body of the 
middle-aged den mother beneath him, plunging his bloated, stiff penile shaft 
to the root into her creaming, spasming mount of Venus. The lad collapsed 
totally atop the erotically clad woman. He began to groan even louder now as 
he felt his organ begin to jolt and jolt inside her, and he felt the 
white-hot fluid shoot from his quivering little balls and spurt into her 
womb- 'OOOOOOHHHHH-OOOOOOHHH-" Stella screamed, piercingly, her body in a 
series of spasms, as the lad's copious cum in her triggered her own 
explosive orgasm. She bucked and heaved, like a wild mare, carrying the 
adolescent boy with her. Streams and streams of boiling semen spilled inside 
her from her jerking, shuddering virgin cock. 

"YES HONEY-CUM IN YOUR MISTRESS-CUM-CUM-OOOOO-OOOOOOOHHH-" 

"UHHHHHH-MISTRESS-I-I'M CUMMING INSIDE YOU-UHHHHHHHH-" Her glimmery, dark 
stocking-sheathed legs wrapped around the teenaged boy's jolting, sweating 
body, they rocked and rocked on her spacious mattress, cumming and 
cumming... 

CHAPTER SIX 

It was a hot, muggy day that Saturday. 

But the air conditioner in Mona Washington's newly built duplex apartment 
was quite efficient. Thus, the brightly wallpapered, pleasant little living 
room was cool and comfortable. 

Although Stella Hartley had promised her daughter to take her grandson Bobby 
out to get a haircut, she had made a quick detour to Mona's place-as 
prearranged in her office. And the proceedings within indicated that detour 
would be well worth while. 

At that moment, the action was taking place in the living room. Both her 
little grandson, Bobby, and Mona's son, Rufus, who was around Bobby's age 
and size, were sitting side-by-side on the low-slung, red velveteen couch. 
Rufus, like Bobby, was small and skinny and gawky in his adolescence, his 
skin the same deep ebony shade as his mother's. If anything, his Negroid 
features were a bit more pronounced than his mother's, with his kinky-haired 
little head, broad-splayed nostrils and thick, but immature lips. Like his 
white school chum, he was dressed in the usual T-shirt, sneakers and jeans. 

The little white boy and the little black boy were sitting side-by-side 
quietly on the couch. Their eyes were closed, their heads slumped forward, 
both deeply entwined in the powerful hypnotic trance Stella had just put 
them under. 

"That's the way, boys... Bobby... Rufus... sleep... sleep... obey your 
Mistress and sleep... " The middle-aged grandmother's soft, warm, but firm 
voice droned. 

Her grandson and her black girl friend's son slumped even further on the 
couch, deeply entranced. 

The buxom, middle-aged black teacher whistled, softly, from where she sat on 
a recliner covered with the same fabric as the couch. "God, Stella, you sure 
know your stuff! You're faster than a hypnotist I saw in a cocktail lounge 
once. It's like you're talking with your Bobby and my Rufus one minute, 
and-pow!-the next minute you put them under. Girl, I'm impressed!" 

"Why, thank you, Mona," the mature white woman replied from where she stood 
in front of the couch. "But I learned under real experts at the University. 
Besides, as I told you, young boys are so impressionable and malleable. 
They're categorically easy to hypnotize and manipulate. And, remember, I've 
had Bobby under hypnosis before." 

"I know you have, girl," Mona replied with a smirk. "You know, I can hardly 
believe it. You balling your own grandson! It's so-so kinky!" 

Stella laughed, musically. "Yes, and you and your little fantasies about 
little white boys! And you admitted you've had 'kinky' thoughts about your 
own son, here." 

Mona laughed, too. "Uh-huh! You're right, Stel-we're both a couple of horny 
old bitches!" 

"No argument there." 

Stella surveyed the two sleeping boys on the couch with a glow of 
satisfaction in her intense black eyes. Her mature, fulsome, statuesque 
figure was wrapped tightly in a sleeveless, midi-length, light pastel-green 
spring dress. Her glossy black hair was again done up in the severe bun at 
the back of her head, and skillfully applied makeup made her dark, mature, 
somewhat wrinkled features provocative. Beneath the hem of the clingy dress, 
her nice knees, shapely calves and trim ankles were sooty and sleek in sheer 
black nylon stockings, and her large but shapely feet were poised in her 
glittering, black patent-leather pumps with the wicked spike heels. 

Mona's shorter, but ripe and curvaceous mature black form was wrapped in a 
long, loose, pink quilted housecoat. But her hair was carefully brushed back 
flowingly over her shoulders, and heavy make up accented the dark beauty of 
the middle-aged black woman's heart-shaped face. 

At this moment, the middle-aged black woman was staring, hard, at the 
sleeping, adolescent white boy seated next to her son, with moist, lustful 
eyes. 

"I guess I am sort of trading my son for sex," she murmured. "And what we're 
doing would get us in jail for a long time if anyone found out-not to 
mention our jobs at school." Now, she licked her thick, red-painted lips, 
her eyes still on Bobby. "But I've always wanted a young white cock to play 
with, ever since I started teaching in the integrated schools. Damn, Stel, 
my panties are getting wet right now just thinking about having your little 
grandson in bed with me. And, hell, I have to admit it-the thought of you 
and my son together makes me kind of horny, too!" 

Stella nodded. "I know just what you mean, Mona. I've found there's nothing 
better than a sweet little innocent trembling lamb of a boy to turn me on. 
And I've always had rather an itch for young black meat. So, you see, dear, 
we'll be making each other's fantasies come to life. And that's when you 
have great sex, Mona. Believe it." 

"Don't I know it. And your having the boys hypnotized makes it a lot better, 
it seems to me. They won't really be conscious of-of-t;his, and-" here she 
gave a little shudder of excitement-"they'll do anything we want. They'll 
sort of be our sex slaves!" 

"That's right, Mona. You could call it icing on the cake." 

"Mmmmmmm, and white cake, too," Mona sighed. 

Now she stood up. "Say, girl, let's get this show on the road... before my 
panties get soaking wet!" 

Stella smiled devilishly. "You're not the only one with wet panties around 
here. And I agree." 

So saying, the mature, white woman turned to her sitting, sleeping grandson. 
"Bobby, dear," she cooed to him. 

"Yes, Mistress," the lad muttered back. 

"You're going to go now with your other Mistress, your new Mistress, Mona. 
And you will obey her just as you obey me. Do you understand, dear?" 

"Yes, Mistress," Bobby replied. 

"That's a good boy. Now, dear, I want you to stand up and go to her." 

Slowly, the little white boy opened his glazed eyes and stood up. With slow, 
hesitant steps, much in the manner of a sleepwalker, he made his way to 
where Mona sat. The mature black woman now stood up herself at his approach. 
She was now quivering visibly with excitement, and her dark eyes were humid 
with hot, lewd lust for the little adolescent white boy. 

"That's right, Bobby, sweetheart," Mona murmured to him huskily. "Come to 
your Mistress. Come to me." 

"Yes-yes, Mistress," Bobby answered her. 

Mona sighed, soulfully, as the lad stopped in front of her, very close to 
her. Her tremors of arousal were quite apparent now, and her eyes seemed to 
flash with passion. She reached out with a shapely black hand and softly 
stroked the white boy's forehead. 

"Sweet little white honey-child," she sighed, her voice catching with her 
arousal. "My darling little boy. We're going to have lots of fun today, 
sweetheart. Aren't we?" 

"Y-Yes, Mistress," the thoroughly hypnotized and dominated white child 
replied, submissively. 

"You darling," she cooed to him. 

Now her elegant, long-nailed black fingers began to unbutton the shapeless 
thin house dress. A heartbeat later, she shrugged it off. It floated to the 
carpet. 

The hypnotized white boy began to tremble as he stared with wide, glazed 
eyes at his black Mistress. 

For her mature, shapely, ebony body was erotically enhanced by a skin-tight, 
frilly satin corselette of a deep burgundy red hue. The black lace fringed 
bra cups of the tight, form-fitting foundation garment held the quivering 
fullness of her jumbo-sized, perfectly shaped breasts tightly, with the 
hilly upper mounds of her black breasts exposed. A pair of burgundy red 
satin panties just as tightly gripped her loins, and the Negro woman's big, 
protuberant cunt visibly protruded from the front of them. Underneath, thin, 
shirred, burgundy red garter suspenders stretched down from the corselette 
hem, down her heavy, shapely black thighs, down to where they were attached 
snugly to the welt tops of a pair of cobwebby, full-fashioned, opera-length 
black fishnet stockings. The tight net mesh of the sensuous hosiery was a 
deeper black than her smooth skin, and thus deliciously outlined and 
enhanced the middle-aged black woman teacher's long, shapely legs. The 
high-heeled pumps on her largish, stockinged feet were the same color as her 
shiny tight corse\t and panties. 

"Do you like your Mistress in her sexy underthings?" Mona asked the now 
trembling little white boy. 

"Yes-ohhhhh, yes, Mistress," the fetishistic lad replied, fervently. "I 
really do... gosh... " His wide, staring, ogling eyes confirmed his words. 

"Oooooooh, darling, I guess you really are a little panty freak," Mona 
teased him. 

"I-I guess so, Mistress." 

"Well, Mona," Stella, who had been watching this interchange with glittering 
eyes, called out, "do you accept our little arrangement?" 

"Umm-hmmm-you bet I do girl-to hell with the consequences!" Mona took 
Bobby's band. "Let's go, sweetheart. Let's go beddy-bye." 

"Yes, Mistress." 

Stella watched the middle-aged black woman teacher eagerly lead her 
adolescent white grandson to one of the two bedrooms down the hall. Then she 
turned to the still sleeping, little black boy, sitting on the couch. 

"Now Rufus, dear... She began... 

A little while later, the bizarre arrangement was off and running, much to 
the two women's satisfaction. 

The voluptuous middle-aged white woman was standing beside the bed in the 
bedroom next to the one Mona and Bobby occupied. Beside her stood the 
skinny, adolescent little black boy. Rufus was naked now, his clothes neatly 
draped over a nearby chair. His thin, gawky, childish body glistened 
blackly, already forming a sheen of sweat. In fact, the Negro boy was 
trembling slightly, his big eyes round with wonder. He had just helped the 
taller, mature white woman slip off her dress, which was also folded over 
the chair. He was devouring the immensely arousing sight of buxom, fleshy 
white form adorned with a well-packed, black lace bra, skimpy black lace 
panties, thin black elastic garter belt, and long, sooty, glossy black nylon 
stockings on her long, beautifully shaped legs with her feet shod in 
glittering black open-toed, spike-heeled sandals. 

"You're trembling, darling," Stella murmured to the black lad. "Do you like 
your Mistress like this? Do my underthings make you excited?" 

"Yes... yes... " Rufus sighed, his eyes traveling slowly up and down the 
white woman's lovely legs, so smooth and sleek in the filmy, dark-tinted 
nylons. 

"Ohhh, you little darling. Your Mistress understands your thing for sweet, 
lacy women's undies. They do make everything so sexy and exciting, don't 
they?" 

"They-They do... they do... " 

Now Stella reached behind her. "Let's get a few things off, dear, and we'll 
have all sorts of fun." 

Her nimble fingers quickly unhooked the back catches of the bra. It seemed 
to jump from her bosom, so tight was it, and she slipped it down her arms. 
In a micro-second the black boy was staring at the older white woman's naked 
breasts as they quivered and bounced on her chest when she dropped the 
skimpy black lace bra on the chair. 

And Stella was staring lustfully at the little Negro lad's boycock, so small 
and smooth-fleshed and hairless. It wasn't quite so small now; it was 
swelling, stiffening, erecting. Stella felt her loins tingle as she saw how 
she was turning Rufus on. 

"Now my lacy little panties, dear," she murmured. She reached down and 
pushed the tight, skimpy garment down, from her wide splayed hips, down, 
down, over her protuberant buttocks. Rufus' eyes widened and he gasped as he 
stared at the mature white woman's hairy cunt, the furry triangle nestled 
between her smooth white thighs, with her pink labia glistening wetly amidst 
the curly black pubic hair. The Negro child also watched her gossamer 
panties slip sleekly down her long, heavily curved legs in the glittering 
black nylons and become a black lace puddle at her high-heel shod feet. 

Now the middle-aged white woman was standing before the trembling little 
adolescent black boy, naked save for her black garter belt, sheer black 
stockings and open-toed spike heeled sandals. "Now, honey boy," Stella 
murmured lovingly. "Shall I take off my nylons, too? Hmmmmmm?" 

"No... please... please... k-keep them on... " Rufus panted. 

"Ooooooohhh, that's so sexy, darling," Stella replied softly. "Then I will. 
We'll have even more fun that way... " 

Slowly, Stella sat down on the bed, her big, naked ass sinking deep into the 
mattress. She smiled warmly at Rufus standing before her, his little black, 
childish body shaking, his black boycock throbbing and throbbing, getting 
harder and harder. 

"Come here, darling," she murmured. 

On unsteady, rubbery legs, the hypnotized boy obeyed. Now he was but inches 
from where she sat. 

"Touch my breasts, darling," she breathed, staring into the Negro lad's 
glazed, agitated, hypnotized eyes. 

Rufus gasped, began to tremble more. 

"Go on, dear. I know you want to." 

Slowly, Rufus' small, black hands reached down. Gingerly, they closed on her 
huge, discoid, white breasts. Those small black hands tried to cup the 
heavy, meaty white milkbags, but they were too large. Instead, he ran his 
hands over the buttery soft, firm but yielding white orbs, stroking the 
white woman's tits softly. Stella moaned at his childish touch. 

"Ohhh, yes, dear... they feel so good, don't they? Feels good to me, too... 
see how you're making my nipples get big and hard?" 

The black boy's wide, glazed eyes riveted on the white woman's big black 
teats. The nipples were swelling, visibly, the tips beginning to erect, 
standing out like pencil erasers. Now, she kicked off her spike-heeled 
sandals. 

Now, with another deep, soulful moan, Stella's heavy white arms wrapped 
around the child's skinny black body. She pulled him down, down, her lips 
finding his. Now, they rolled together on the bed, the naked, little 
adolescent black boy and the middle-aged white woman, naked, too, except for 
the black lace garter belt and glittering black nylon stockings... 

Meanwhile, the middle-aged black teacher, Mona, and the little white boy, 
Bobby, were on the bed in the adjoining bedroom. 

Mona was groaning and moaning with ecstasy, nearly insane with passion at 
having her burning sexual fetish for little white boys being fulfilled so 
deliciously. 

She held little Bobby in a tight embrace, kissing and kissing him 
passionately. Her thick, Negroid lips were fused with his thin little ones, 
in deep, hot contact. Her tongue was languidly exploring inside his mouth, 
wandering all about. Now it met his little tongue. She moaned and moaned as 
she French-kissed the white boy. 

Her shapely black hands were roaming over Bobby's white, smooth, hairless 
flesh, rapturously, caressing him all over. Then her arms gripped him in a 
tight embrace, pressing her corset-clad body against him again and again. 
And the mature black woman continued kissing and kissing the adolescent 
white boy, nearly breathless with heady excitement. 

Bobby began to moan and moan, too, at the big black woman's intoxicating 
kisses, and the feeling of her satin corset-covered black body, so firm and 
yet so soft, engulfing his like a warm, fleshy blanket. 

Mona broke off that soul kiss, and murmured softly to the little white boy 
in her arms, "Ooooohhh, baby, that's so good. I'll bet your grandma taught 
you to kiss like that, didn't she? Mmmmmmm. I'll bet she taught you to do 
other things real good, too... " 

In response, Bobby moaned. A small, white hand began to roam over one of the 
middle-aged black woman's heavy rounded thighs, stroking that firm, satiny 
flesh and the cobwebby fishnet stocking that encased it. 

"Feel good, honey?" Mona breathed. "You're really turned on by hose and 
heels, aren't you? Your grandma has such beautiful legs. Tell me, are my 
legs nice, too?" 

"Yes-yes, Mistress," the lad sighed, and he continued to caress the tight 
mesh that was a second skin on that shapely black thigh. 

"You little flatterer," Mona replied, huskily. She pressed her thick, 
red-painted lips against the thin, small lips of the hypnotized white child. 
Their tongues played. 

Meanwhile, her hands were busy. One softly caressed the smooth, hairless 
babylike flesh of the boy's small, naked buttocks. Her other shapely, black 
hand stole down his flat tummy. Now it grasped his little white cock. 

Bobby broke off the fiery kiss and groaned urgently, as he felt his organ 
begin to throb hard in her soft, warm grasp, swelling, hardening with rut. 

"Ooooooohhhh, that's what turns me on, sugar," Mona whispered in his ear. 
"Little white cocks. Hard little white cocks. And yours is already so big 
and stiff. And I know your grandma taught you how to use it... " 

The middle-aged teacher's black hand was now sliding up and down the length 
of that white, childish penis, frigging it softly. She expertly manipulated 
the supersensitive organ, with small squeezes and strokes, inflaming it, 
making it throb and swell and stiffen more and more. 

Mona stared at the pulsating white prick in her hand, her eyes glittering 
with hot lust. She licked her thick lips, slowly, lewdly. "Mmmmmmm. You have 
such a sweet little cock, baby boy. I've just got to kiss it." 

Bobby moaned. He continued moaning, and trembling, as the erotically clad 
mature black woman slid down on the mattress, and began to kiss all over his 
thin, hairless little chest, worrying his tiny nipples with her tongue. Now 
she kissed his flat, hairless belly, and kissed lower, reaching his loins. A 
heart beat later, she smoothly, softly kissed his erect penis as it flopped 
about on his belly, throbbing and throbbing. Now she took that childish cock 
pole into her mouth. 

"Uhhhhh-Uhhhhhhh-" Bobby groaned, desperately, bucking his loins at the hot, 
wet contact of his cock and her mouth. 

Mona moaned, the sound muffled boy the boy's cock in her mouth. She held the 
little organ entirely in her moist oral cavity, a moment. Then her thick, 
painted lips began to stroke wetly, up and down, up and down that little 
cock pole, her lips squeezing around it. She began to suck, her cheeks 
collapsing inwardly with the effort. 

"Uhhhhhhh-Gosh-uhhhhhh-" her little white boy slave groaned and groaned. 

Mona's black head was bobbing, her eyes closed, her cheeks fluttering, as 
she continued sucking the child's erecting penis. The little fleshy pole 
glistened with her saliva as her pressing soft lips worked up and down it, 
slowly, exquisitely. She reached the small, flaring cockhead, then lowered, 
taking the cock meat entirely into her mouth. Then she reached the hairless 
root of his cock. She repeated the process. 

The adolescent, naked white boy lay back on her bed, shaking hard, sweat 
popping out on his skin, groaning and groaning at the intense pleasure that 
consumed him. The middle-aged black woman's lips were a ring of fire around 
his prick, inflaming it, making it swell and grow and stiffen into nearly 
painful erection. It made him think of the many times his grandmother had 
sucked his cock, and the hot thought made his organ jerk spasmodically in 
Mona's steaming mouth. 

And the pedophiliac, middle-aged black woman felt her head roaring with 
intense pleasure, her guts rumbling already with gratification. The trickle 
that had started between her mesh-stockinged legs was a steady stream of hot 
love liquid. She reached a hand to softly masturbate her drooling cunt hole, 
nd she continued sucking that throbbing little white cock. 

For a little while, the heavy, bizarre love-play continued with the little 
naked white boy and the middle-aged black woman, her ebony beauty enhanced 
by the burgundy red erotic corset and the tight-mesh, fishnet stockings... 

"AHHHHH-GEE-UHHHHHHH-" 

"OOOOHHHH -THAT'S THE WAY DARLING-OOOOHHHHH-IT'S SO GOOD-YOU LEARN SO 
FAST-OOOOOOOHHHHHH-" Mona's son, little black Rufus, was moaning and 
moaning, too, as he was now losing his virginity to the sexily clad, 
middle-aged white woman beneath him. 

He was pressing down on the soft, yielding body of his Mistress, sweating 
and straining, his childish mind completely befogged by the new, ecstatic 
sensations buffeting his nerve-endings. 

His little black hands were gripping hard at the white woman's wide-splayed, 
fleshy hips, just below the stretched taut black lace bandeau of her garter 
belt. His kinky-haired little black head was resting on her large, firm, 
naked white breasts. 

And his pinched, hairless little black bottom was pumping, jerkily, between 
the mature white woman's raised, enclosing, glossily-stockinged legs. He was 
thrusting his adolescent black boy cock, hard and heavily, in and out of her 
squishy middle-aged cunt hole. 

"OOOOOOHHHHH-THAT'S THE WAY, HONEY-" Stella called up to Rufus, passion 
hoarsening her voice. "KEEP PUSHING IT IN AND OUT OF ME-OOOOHHHHH- 
OOOOHHHHHHH-IT'S SO GOOD, ISN'T IT-OOOHHHHHHHH-THAT'S THE WAY TO FUCK YOUR 
MISTRESS-OOOOOHHHHH-OOOOOHHHHHHH-" Rufus only moaned in reply. His eyes were 
closed and his mouth was panting as his sweating little black body seemed to 
work mindlessly, humping and humping against hers, pumping his hard, 
engorged cock in and out of the grasping, burning, moist hole that massaged 
and inflamed his organ, sending hot flashes up and down his spine, making 
his head swim. In his hypnotized mind, the adolescent virgin was obeying his 
Mistress, although the fantastic pleasure threatened to engulf him. 

Stella was nearly engulfed herself by the delicious experience of balling 
the adolescent black boy. Although his movements were awkward and clumsy, 
that very fact caused the lewd lust fire to blaze in her loins. His stiff 
little black cock was working frenziedly in her womb, making her steaming 
cunt fluid flow like lava and stoking the orgasm that was building up inside 
her. She nearly crushed the lad against her in her pleasure, laying back her 
head and moaning- " O O O O O OHHHHH-HONE Y-THAT'S THE WAY -OOOOHHHHH-KEEP 
FUCKING ME-KEEP FUCKING YOUR MISTRESS UNTIL YOU 
CUMMMMM-OOOOOOHHHH-OOOOHHHHHH-" At that very moment, in the adjoining 
bedroom, Mona was moaning, too, as she fucked and fucked with Stella's 
grandson. 

She had pulled the little white boy on top of her, and now his thin little 
hairless chest was pressing against the slinky satin of her burgundy red 
corset. She was hugging his scrawny, neck, holding him in a tight clinch, 
and the little boy was hugging her, too. His flushed little face was 
dripping sweat onto her shoulder, where it was resting, and his panting 
breath was caressing her neck. She was panting, too, nearly out of her mind 
with pulse-pounding gratification as she felt his little white boycock stab 
and stab into her drooling, clutching, seething cunt hole, probing into her 
womb, fucking her with practiced skill. Stella had certainly trained her 
little white stud to fuck, and that was for sure! 

His small, white bottom kept pumping steadily between her long, lovely black 
legs sheathed in the tight meshed fishnet stockings, his little belly 
slapping against hers, his little hairless white ball sac smacking against 
her black inner thighs, driving his stiff little white penis to the root in 
her hungry black cunt hole. 

"OOOOHHHHHHH-BABY-SWEET LITTLE BABY-OOOHHH-GIVE TO ME-OOOHHHH, GOD-I NEED IT 
SO MUCH-" Mona was heaving her abdomen up, spasmodically, meeting the little 
white boy's pelvic plunges resoundingly, their hips and thighs smacking 
wetly together as they coupled and coupled. Her shapely black legs undulated 
beneath the mesh of the erotic fishnet hosiery, her stockinged feet pressing 
into the mattress with the effort. Bobby's throbbing little white cock was 
plunging to the root inside her squirming pussy sheath, the delightful 
friction driving both woman and boy insane with feverish passion. Their 
bodies jerked and shook as they heaved and bucked together, the small, 
skinny little white body and the larger, mature black female body in the 
burgundy red, form-fitting corset and the black mesh stockings. Bobby's 
hairless, small white buttocks were pumping even faster between her 
stockinged legs now, spearing his boycock even harder and deeper into her 
drenched, sobbing cunt hole, making her gasp and groan with red-hot sexual 
torment and making him squeal with burning penile inflammation. 

"YES-YES-SWEET WHITE BABY-HONEY CHILD-MORE-OOOHHHHH-GOD-GIVE ME 
MORE-OOOOHHHHH-" 

"UHHHHHH - GOSH - OHHHHHHH-MISTRESS-I-I-SO HOT-UHHHHHH-" Bobby was groaning 
desperately now, as he felt the hot pounding at his loins, his thumping 
penis, so stiff and swollen, becoming itchy with inflammation. His mind 
completely blown with immature passion, the white child began to thrust and 
thrust wildly into the fiery hole of the middle-aged black woman beneath 
him. His small white ass cheeks clenched and clenched with agitation as they 
now pumped crazily between her trembling, raised shapely black legs in the 
cobwebby fishnet stockings, pounding his body against hers frenziedly, 
jackhammering his bloated, glistening white boycock to the quivering depths 
of her womb, again-again-again- "OHHHHHHHH - FUCK ME HARDER-HARDER-YOU'RE 
GOING TO MAKE YOUR MISTRESS CUMMMMMMM-" Stella Hartley was nearly shouting 
up at the little sweating black boy on top of her, the tremendous blowtorch 
of passion searing her brain. Rufus was overcome with passion, too, gasping 
and groaning helplessly, his thin black body jerking with spasms. He kept 
gripping the white woman's hips, slamming his body with all his might down 
on her soft, white, yielding body. His childish black penis, now rock-hard 
and swollen with inflammation, was spearing breathtakingly into her bubbling 
cunt hole, on and on. His small, pinched black bottom was bounding and 
rebounding between the middle-aged white grandmother's encircling, lovely, 
glittering black nylon stocking-sheathed legs with almost blinding speed. 

"UHHHHH-AHHHHH-OHHHHH-" the little hypnotized black boy cried, out of his 
mind with sexual pleasure as the new feelings and sensations transformed the 
meek child into a rutting animal. 

"GOOOOOOOD' HONEY-OOOOOHHHHH-" Stella moaned up at her little black boy 
slave. "IT'S SO GOOD' ISN'T IT, SWEETHEART-SOOOO GOOOOOD-JUST A LITTLE 
MORE-OOOHHH-AND WE'LL HAVE A NICE BIG CUMMMMM-" She hugged the sweating, 
panting little black child tightly, adoringly, loving the way the act of 
enslaving him inflamed her libido. She thought of her grandson now balling 
this boy's mother in the other room, and it made her hotter. She sank her 
largish, stockinged feet into the mattress, upheaving her abdomen, carrying 
Rufus up with her, again and again. In response, the little black boy 
groaned and pounded down harder against her, his stiff black cock slicing 
into her moist, grasping, hot cunt tunnel like a knife through butter. For 
several moments their bodies continued bucking and coupling on the bed 
insanely, the little black boy and the larger, middle-aged white woman, as 
naked as he save for black garter belt and long black stockings-Then the 
entire apartment was filled with screams and cries of ecstatic pleasure as 
the two bizarre couples began to cum... 

CHAPTER SEVEN 

"Say it," Stella Hartley commanded her daughter. 

"I-I want to fuck my son," Barbara replied, monotonally. 

"How badly do you want to fuck your young, adolescent son?" Stella prodded. 

"Badly-very badly," Barbara muttered. 

The two of them, the middle-aged woman and her mature daughter, were alone 
in the living room. Bobby was still at school, and Miles was out of town for 
a few days, attending an insurance underwriting seminar. It was the first 
afternoon that her son-in-law was gone on the short trip, and Stella had 
decided to move ahead with her depraved plans for her daughter and her 
grandson. Her little tete-a-tete's with Ronnie Brown and Mona Washington had 
worked out beautifully, and the voluptuous hypnotist/psychologist felt 
encouraged to carry on her psycho-sexual campaign. 

She was sitting beside Barbara on the living room couch. The younger woman 
had easily succumbed once again to her mother's masterful hypnosis, and was 
now deep in the trance. 

"I see, my dear," Stella was telling her now. "And, of course, I know how 
much your sweet little son, Bobby, wants to fuck you. You know it, too, 
don't you?" 

"Yes... yes. I-I've noticed how he-he looks at me... at my body... at my 
legs... he's even tried feeling up my legs. He's-he's infatuated with me... 
" 

"And you like that, don't you?" Stella went on. You like him ogling your 
body. In fact, you encourage it. You give him lots of nice things to look 
at. In fact, dear, to be blunt about it, you cock-tease your son-don't you?" 

"Yes-yes," she replied haltingly. But under her mother's hypnotic control, 
she could only obey. 

"Well, then, I think it's high time you and your son share the love you feel 
for each other. Do you agree?" 

Barbara trembled visibly, but she replied, "Yes. Yes. I want to." 

"That's fine, my dear. I want you to, too. And you will do what I want, 
won't you, dear daughter?" 

"Yes-yes M-Mother... I mean, M-Mistress." 

"Good, dear, very good. I am pleased. I want you and your wonderful son to 
be happy, and you won't be until you consummate the passion you both feel 
for each other. Do you understand me, dear?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm glad to hear you say that, dear. Now I want you and little Bobby to get 
together tonight. You will seduce him." At this point, Stella had to pause 
to suppress a thrill that ran through her at the thought that it was going 
to happen at last. "Here's what I want you to do, dear," she resumed, 
bending over her daughter as she began to talk in detail... 

Hours passed. The little family, sans father, had spent a very ordinary 
evening of eating supper, watching television and reading, doing dishes and 
other small chores, and Bobby going up to his room to do his homework. Now 
it was late in the evening. 

The little boy had just finished giving his face a lick and a promise and 
making a pretense of brushing his teeth. Attired only in his pajamas, he was 
padding on bare feet to his bedroom when he heard his mother call to him 
from her bedroom. Obediently, Bobby stepped into his parents' bedroom. 

He saw his mother sitting on the edge of the large, king-sized bed his 
parents shared. He stepped deeper into the room, blinking his eyes because 
the room was lit only by the bedside lamp, creating a semi-gloom of long 
shadows in the room. He passed the slightly ajar closet door as he did, 
without giving it any attention. That was fortunate, for if he had, he would 
have seen his grandmother attired only in her nightgown sitting in the large 
closet on a straight chair. 

From her ringside vantage point, Stella shivered with excitement. Yes, it 
was perfect. Now, she was going to view one of the best live sex shows 
imaginable! She quickly collected herself, keeping absolutely quiet as she 
watched her grandson walk up to his mother. 

Little Bobby stopped a few feet short from where his mother sat. She sat on 
the edge of that bed wearing a long white terrycloth robe. Her face was 
carefully made up, and her thick, glossy black hair was brushed flowingly 
down her shoulders. Instinctively, the fetishistic boy glanced down, to his 
mother's feet. His eyes widened as he saw that, beneath the long hem of the 
robe, her trim ankles were sheathed in glittering dark nylon and her shapely 
little feet shod in shiny white leather spike-heeled pumps. 

"Hello, Son," Barbara said warmly. 

"H-Hi, Mama," he replied uncertainly. 

She softly patted a spot on the mattress beside her. "Come and sit down 
here." 

"Yes, Mama," the little boy said. 

Gingerly, he stepped across her and rested his small bottom on the firm but 
yielding sheet-covered mattress. 

Bobby was sitting, close, very close, to his mature, beautiful mother. His 
nostrils caught the scent of her light, bewitching perfume. He realized it 
was the same as his grandmother Stella's. He shivered, although he felt very 
warm. He felt his mother's body heat radiate toward him, enveloping him. 

Barbara stared down at her pajama-clad little son, her eyes warm and moist 
with love. "I'm glad I caught you, son," she murmured, softly. "I'm glad we 
can be alone. We need to have a little talk." 

Bobby looked up at his larger mother. "We-we do?" 

"Ohhh yes, dear, we do." Barbara stared hard at her son. "Remember when we 
went to the show last week?" 

Bobby trembled, casting his eyes downward. "Y-Yes, Mama." 

"I'll bet you do, dear." Barbara paused a moment. "That was a very naughty 
thing you did, putting your hand on Mama's leg." 

"I-I know, Mama." 

"Why did you do it?" 

"I-I really couldn't help it-I-I-" the lad began to stutter, his voice 
nearly breaking with anguish. 

"Ohhhhh, you poor honey," Barbara murmured, stroking her son's hot forehead. 
"I know you couldn't help it. You've been looking at my legs for some time 
now. And-and Mama has been a naughty girl herself. I-I've been letting you 
look at them." 

Bobby jerked his head up. "Really?" 

"Yes, dear. I have. I liked you admiring my body, my legs... I sort of led 
you on, I guess. So you became so excited you had to feel me-isn't that 
right, darling?" 

"Yes-yes, Mama." 

"Did it feel good, dear? Feeling my legs, I mean?" 

"Ohhh, yes, Mama." 

"You little panty freak. I'll bet you loved feeling my nice, smooth legs in 
silky nylon hose... Ill tell you a secret, dear. I liked you feeling my 
legs." 

Bobby gaped at his mother. "Wha-wha-?" 

"Yes, Son, it's true. You see, you make me feel real sexy-just the way I 
make you feel sexy." 

"But-but, Mama-" 

"Don't worry, dear." Barbara went on stroking the boy's now-sweating 
forehead again. "No one will ever know about this. It'll be our own little 
secret. Just you and me." 

Bobby was staring up at his mother with wide, wondering eyes. "I'm glad, 
Mama. You mean-you mean you're not mad about what I did at the show?" 

"Why, no, dear," the mature brunette beauty murmured warmly to her little 
son. "In fact-I'd like you to do it again." 

As she spoke those fateful words, she slowly crossed her legs. The hiss of 
gossamer nylon brushing gossamer nylon was loud in the dim bedroom. Both 
Bobby and Stella, from the ajar closet, watched as the white cloth of the 
robe slipped on the smooth nylon of his mother's sheer stockings, exposing 
her long, shapely, dark stocking-sheathed legs that contrasted erotically 
with the white high-heeled pumps, up to her rounded thighs. 

The little boy now stared with glazed eyes at his mother's exposed, 
beautifully stockinged legs. His youthful fetish was gripping him hard. 

"Yes, honey... that's the way... take a good, long look at Mama's legs... 
look all you want, darling... we're alone now, and no one will bother us... 
Mmmmmmmm, how do you like these stockings, dear? Your grandmother gave them 
to me. I thought you'd like black nylons. Do you?" 

"Yesssssss," Bobby sighed as his youthful eyes raked worshippingly over his 
mother's lustrous, inky, black stocking-sheathed legs. 

"I'm so glad, darling," Barbara replied, softly. "Why don't you put your 
hand on my legs?" 

Almost involuntarily, as if it had a mind of its own, the boy's small hand 
lifted up, up. It settled on one of his mother's shapely, nylon-clad knees. 
Bobby sighed as he stroked his mother's nice knee, caressing her smooth 
flesh and the taut, silken gauze that sheathed it so thrillingly. 

"That's it, darling," Barbara murmured to him softly. "Now feel Mama's 
thigh." 

Bobby obeyed his mother, sliding his small, white hand up, up, her thick, 
rounded, black nylon-sheathed thigh, his palm prickling deliciously on the 
whispy mesh fabric of the black stocking there. 

From the closet, Stella sighed, and her hand slipped beneath her 
nightclothes, where her furry cunt was twitching madly with arousal and 
beginning to bubble with love fluid. 

The middle-aged grandmother watched her grandson stroke her daughter's 
stockinged thigh a moment. Then she heard her daughter say, "My darling 
son... my only one. We're all alone here tonight. No one will ever know. I 
want you to sleep with me tonight. Mama will teach you the way a man loves a 
woman, the way they make love. You'd like to make love to me, darling. I 
know you do. I can tell." 

"Ohhhh, Mama-I'm-I'm so excited. I-" 

"Hush, dear," Barbara replied, putting her hand over Bobby's mouth. "Your 
grandmother is already asleep. We mustn't be too loud." 

"Yes, Mama." 

Stella grinned inwardly. A nice touch. She had instructed her daughter well. 

Now, Barbara rose from the mattress. "Take off your 'jammies, darling, and 
get into bed." 

"Yes, Mama." 

Both Barbara and Stella watched with lustful eyes as the adolescent child 
haltingly unbuttoned his top and shrugged it off. His chest was so thin, so 
hairless, so adorably childish. Now the lad was skimming off his bottoms. 
They made a pile at his tiny feet. He stepped out of it. 

"Oooooohhhh, darling... you're such a cute little lover," Barbara breathed 
to her son, her eyes feeding on his think, gawky, hairless legs, his 
diminutive loins, and, in particular, his small, hairless cock. From the 
closet, Stella stroked her dripping pussy at the sight of her grandson's 
erecting penis, thinking of the times she had played with it. 

"You're already getting hard for Mama," Barbara sighed. "You sweet boy. Now, 
get on the bed. Mama will be with you in a moment, dear." 

"Yes, Mama." 

Bobby climbed on the bed, its large dimensions dwarfing the child as he 
crawled onto the white sheet covered mattress, propping his head on a 
pillow. His wide eyes riveted to where his mother stood, still wearing the 
white robe. 

"I think I'll take off my robe now," Barbara murmured to her little naked 
son with a warm smile. "Would you like that, dearest?" 

"Yes, Mama," Bobby replied, simply. 

Smoothly, Barbara untied the belt of the robe, letting the ends fall. She 
shrugged her shoulders, softly, and the robe parted, slipped a bit. She 
shrugged her shoulders again, and the lightweight white robe fell from her 
body with a slight whispering sound. It crumpled into a white rug at her 
high-heel-shod feet. 

From the closet, Stella sighed. From the bed, Bobby gasped, his eyes wide. 
His little boycock began to visibly jerk and jerk with arousal as his eyes 
raked over his mother's body. She was a lovely, white-skinned goddess, a 
Venus to the naked little lad. Her large, meaty breasts, furry, puffy, 
black-haired cunt, were all exposed to his adoring eyes. His beautiful, 
mature brunette mother was naked, in all her glory, to him-almost. 

A thin, lacy black garterbelt gripped her trim waist, the taut, thin black 
garter suspenders striping her creamy, rounded thighs. The glittering chrome 
tabs held up a pair of filmy, skin-tight, full-fashioned black nylon 
stockings over her long and exquisitely curved legs. The white high heels on 
her stockinged feet provided erotic contrast to the sensuous, 
fetish-arousing black lingerie. 

"How do I look, sweetheart?" Barbara murmured to the naked little boy on the 
bed. 

"Gosh -ohhhh -gosh-Mama-you're so-so-pretty-" Bobby gasped, his eyes nearly 
bulging from their sockets, his boycock now fully erect and throbbing 
urgently. "I'm-I'm so excited-ohhhh-Mama-" 

"Ooooooohhh, my little man, my sweet love-child-my only son," Barbara hissed 
back, her lips nearly snarling with passion, her nostrils flared wantonly, 
her eyes glittering with naked lust for her nude, adolescent son. "Stay 
right there, darling. Mama's coming for you." 

Her nylon-sheathed thighs brushed swishingly together as she walked to the 
bed. She quickly, eagerly, climbed onto the bed and wrapped her arms around 
her little son's neck, just as his arms encircled her waist. The naked 
little boy and his mature, nearly naked mother sank down deep into the 
pillows, as their lips met, and clung... endlessly... Mother and son kissed 
and kissed passionately... 

A few minutes later, a very aroused Stella Hartley was frenziedly fingering 
her sopping cunt from the close confines of the bedroom closet, nearly 
falling out of the chair with her erotic masturbatory spasms as she watched 
her daughter softly stroke her grandson's stiff, throbbing little penis. 
Little Bobby had been stroking his mother's big hairy pussy, and it was 
evident that she was as wet as he was hard. No time for any more foreplay. 

Barbara pulled her panting son on top of her pounding, nearly nude body, the 
both of them sinking deep into the mattress with their combined weight. Now 
Barbara's hand grasped her son's swollen, stiff prick and guided it toward 
her steaming, drenched cunt hole. His little white buttocks lowered between 
her raised, black stocking-sheathed legs, as his boycock speared into her 
bubbling, hairy hole... 

Mother and son fucked. Very soon, they came, loudly, spasmodically. They 
were joined by Stella in the closet, who yelled and yelled as loud as they, 
as her busy fingers sent her into a delirious cum... 

That night Stella finished putting the finishing touches on a section of her 
thesis dealing with incest, pedophilia and garment fetishism. She felt sure 
her professors would accept it-the research and analysis was outstanding, 
she knew. And, of course, as a practicing psychologist, she didn't have to 
reveal her sources. 

Now, Stella sat back from her typewriter, with a satisfied sigh. 

Not that she was finished with her research... not at all. She still had an 
entire scout den to hypnotize and seduce, not to mention a bevy of little 
boys at school. And there were certainly many hot nights ahead for her 
daughter and grandson and son-in-law. 

The possibilities were endless... 


THE END
