Chapter 5: The Costume Party

A funny thing happened after Mom and I returned from Megan's house on Sunday. I stopped stressing about school. I stopped grieving over my dead beat dad. And I certainly wasn't thinking about Cynthia.

Overnight, all of my fears and insecurities seemingly disappeared, leaving me feeling completely invincible, not a single care in the world.

After nine years, my mother had finally admitted that her greatest need, after basics like hunger and thirst, was the powerful feeling of making men weak with desire, controlling their actions and their thoughts, feeding this need on a daily basis, to the point where nothing was going too far, purposely flaunting her gorgeous legs, in high heels and pantyhose, fatefully leading to the ultimate taboo, fucking her own son.

One afternoon, sometime in mid-October, I was sitting in one of my more boring classes, struggling to stay awake. It didn't help that Mom and I had pretty much spent the entire night fucking till 2AM. Hence, I could barely manage to keep my eyes open. Sitting there, each time my eyelids started to dim, the first image that popped up was Mom either riding me on my bed, sucking my cock at the dinner table, or jerking me off, begging for a huge load, soaking her pantyhose, usually while watching TV.

These vivid daydreams naturally left me horny as fuck, as I jumped up, shaken by my cell phone, suddenly vibrating in my pocket. I reached down, pulled it out, surprised to see that I'd gotten a new email from Megan.

The message was an invitation to the party she'd previously told us about. It showed both of our names, along with the date, time, and location, with an option to accept or decline. Below this, at the very bottom, was a link reading, "Click here to view auction."

Curious, I scrolled down, tapping the link right away, opening a new page, loading up promptly on the screen.

My eyes widened at the sight of a gorgeous half-naked model named Brandi, with olive skin, almond-shaped eyes, and long, curly black hair. Below her picture, the caption read, "not available," as I scrolled down, continuing to scan over the remaining list. Following Brandi was a dark-skinned black girl named Jasmine. Her tits were enormous, practically leaping from the screen. Holding the phone between my legs, surrounded by over a dozen students, I sat there in class, with no desire to stop looking, noting the caption beneath Jasmine read, "bidding open." Following her, I came to this cute little Asian girl named Kim, great rack, jet black hair, with bidding open on her as well. Next was this scorching hot Spanish chick named Monique, also available to my disbelief, with brown skin, brown eyes, and beautiful, blonde highlights, an alluring contrast to her long, wavy, brown hair.

Lastly, I came to the final girl, with a red banner flashing across the top reading, "New Girl." Instantly, I started choking, as the whole class spun around and looked at me. Clearly, it was Cynthia, with "bidding closed" in bold red letters under her name.

Dumbfounded, staring at the screen, for a moment I couldn't believe my eyes, seeing her wearing her white lab coat, red bra, white heels, and white thigh highs over glossy nude pantyhose, the same exact outfit from our photo shoot, erasing all doubt from my mind.

At that point, I realized there were only two options. I could rush home, hopefully making it back before Mom and Joel. Though I wasn't exactly sure what good it would do to confront her. Or my other option was to wait it out, knowing our paths were certain to cross again at Megan's party, where I'd simply play dumb; with the added benefit of getting some much needed payback.

The choice was obvious as I promptly accepted Megan's invitation, smiling to myself, quietly tucking my phone back inside my pocket.

Two days before the party, nearing the pinnacle of morning sex, Mom and I languished in bed together, pausing to discuss costumes, orgasms held in abeyance.

By then, our relationship had grown to the point where she and I had begun sleeping together in her bedroom, cuddled up with each other every night.

For several minutes, I passionately lobbied to see her in her old gymnastics outfit, which Mom argued was simply too boring and unoriginal.

Wearing thick, durable, navy blue tights, soft as cotton, torn at the crotch, she peered over me, as I lay there squirming, gazing up toward her naked breasts.

"It needs to be something that gets people's attention," she said, writhing with my dick inside her. "Something fun, something flashy," she added, clenching her pussy to drive her point. "But mainly something you can't wait to fuck me in later on."

Caving to the pressure of her warm snatch tightening around my cock, squeezing insistently, after taking a moment to mull it over, I softly stuttered, shuddering between her legs.

"Um ... what about a superhero?"

Her eyes instantly lit up. "Ooh, that's got potential. Anyone in particular?"

Nodding my head, in a moment of sheer inspiration, I quickly asked, "Have you ever heard of Elektra?"

She looked down, frowning with dismay.

"You mean the one from that horrible movie ... with the girl from Alias?"

"Jennifer Garner," I nodded back. "But you're way hotter than her."

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I mean ... of all the characters you could think of ... why her?"

"Simple," I said. "For starters, you wouldn't have to change your hair. Plus most women usually go for someone like Batgirl or Catwoman. This would be something different. And, last but not least, I'd still get to see you in your leotard," I added, twitching my eyebrows. "All you'd need is a red scarf, some long red gloves, and a pair of red ankle boots."

"And pantyhose," Mom threw in. "I do get to wear pantyhose, I hope."

I'd assumed this was a given, noting the earnest look on her face, as I quietly stared back at her.

"What if I said no?"

She looked down, quirking her head, apparently not expecting this.

"Seriously?" she said, scrunching her face. "Hmm, okay ... then, I guess I'll just have to convince you."

I instantly loved the direction this was going, as I then decided to put her to the test. If she was truly addicted to pantyhose, like Megan said, then nothing was more exciting than the idea of making her prove it.

Staring up boldly, noting the wheels turning in her head, I challenged her to come up with something worthy of being a pantyhose slut, or more specifically, my pantyhose slut.

As if she'd already had an idea, she curled the left corner of her mouth, sniffing as if insulted by my arrogant tone, when I looked up and smugly answered, "Try me?"

"Okay, hot shot. How's this?" she suggested. "If I can wear pantyhose with my costume, then after the party, you can tie me up and have your way with me when we get home."

Not bad, I thought. Still, I knew she could do better.

"Hmm, I'm not really into the whole bondage thing. What else you got?"

Shaking her head, she then pressed her lips together, dropping her head, straining for something better. Finally, she answered, lifting her head with a smile.

"We could drive into the city and take pictures. I'll wear whatever you want. You could even fuck me out in public, say ... down at the arboretum."

Not only was she getting warmer, but her pussy was also getting much wetter around my shaft, feeling her juices seep down, tickling my balls.

I looked up, tension mounting in my bloated sac, nodding with approval. "You're almost there. Keeping talking..."

By then, the extent to which I had penetrated her cunt seemed to inspire her with new ideas, along with a stream of hushed, warbling, incoherent speech.

"Uhh uhh oh oh okay ... what if I g-g-give you a f-f-free pass at the p-p-party," she stammered. "Any woman you ... ohh oh gawd ... any woman you ... want!"

Now, she was on the right track. Still, I purposely muted my enthusiasm, carefully treading a potential minefield of jealousy and insecurity.

"Hmm, I don't know..." I answered mildly, both of us nearing our peak. She looked down, flashing the whites of her eyes. "I'm just saying," I explained. "My goal is to make everyone jealous that you're with me. That's the only reason I want to go," I said, "to show you off. Then, we can come home and fuck like rabbits."

Her insides quivered, groaning from the pit of her stomach. My hands rushed up, gripping her taut buttocks, squeezing hard, fingers clamping over the nylon, balls waiting to detonate on command.

"We could have a threesome," she whispered. "You, me and Megan ... I'm sure you've thought about that."

I blew my load right then and there, hips hoisting off the bed, both hands clutching Mom's cheeks, clawing her meaty ass, pulling hard, slamming our privates together, willing my eyes to somehow remain open, as I looked up, watching Mom's head swing back, moaning toward the heavens, as I lay there beneath her, gritting through a brutal series of dizzying spasms, lost in the throes of my searing hot, sperm-rich, baby batter jetting off somewhere deep in the furthest reaches of mother's womb.

The night of the party, my mind was racing with so many lurid thoughts of what was to come, ironically, making me the one frantically running around, trying to get ready. Could Mom really pull off a threesome with her and Megan? How would Cynthia react when she got there and saw us? Was Joel coming with her? If so, what would he think? I was so busy worrying that Mom eventually seemed annoyed that I wasn't paying her much attention?

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" she said, all ready to go, modeling her outfit by the front door. "This costume was your idea. Don't you like it?"

I had just stepped out of the bathroom, after two minutes rubbing lotion all over my body, then another few minute, primping in front of the mirror, spiking my hair with extra gel. I'd wanted to go as another character from the Marvel universe, like Rorschach or Daredevil, but Mom hated that idea, insisting on something more conducive to admiring my chiseled physique.

Turning toward the sound of voice, I entered the hall, wearing a white satin robe, shirtless, baring my chest, pecs glistening from all the lotion. Giving Mom time to examine me, I stood there watching the gradual descent of her calm, steady gaze, from my firm, shiny, naked torso, down to the fake UFC championship belt strapped around my slender waist.

"Hot damn," she said, grinning with approval. "Anderson Silva needs to watch out."

I was pleased to hear that Mom liked what she saw, yet I couldn't ignore that I was having trouble trying to walk, after taking her suggestion to cut off some of her black leggings at mid-thigh, wrestling my hefty package into them instead of shorts, a decision I questioned as I stood there sporting a full erection, with no room for underwear beneath the spandex, knowing that Mom and everyone else would easily make out the outline of my bulging cock.

"Hmm," she said, openly gazing at my hard on. "Guess my costume is working for you after all."

Smiling, I stood there thinking she couldn't possibly have any idea, burning her smoking hot image into memory for all eternity, certain this evening was sure to be something I'd never forget.

Inspecting her outfit from head to toe, I stood there, patiently marking each item off my checklist list; bold, pouty, red lips, check; long, windblown, chestnut brown hair, check; sleek, skintight, sexy red leotard, brimming with cleavage, God help me, check. Red scarf tied around her head, red gloves slid up over each arm, and red latex boots, pulled up over her knees, fuck me. After all that, what could be hotter? Oh yes. That was the moment my eyes lingered over the bronze nylon covering her shimmering thighs, the ex-gymnast nailing the dismount, in sheer-to-waist, suntan pantyhose, earning Mom a perfect ten.

We drove off to Wellesley, arriving at Megan's cottage, cheerfully greeted by a cute blonde, dressed like a sexy elf, instructing us to turn right off the main road and park with the other cars near the stables.

There, I helped Mom out of the car, where she looked up and noted the distance between the row of cars steadily lining up outside and the long walk some thirty yards back to the front door.

"There's no way I can walk that far," she said, shaking her head, "not in these boots."

"No problem. Let's just go through the back," I said, noting the people gathered on the back patio.

With a number of guests obviously there already, as we walked up, Mom turned and gave me a puzzled look. "Are we late?"

"Hard to say," I answered, "though it does sort of seem like we're the last ones here."

"Well, if anyone says anything, then I'm blaming you pretty boy."

Clearly, she was kidding, yet I still felt bad for taking so long to get ready.

Reaching the house, I led Mom up a short flight of steps, leading to a varnished deck, with smoke rising from an outdoor grill, the smell of burgers to our left, smooth jazz playing overhead, steam rising from a built-in hot tub off to the right, arriving at what seemed to be a rather posh affair, or at least more than Mom and I were used to, as we joined hands, entering the kitchen through an open sliding glass door.

"Bienvenidos," we heard, turning to the sound of a charming Hispanic accent, pleased to be warmly greeted by a vivacious, brown-eyed, Latin hottie, in a black, A-line, mini-dress, tits heaving from the plunging neckline, bordered by white lace, with a white apron tied around her waist, and black garters holding up matching black stockings, as she stood there holding a full glass of sparkling champagne, proudly displaying some tasty-looking curves of her own.

For a second, I almost reached for the glass, stopping the moment I recognized her face, just before making the embarrassing mistake of thinking she was really the maid.

"Hi, I'm Lauren. This is Chris," Mom said, reaching out her hand.

"Monique," she said, glancing toward me, with a look like she was drinking me with her eyes. "You don't look familiar. Are you new?"

"Yes, it's out first time," Mom replied, "looking forward to it though."

"Oh, me too, especially now," Monique said. "You know what they say about skinny white boys."

"Come again," Mom said, squinting at her.

"Exactly," Monique giggled.

Noting the double entendre, Mom nodded back slowly. "Oh, um, forgive me," she said. "I should have explained ... he's actually with me."

Monique sniffed, nodding her head. "Ah, lo siento señora. I meant no offense. However, since you're new here, I should definitely warn you ... if you don't like to share, then you've probably come to the wrong house."

Clearly insulted, my mother stepped forward, red boots toe to toe with Monique in her black slingbacks.

"Excuse me?" Mom said, arms folded, glaring defiantly.

I jumped in, hands up, hoping to avoid starting things off with such an unnecessary confrontation.

"Listen, I'm really sorry. She gets a little defensive sometimes. Any idea where we could find Dr. Sinclair?"

Without speaking, Monique raised her glass, pointing it forward toward the long hallway, leading to the front door.

"Take this," she said, offering me the glass. "She needs it more than I do."

Taking the glass, I graciously thanked her, handing it to Mom, who instantly gulped it down, as I then led her through the spacious kitchen, red boots clicking over white tile, noting the sterile appearance of the white cabinets, with top of the line, digital appliances in every corner, stainless steel, sparkling as bright as the grey-on-black marble counters.

Leaving the kitchen, we then passed a group of guests mingling together in the dining room off to the left. Over to the right, as Mom and I continued our way down the hall, I couldn't help turning to glance at a young, gorgeous brunette, with huge lofty tits, and a long, dark, braided ponytail, flawlessly mimicking Lara Croft, ass smothered in tight camouflage shorts, nipples poking through a strip of white cotton, arguably a bra, with black holsters holding huge guns, the whole works. Unable to keep myself from staring, I looked on watching her lean forward, locking lips with a second smoking hot brunette, wearing a costume inspired by a top female pop star, both of whom, if I wasn't mistaken, seemed to be older, more shapely versions of the same girls posing in all of the family photos hanging behind them.

Seeing the pictures made me assume they were sisters, leading back to memories of Bethany and Kendra Saint-James.

Bethany, the girl who gave me my first kiss, was an innocent freshman, half Dutch, half Irish, one year behind me in school. It happened one day when I went over to hang out with her brother Austin, my one and only friend at the time. Austin and I traded comics and played video games almost every weekend. Bethany was a shy, flat-chested, tomboy, with green eyes, and long, sandy blonde hair. She never got in the way, so neither of us minded if she hung out and played with us in Austin's room, especially since she knew more about comics and video games than most girls her age.

One afternoon, Bethany and I were sitting alone in Austin's room, when she turned to me and randomly asked if I'd ever kissed a girl. Surprisingly, at 14, I honestly admitted that I never had, to which she confessed that she'd also never kissed a boy either. Austin had stepped out to use the bathroom, so I knew that he'd only be gone for a minute. Still, I never expected for Bethany to lean forward and gently kiss me on the lips.

Prancing along, fresh home from cheerleading practice, Kendra, her older sister passed by right at that moment, catching the two of us red-handed. At 17, Bethany's older sister had already blossomed into a blonde, top heavy, major league piece of ass, like a younger and thinner version of Cynthia, only meaner and more conceited.

When she wasn't shaking her pom-poms at every high school sporting event, or working part-time, shamelessly flirting for commissions at Hot Topic, evidently, her third favorite activity was tormenting me as often as possible.

As Kendra busted through Austin's door, Bethany quickly ran out, while Kendra stood there, dead sexy, in spite of her usual smirk, with legs to her neck, and large, full on, bodacious tits, raised like a shelf, stretching the limits of red and white straining polyester.

"Having fun?" she said, glaring, hands on her shapely hips.

I was so embarrassed I could barely speak.

"Stand up," she ordered, urging me to my feet. "Let's see if you've got a chubby," she said, as she stepped over and squatted in front of me, yanking my shorts down to my ankles, gasping in shock.

"Holy shit!" Her eyes bulged at the sight of my semi-hard penis. "How the fuck did you get such a huge cock?"

From that moment, and only from her encouragement, what started for Kendra as just another humiliating practical joke quickly changed everything between us.

Within a week, I was asking permission to sleepover at Austin's, the perfect ruse for me to go over and fool around with Kendra, who purposely left her door open, when everyone else had gone to sleep, as I crept in, climbed in her bed, and lost my virginity to her that first night.

Over the summer, Kendra was all too willing to teach me all about sex, giving me the confidence to finally seduce her little sister, taking her cherry, as Kendra had taken mine.

Reaching the foyer, Mom and I eventually found Megan cordially greeting her guests by the front door, her buxom hips cinched tight in a black leather corset, over a white blouse, with ruffles on the sleeves.

She hadn't seen us as I quietly took a moment to study her festive outfit from behind. Her ass admittedly did look pretty nice, though it really didn't have anything on Mom. Nonetheless, she clearly knew how to draw my attention, with no complaints at the sight of her in black, unforgiving, horse-riding breeches, squeezing her shapely buttocks, with black leather, spike-heeled boots, cuffed below the knees.

Finally, Mom waved to her across the hall, as Megan turned to us and smiled, politely excusing herself, gracefully sauntering over.

I stood by as she and Mom warmly embraced, patiently waiting to feel her arms take me in as well.

"Ms. Shepherd, lovely to see you again," Megan said. "So glad you could join us," she added, turning to me. "Christopher, my goodness darling, you look good enough to eat," she said, pleasantly greeting me with the scent of rose petals, as she leaned in, pressing against my chest.

With a kiss on the cheek, she then took me by the hand, leading the two of us over toward the two girls I'd seen making out moments earlier. "Come," Megan said. "I'll introduce you to the family."

Making our approach, struck by a feeling of repressed anger, I thought to myself, stunned by how pretty they were, that these were exactly the same kind of spoiled, beautiful, privileged young girls who'd always ignored me growing up.

"Girls," Megan said, calling them over. "I'd like you to meet Ms. Lauren Shepherd," she said, as each girl stepped over and gave Mom a brief hug. "And this handsome devil is Lauren's son, Christopher," she added, seeing their eyes grow wide. "These lovely young ladies are my eldest daughters," Megan told us. "This is Chelsea," she said, waving to her left. "And this is Emma," she followed, waving to her right. "Emma is actually visiting from Los Angeles," she said, explaining why her skin was so tan.

I wasn't expecting for Chelsea to step over and hug me as tightly as she did. Her arms lingered around my shoulders far longer than any girl that sexy had ever done before.

Stepping back, I stood there staring at her outfit, soaking all of it in.

"Great costume," I said. "You must really love Katy Perry."

Flashing a brilliant smile, Chelsea instantly gushed all over me.

"Oh my God! You're like ... the only one who's figured that out. Everyone else thinks I'm a fembot"

"It's the hair," I said, noting the color was mostly black mixed with bright purple, draping down to her shoulders.

As a whole, Chelsea's entire costume could have been something taken from Willy Wonka's wet dream: soft, natural, bouncing tits stuffed inside a sparkling, silver bra, cleavage spilling over the pointed metallic cups, with huge rainbow lollipops glued to each one, paired with an equally bright pair of skintight purple hot pants, glittering as much as the stardust twinkling from her slender thighs, sharply inhaling as I looked down, stunned by the magical effervescence of silver Lurex tights, leading down to white go-go boots.

"Um, if you don't mind," said Emma, apparently not wanting to be left out. "I'd really appreciate your opinion too."

Hoping she hadn't seen me sweat, I watched as she slowly turned for my inspection.

"Honestly," I said, scanning her costume up and down. "I don't even know where to start. I noticed you the second we walked in. I mean, what guy hasn't dreamed about Lara Croft. The whole thing is perfect ... the hair, the outfit, even the guns look real."

"They are real," Emma said. "They're just not loaded. Like Mom says, we have five rules here ... no one under 18, no photos without permission, no drug use or smoking inside the house, no pain inflicted without consent, and absolutely no deadly weapons."

"Mom, I think everyone's ready," Chelsea said. "Have you seen Dad?"

Megan shrugged. "He's probably off somewhere boffing some blonde stewardess. We can start without him."

With that, Megan led the four of us back through the foyer, turning right into the cigar room, passing the pool table, taking us by a dark wooden wine rack, leading us on to the parlor, with a reclining sofa facing a large mounted plasma TV, and a chaise lounge over the by window, in the far left corner of the room.

Waiting there side by side, standing behind Megan, Mom and I watched as another possibly 20 to 30 guests steadily began filling the room.

"Greetings," said Megan, centered amidst everyone. "As always, Bill and I want to warmly welcome and thank you all for joining us this evening as all of us gather to celebrate hedonism and debauchery. For those of you who participated in this month's auction, I'm pleased to announce that we've set a new record, raising over ten thousand dollars for underprivileged youth, with the generous cooperation of our dear friend, Mr. Dante Lavelle."

Nodding and smiling through brief applause, Megan then briefly reminded everyone how the auction worked. Prior to the party, all the participants were given a number between 1 and 100. After blood tests and thorough background checks, of those hundred, only thirty applicants received an invitation. Until the party, the highest bids remained secret, known only to Megan, who then placed the winning numbers on each of the four available girls, explaining why I noticed Monique with a round button pinned to her dress, quiet next to Chelsea, as I looked around, wondering which lucky bastard had 35.

"Now," Megan continued. "In keeping with tradition, at this point we'd like to begin by formally initiating our newest members. For those of you who don't know, it gives me great pleasure to announce that we now have our first genuine, biological mother and son. Please join me in welcoming Ms. Lauren and Chris Shepherd."

Again, we were greeted by a second round of vocal applause, louder and longer than the first. Glancing to my left, I noticed Monique lean over and whisper something in Chelsea's ear, to which Chelsea then whispered something to her mother.

"Now I realize the two of you might feel a bit nervous performing in front of all these strangers," Megan assumed correctly. "Fortunately, someone has graciously offered their assistance, considering this is your first time.

Calmly, Monique stepped forward, as Mom and I turned to each other, firmly squeezing each other's hand.

"I should have known he was your son," said Monique, as she reached out and took my mother's hand. "Allow me to make it up to you," she offered, leading my mother toward the chaise lounge.

Clearing a path, the room quietly parted, as Mom and I followed Monique.

Reaching the longue, Monique turned to Mom and softly asked, "Where do you want me?"

Standing beside them, quickly removing my belt, I shivered as Mom ran her fingers down my chest, head turned, focused on Monique, yet highly aware of Mom's hand, which ultimately slid its way down to the prominent bulge straining against the black spandex.

"Why don't you show me yours," Mom whispered. "Then maybe I'll show you mine," she added, squeezing my cock, reminding everyone it was hers.

Quietly taking Mom's direction, Monique gracefully settled down, thankfully leaving on her black slingbacks. Knees up, legs in black stockings, she then swung them around, heels pointed straight out, revealing a lacy black G-string, as she leaned back, spread eagle, offering herself up to Mom.

Until then, my sole objective in life was simply to fuck Mom in pantyhose. So the concept of seeing her eat Monique's pussy was something for which I wasn't mentally prepared.

Fortunately, somehow, among all those people, I managed to process seeing my mother kneel down, lunge forward and bury her face in Monique's twat, black G-string pulled to the side, tongue gliding over rosy lips, moist, shiny, widely spread by Monique's fingers, as she lay there moaning, tongue fluttering over her clit, feeding Mom's surprisingly urgent hunger for Latin cuisine, prompting Monique to respond audibly in her native tongue.

"Ay dios mio! Uhh uhh si señora. Me gusta su lengua en mi chocha. Ay chinga me! Chinga me con su lengua!"

Clearly, Mom knew what she was doing. Had she done this before? Was it pure instinct? Had she always dreamed about eating pussy, only there, in front of me and all those people, was she then finally getting her chance? Either way I was so horny I had to pull out my cock.

"You see," Monique said, in her rich throaty accent, as she reached up and gently grabbed me by my dick. "I knew you'd have a big cock. You fuck your mother with this?"

I looked down at Mom, smiling as she looked up, smiling back, beaming with pride, watching as Monique carefully guided my penis toward her mouth.

Right at the moment, when I urgently wanted her Latin lips wrapped around my knob, my head spun toward the sudden appearance of two people who, judging from Mom's reaction, couldn't have picked a worse time to show up.

"Lauren... ?" said Cynthia, standing there with her husband, ignoring the series of heads turning immediately on her arrival, given her astonishing lack of modesty, trumping every girl there, instantly drawing the attention of anyone there who had a cock.

Recalling our photo shoot, for the most part, she was wearing the same costume. The only difference was the white nurse's hat on her head, red heels instead of white; a real stethoscope dangling between her stupendous jugs, with "Head Nurse" printed on a name tag over her right lapel, below that, a round button indicating her winning bidder was 63.