Mrs. Szemeremajkak
Copyright© 2026 by Walt Whitman
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A lonely 14 year old newsboy discovers the joys of female domination and carnal depravity in the manipulative hands of a mysterious older woman
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/Fa Teenagers Reluctant Heterosexual Fiction Paranormal BDSM FemaleDom First Lactation Masturbation Oral Sex Big Breasts Illustrated
I. Michael. As Mrs. Bernier bent over to pick up the coins Michael had “accidentally” dropped while giving her change, the loose folds of her housecoat fell open, treating him to the sight and scent of her milk-laden breasts. They were crowned with heretofore only-imagined nipples – nipples that jutted a good inch and a half from the larger-than-quarter-sized tan discs of her areolae.
“I’m sorry Mrs. Bernier – my fingers are cold so it’s hard to hold -”
“Oh that’s OK Michael” Mrs. Bernier, still bent over and displaying her luscious mammaries, smiled as she looked up at Michael’s wide-eyed, downcast gaze. Following his gaze, she realized she was giving the 13-year old what was probably his first ever view of adult female breasts – and nursing breasts at that! She could have clutched her robe closed, but neither wanting to create an awkward situation nor to squash the guilty pleasure she sensed she was sharing with this lonely boy, she didn’t. Instead, she straightened up, but very slowly, smiling at Michael all the while, and as she did every week, she handed him back the coins.
“As you are still the best newsboy in Kittery, you may keep the change Michael”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bernier” Michael said, sighing as he dropped the coins into his pocket. It was a sigh and look of adoration that Mrs. Bernier had enjoyed many times in her interactions with Michael. At first, she wondered at whether it was normal for a 13-year-old boy to have a crush on a woman old enough to be his mother. But in talking with her sister who was a junior high teacher, she had been reassured that while not common, it certainly was not unheard of and more certainly not anything to be concerned about. Mrs. Bernier liked Michael and was familiar with his unhappy homelife. His father was an infamously cruel alcoholic and his mother an abused wife who was so focused on her own suffering and struggles that she had little time or energy for empathic maternal affection.
Mrs. Bernier and two other 30ish women on Michael’s paper route had soft spots in their hearts for him – their kindness and their apparent enjoyment of chatting with him were the closest thing to maternal affection that Michael – orphaned of any parental affection - had in his young life. And so it was that when Michael felt the first stirrings of adolescent sexuality, his emergent libidinous longings became inextricably entangled with his yearning for maternal affection. He would, for the rest of his life, be drawn to kindly Rubenesque women a generation or two ahead of his own.
In the waning months of his 13th year, one or the other of the 3 mothers on his paper route began to appear in his dreams. The frequency of their appearance and the erotic intensity of their behaviors in those dreams increased steadily as his 14th birthday approached. The dreams were all variations on the same theme: Michael would knock on their doors to collect for the paper and they would call him into their bedrooms and in seductive tones invite him to lie with them and lay his head on the pantied mounds of their ample asses. Mrs. Bernier or Mrs. Walsh or Mrs. Latourneau would reach her hand back and running it through Michael’s hair, would gently but insistently direct his face into warm cleft between the twin swells of her asscheeks. Michael would kiss and lick down the valley of her buttocks until his saliva soaked through the fragrant cotton of her panties. With her free hand, his nocturnal seductress would tug the soaked crotch aside and with the other guide Michael’s face to the tight pucker of her sphincter which he would inhale and kiss and probe with his tongue.
Michael would always awaken at some point in this nocturnal pornography, but never past that final oral exploration that marked the limit of what his inexperienced, but far from chaste, imagination was capable of conceiving. His young cock would be hard and throbbing and his balls aching for release. He knew what wet dreams were – the older boys talked about them – and he yearned for the pleasure and relief one would surely bring, but he could never quite get there before he woke. He knew also about jerking off but had no clear idea how to do it and had rubbed himself raw the 2 or 3 times he had attempted it. This was the state of his nascent sexuality when he awoke the morning of his 14th birthday, throbbing and wishing for the taste of Brigett Walsh’s asshole on his tongue.
Later that afternoon, he was deeply immersed in a fantasy involving his mouth and Mrs. Bernier’s asshole, as he approached the last house on his paper route. It was an ancient Victorian that had recently been rented by his newest customer, a middle-aged woman who had moved into the neighborhood a couple of months earlier. He was startled when she opened the door and greeted him – so startled that he forgot to hide the tent his daydream had conjured up in his jeans. She was about to remind him that she would be going out of town for several days and to hold her papers until she returned, when she spied his spike...
“Oh myyyy, young man, is that a pencil in your pocket or are you glad to see me?”
Michael looked down and saw that he was exposed in a most embarrassing way.
“Um – Um” he stammered and searched for some explanation that would get him out the hot water he was sure he was about to find himself in.
“Well do you have a pencil?”
“No ma’am”
“Well then I guess you must be glad to see me.”
She was grinning now and looking at him approvingly.
“Could it possibly be sticking up so proudly for me? Perhaps there is hope after all that I’m not too old and fat to have inspired such a fine greeting from a young boy.”
Though Michael had only seen her once before and had never had an erotic thought about her, he knew instinctively that it would be rude and even mean to tell her he had been thinking about the much younger and more alluring, Mrs. Bernier.
“Oh no, no ma’am. No, It is about you – I hope you’re not mad at me. I didn’t mean for you to see it.”
“You didn’t? Well why not? And anyway, I haven’t actually seen it now, have I? We have only established that it is not a pencil.”
“Well yes that’s true Mrs. – I mean it’s true Ilona.” He had seen her full name on her mailbox many times but had no idea how to pronounce her last name, so he was forced to violate yet another norm of kid-to-adult respect and call her by her first name.
“Now its one thing to shamelessly fantasize about a woman – after all, that’s quite complimentary - but you should not take appreciation of your compliment as license for disrespectful familiarity. I don’t think it is appropriate for a boy of, of – what is your age and what is your name, young man?
“Michael and I’m 14”
“14!?! Why you are barely old enough to have thoughts that would stiffen your wienie. How long have you been 14 – you look younger than that.”
“Today is my birthday. I just turned 14”
“Oh dear – I’m probably holding you up from your birthday party. Perhaps you can stop by tomorrow and I can give you a birthday cupcake?”
“Um, no ma’am, I’m not having a birthday party”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know - I never have birthday parties”
“Well that’s not fair – I hope your parents make it up to you with an extra special Christmases”
“No. I don’t like Christmas”
“Good grief, why not?”
“Because my father has off that day and the day before, so he’s home and he’s drunk and –”
“I see. No need to explain any more. I have an idea – it’s Michael isn’t it?
“Yes ma’am”
“That should be, ‘Yes, Mrs. Szemeremajkak’”
“I’m sorry, it’s hard for me to pronounce that name”
“Its Hungarian Michael and it’s a lovely name. As a birthday present, I’m going to implant an image in your pubescent brain that my name shall henceforth summon into your consciousness whenever you try to utter it, read it, or see it in writing. Listen to me carefully, as I say it, ‘Mrs. zameer-maj-kak ... Now say it, Michael’”
No sooner had the name passed from Michael’s lips than the vision of a Mrs. Szeremajkak’s dripping cunt formed in the inner recesses of the boy’s cerebrum. The vivid and lurid vision instantly caused his already straining young penis to bend over double in his shorts.
“It is a very nice name isn’t it, Michael?”
“Jeeze yes – it’s the VERY best name EVER, Mrs. Szemeremajkak” ... and there it was again in his mind’s eye – that obscenely lovely, arousing and strangely promising vision! This time the pain of his badly bent cock caused him to grimace and moan at the same time.
“How did you do that? That’s the first woman’s pussy I’ve ever seen! How did you make it so that hearing your name makes me see it over and over? Did you hypnotize me?”
“Nooo – not exactly. As they say, Michael, ‘Never look a gift horse in the mouth’. I think you should simply enjoy and accept it. And by the way girls have “pussies”, full grown women have “cunts”. That’s a VERY important distinction – I want you to remember it, Michael.”
“Oh yes Mrs. Szemeremajkak”, I will. I promise”
“Good! Now back to my idea. I shall give you a birthday party this very evening. If you called your mother from my phone and told her you were staying for dinner with one of your school chums and would be home by 9PM, would she give you permission to do that?”
“Oh sure, but couldn’t I just say that one of my customers asked me to stay and have dinner with her?”
“No, I think this should remain our little secret. Haven’t you ever experienced pleasure and satisfaction from doing something you aren’t supposed to do, right under everyone’s noses, without their knowing it?”
Now Michael was grinning, “Oh Yes, Mrs. Szemeremajkak [up pops the virtual vulva] OH GAWD! There it is again!!”
“There what is, Michael?”
“A cunt, Mrs. Szemeremajkak!”
“And whose cunt do you think it might be?”
“Oh I hope it’s yours, Mrs. Szemeremajkak!”
“Happy birthday Michael! – Now won’t you come in?”
II. Ilona. Mrs. Szemeremajkak was 53 years old the day she first invited Michael into her house of infernal pleasures. She had in fact been 53 years old when Michael was born and already 53 when decades earlier, she had immigrated from Hungary and signed her name, “Ilona Szemeremajkak”, into the ledger at Ellis Island. She was 53 years old at the dawn of The Enlightenment when a profligate French priest made a gift to her of the orphaned blond pubescent twins whose deep sadness and want she would harness and exploit for unholy pleasure; she was 53 years old in the Dark Ages when she entranced her niece’s 13 year old son and groomed him, with his mother’s full knowledge, for a life [sadly fated to be cut short by the Black Plague] dedicated to sating the darkest appetites of women long past child bearing age. She was 53 years old when, in a bargain with her ancient horned benefactor, she agreed to tempt and defile the young Hebrew boy who would later found a great religion; a religion that, stained with the effluvium of Ilona’s corruption, would devolve into a deeply flawed church that would, for many centuries to come, incite, nurture, condemn and punish the venereal longings of young boys.
She was 53 and would forever remain 53, the eternal mother and grandmother - the irresistible defiler of lost boys like Michael. But unlike the repressive forces of the Hebrew boy’s religion-gone-bad, her boys’ carnal longings would be incited, nurtured, and perverted without condemnation or punishment. She would bestow this gift with one small but very significant penalty. The boys would forever crave to be the carnal play things of older women whose maternal instincts and desires were twisted in the most erotically perverse ways. These older women - women like Ilona Szemeremajkak - would be possessed of an insatiable desire to seduce and corrupt vulnerable boys who teetered, needy and unsure of themselves, on the brink of adolescence.
Mrs. Szemeremajkak had discovered the forbidden pleasures of this perfidious debauchery quite by accident one night when, under the illumination of an unusually bright star, she took in an innocent Judean street urchin to help her with household chores that she detested. To her pleasant surprise, the presence of the ripe lad awoke long-dormant, forbidden yearnings. Sweet indeed were the depraved pleasures she took from the urchin whom she corrupted and endlessly debauched. But alas, she lamented and cursed the inalterable fleetingness of such a relationship. Defiant, she focused all her will at prolonging it – at delaying their aging, by whatever means she could.
It was in those worrisome days that the horned demon, ever vigilant for such an opportunity, appeared to Ilona in a tempestuous dream and offered her the gift of eternal life, suspended forever at the age of her too-long-delayed sexual awakening. The modest price for this glory: Ilona would play the role of a sinful Jezebel in the unspeakable sexual corruption of a holy Jewish boy. The role being quite natural to her, the deal was stuck. The details of the defilement of the 14-year-old Jew will not be considered here; it’s enough to say that Ilona carried it out with unrestrained enthusiasm. In appreciation for her extraordinary wickedness, Ilona’s horned benefactor added to her middle-aged immortality the gift of an uncanny ability to sense the vulnerability and desires of boys like Michael. Thus, she was assured an unending feast of the despoilment of innocents, through all eternity. As a happy consequence of the consummation of her depraved desires, the intense joys of those forbidden pleasures and their memories would forever brighten the otherwise bleak and baren emotional lives of legions of unloved boys, yet unborn, who deserved much better. This greatly pleased Ilona whose carnal soul was not without a certain kindness.
III. And a pinch to grow and inch. Mrs. Szemeremajkak stepped aside in the doorway and with a smile motioned Michael to enter. Although there was still some daylight left on this cold December day, save for the flickering of an old gas lamp, it was quite dark in the hallway of the old house. Below the lamp, on a small table, Michael saw the phone. He called his mother and told her he was eating at a friend’s house and that afterwards, the two of them would work on their homework together; he promised to be home by 9:30.
Michael hung his jacket on a hook next to Ilona’s and walked toward the flickering light that seemed to come from a large room off to his right, at the end of the hall. There he found Mrs. Szemeremajkak already seated in one of two luxurious, burgundy-colored upholstered chairs that were arranged to face each other at an angle such that their occupants could look upon each other but still watch the fire that blazed brightly in the fireplace. The flickering fire cast an ethereal light over the room and added a comforting warmth that would soon raise beads of sweat on Mrs. Szemeremajkak’s and Michael’s necks.
“Come in Michael and sit yourself by the fire with me.”
As Michael was about to sit down, Mrs. Szemeremajkak stopped him.
“Oh but let me look at you for a minute before you sit”
Michael was 5 foot 9, small boned and quite slender. His face looked younger than his 14 years. He had straight dark brown hair that was cut short and hung over his forehead in not-quite-bangs. He had a pleasant, very boyish face which was at the moment, quite flushed.
“How much do you weigh Michael?”
“Um ... not much”
“How much is not much?”
“I think 130 pounds”
“Ahh you have not filled out yet – wonderful! Sit please. Sit.”
As Michael settled into the warm chair, Mrs. Szemeremajkak stood and unbuttoned and removed the sweater she was wearing over a blue flowered cotton dress that fell to midway between her knees and her ankles. The flimsy shift - obviously a summer dress - was well worn but still pretty. It hugged Mrs. Szemeremajkak’s large – very large – wrinkled breasts that hung from her shoulders like immense ripe figs. Mrs. Szemeremajkak eschewed bras and her tea-saucer-sized areolas with their thick rubbery nipples were boldly outlined through the thin material of her dress. She had twinkling blue eyes, a warm mischievous smile and straight strawberry blonde hair that fell not quite to her shoulders. Her sensuous lips glistened with saliva that she periodically refreshed with a provocative flick of her tongue. She was nearly Michael’s height, but he guessed she outweighed him. She was meaty; her rounded belly swelled gracefully upward from her waist. Her ass was large - much bigger than those of any of the women Michael fantasized about, but no less arousing; her thighs were sturdy and strong.
Still smiling at him, Ilona sat back down.
“So tell me the truth Michael. What exactly were you daydreaming about when I surprised you there a few minutes ago. It was thoughtful of you to pretend it was me, but I know that’s not possible. You don’t have memories of me that are sufficient to inspire a young boy’s fantasies – at least they are not yet sufficient.” As she spoke these last words, Mrs. Szemeremajkak raised an eyebrow and shot a slightly wicked smile at Michael.
“Come now Michael, you must tell me.”
“I was thinking about Mrs. Bernier”
“and...?”
Michael gulped. “I’m afraid you won’t like me anymore if I tell you”
“Nonesense – tell me – no matter how naughty – tell me.”
“I was imagining I was licking Mrs. Bernier’s bum”
“You mean you were fantasizing about eating Mrs. Bernier’s asshole?”
Michael dropped his eyes to the floor.
“Yes ma’am”
“You are a wicked boy – I find that quite attractive. You know of course that that is not a dream that will ever come true for you.”
Michael looked up now. His eyes revealed to Mrs. Szemeremajkak the great sadness that was in his heart at her bursting of this succulent, fanciful mental bubble. His dreams and fantasies were his secret refuge from the sad expectation that no one would ever like him enough to bestow real affection on him.
“I know, Mrs. Szemeremajkak, but it feels good to make believe that it could.”
Like a shark that smelled the blood of its prey Mrs. Szemeremajkak had sensed Michael’s sadness and the hole in his heart that yearned to be filled with a mother’s love. She sensed too how this yearning had become confused with his newly birthed sexuality. Oh how she would take advantage of both!
“Michael you won’t ever again need to waste your time on fantasies that can’t ever come true. Do you know why?”
“No – its not a waste of time Mrs. Szemeremajkak. Its-”
“Don’t correct me, Michael. It is a waste of time. Do you know why you will never again need to waste time and energy on such futile fantasies?”
“No, why?”
“Because unlike Mrs. Bernier, I am not burdened with the conscience and useless morals that prevent Mrs. Bernier from taking her pleasure with you. And much, much more importantly, I see in you wants and vulnerabilities that draw you to me – a moth to the flame – a moth that aches to be consumed in the inferno of my lust. You are, my dear boy a most delicious morsel. Do you understand what I’m saying, Michael?”
“I – I’m not sure”