Mrs. Jorgenson was angry. In fact, Mrs. Jorgenson, a 45-year old widow, was very angry. It was already past one o'clock in the morning and her son had still not returned home. She should have gotten used to it by now but, of course, she hadn't.
Since her husband Bill had died two years ago, the brat had gotten way of hand. Actually the brat was aptly named Brad and happened to be an extremely good-looking, athletic, brown-haired and brown-eyed eighteen year old teenager.
In fact, Mrs. Jorgensen suspected, no, she knew, that the boy's good looks and perfect body were the reason for his downfall. Since he had discovered sexuality his grades had taken a downward dive and he had flunked a class, being still in High School though he was already eighteen.
And it didn't seem hard for him to pick up girls or -- Mrs. Jorgensen had heard shocking rumours -- even boys. Plus in the last year Brad had taken a liking to alcohol and came home quite drunk every night -- or rather every morning.
So, finally, Mrs. Jorgensen had reached a decision. She had talked to her good friend Dr Jenny Matthews, a famous urologist, and told her about the grief the rebellious boy was causing her. She had also confided in her as to the solution she had in mind.
Dr Matthews had pondered the problem, had even talked to Brad, who was not reasonable at all, and had finally agreed that Mrs. Jorgensen was right and she would assist her in any way she could. So, Mrs. Jorgensen had prepared everything and was now, at half past one a.m., waiting for the brat to return home so she could start the operation.
Suddenly she heard the door open, then close softly. Just as the boy was tiptoeing through the corridor Mrs. Jorgensen switched on the light. And there was the perfect young specimen, stopped in mid-step, brown and misleadingly innocent eyes opened wide in surprise, brown, sweaty hair hanging into his forehead, his mouth with those sensuous, fleshy red lips slightly ajar.
Only after a while he managed to say,
"Mom!"
"Yes, it's Mom, you miserable little brat! Do you know what time it is?"
"Well, I...!"
"Oh, shut up, Brad! You've been drinking again, I can smell the alcohol on your breath! And god knows what else you've been doing...!"
The boy wiped the hair from his forehead, swaying a little.
"No, Mom, I just...."
"I told you to shut up. The time for talking is past. I've been patient long enough and you've had your chance. You blew it, young man! Now it's time for action."
Brad had never seen his mother like this. She had always made a fuss about his coming home so late and so on, but she'd never been this stern, this ... frightening.
Brad swallowed. But since his throat was dry from too much beer and wine, he had to cough, which sent tears into his eyes. And as he looked now into his mother's eyes rather shyly, any mother's heart would have melted.
But not Mrs. Jorgensen's. She knew her son, she knew the devil inside him, and she knew ... as her gaze went to Brad's bulging crotch in his jeans -- where it was located. No, Mrs. Jorgensen would not waver, she was a patient woman but once she had set her mind on something she carried it through. And, a part of her wickedly thought, it would hurt her son more than it would hurt her.
"Into the living room, Brad! NOW!"
The teenager followed her doggedly, drunken and confused and a little bit frightened. When the lights went on he immediately saw that a long, broad, heavy wooden ladder had been placed in the middle of the room. What the hell for? his drugged mind behind his cute face couldn't understand.
"Get undressed, Brad", Mrs. Jorgensen said in an imperative but soft voice.
Brad was sure he had mistaken the words and looked at his mother disbelievingly. But she repeated:
"Get undressed, boy. Now and fast. My patience is running out."
"But ... Mom...!"
"I said, shut up! And get those clothes of. RIGHT NOW!"
She took a step towards Brad and the look in her eyes made the boy wince. This couldn't be his mother, this was some kind of a Fury. But, before his brain even registered, Brad started undressing. He took his jacket off, then his T-Shirt, presenting his bare upper body to his mother. He hesitated for a moment, then took off his shoes and pushed down his jeans. Finally the socks came off. Then he stood there, not daring to look at his mother, not believing she would want him to undress further. But his hopes were shattered.
"When I say undress, I mean undress! Undress completely!"
Crack! The woman’s meaty fist connected with her son’s jaw, hard but not enough to break it. Still the blow was hard enough. The pain was intense and excruciating, and it wasn't long before the world began to grow dim for Brad. After swaying for a few seconds the youth fell unconscious—and would remain unconscious, thankfully, while his mother stripped the rest of his clothing from his ragdoll-limp body.
Mrs. Jorgensen would later recall staring down at Brad’s naked form before crouching down and having her way with him.
"When I placed my face near my son’s bare feet my sense were filled with the malodorous scent that makes me so hot! I pressed his sweet bare foot up to my face and under my nose. I exhaled then inhaled, exhaled then inhaled. "This always assured me of getting a nose full of aroma, you see. I lifted Bradley's limp right foot just enough so that I was able to take his big toe into my mouth. I sucked his toe like I sucked the sweetness from a sugarcane as a child.
"I felt his toenail scratching my tongue. I licked between the unconscious Brad’s toes. I moved from toe to toe, sucking each in turn until my son’s pink digits were wet with my saliva.
"And when I finished with one foot, I lifted the other one. I sucked his toes until I couldn't remember anything other than having my unconscious boy’s toes in my mouth.
"I then began licking the sides of his feet. I even licked his soles and his heels cleaner than they would have been if he'd have showered!"
Still, she remembered trying to inhale more of whatever scent remained on the eighteen-year-old’s toes. While she got comfortable, she got her face close to Brad's foot again—her nose touching the sole. Mrs. Jorgenson’s whole body was feeling that small touch ... all her senses were concentrated in that spot, at the tip of her nose and under the unconscious teenager’s sole.
She pretended that she could still smell his scent, but she really could feel the warm softness of his fair pinkish-white skin. Brad’s bare feet were soft but had been licked clean of all the dirt and sweat. Still, his mother pressed her lips and tongue against his sole to cleanse the bottoms of her son’s feet even more thoroughly. She then proceeded to lovingly… sensuously kiss his sole. And she kept kissing and licking his sole, the ball of his foot and carefully at the base of his toes.
The unconscious youth slept on, but sometimes he'd wiggle his toes as they were kissed and licked. Mrs. Jorgenson did this until the eighteen-year-old moaned and began to awaken. When Brad fully regained his senses, his mother hauled him up onto his saliva-slicked bare feet.
Watching her naked son Mrs. Jorgensen really understood why every girl (and boy) fell for Brad. Large red-brown nipples protruded from fleshy pectorals, the horizontal lines of his knotty abdominal muscles were clearly defined and his muscular biceps seemed even now, arms hanging limply at the boy's side, to rip through his silken, lightly tanned skin, blue veins visible. But, Mrs. Jorgensen thought, she would get a chance to see these muscles flex tonight, if not in pleasure but in pain. As she would see his meaty, powerful thigh-muscles and his strong, oval-shaped calf-muscles tense in agony. But Brad's main attraction were, of course, those organs that defined his manhood. The boy's cock was incredibly long and thick -- in fact, it must have been almost ten inches long and about two inches wide -- with thick, dark-blue veins pulsating beneath the brownish skin. His glans showed a fiery red. Beneath this proud member were equally low-hanging balls almost the size of hens-eggs. Yes, there had to be a lot of fertile boy-semen captured in there, waiting to push upwards and upwards and outwards through the erect and quivering cock, erupting in powerful waves as huge load after huge load of sticky white come was ejected from the jerking, sweating, powerful young body and a mind-blowing orgasm filled brat Brad's mind, blotting out every coherent thought ... thoughts like learning or behaving or respecting his elders....
Well, no more. Mrs. Jorgensen tore her eyes from her son's physique and said crisply:
"Okay, stand with your back to the ladder and climb the first rung."
"But, Mom, why...?"
"Don't always ask stupid questions! Do as you're told!"
Numbed by the humiliation of being stark naked in front of his mother and still not sober enough to understand what was happening, Brad obeyed.
"Hold up your arms and stand on your toes!"
As Brad did this, he suddenly realized that he could see himself. At first he was confused but then he understood that a large mirror had been placed at the opposite wall. Brad recognized it as the hall-mirror. His mother must have placed it there. But why...? What frightened Brad still more was that he could watch his wrists being fastened to the ladder by what looked like cushioned hand-cuffs. Before he could protest he was securely tied to the wood. Mrs. Jorgensen then took care of Brad's ankles, pulling his feet off the rung, tying them to the sides of the ladder so that neither his naked soles nor his toes could reach the last rung.
The boy was hanging from the ladder, naked, spread-eagled, helpless. Mrs. Jorgensen saw the confusion and fear in his eyes. She stood before him, then took the boy's low-hanging cock into her hand. In shock, Brad tried to pull back but was unable to. Sweat broke out on his strong body, partly from the physical strain of only being supported by the hand-cuffs on his wrists and the rope on his ankles, partly from the real fear that started to fill his mind. Still he managed to say:
"But, Mom, what are...."
"Shut up and listen! These things", she took Brad's balls into her other hand and was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath, "are the source of your troubles. You've been a good boy before you discovered what to do with those ... things. So", Mrs. Jorgensen took a deep breath, "the only remedy is to do away with those ... things."
Brad babbled:
"Oh, no, please, you can't do this ... what do you mean...."
Somehow the boy couldn't say the word "Mom", it just didn't seem appropriate. But his mother's voice was stern and unforgiving:
"I can do whatever I want to. I've been patient, but I also brought you into this world, so I have the right to take you out of it as well, or at least some parts of you, especially those devilish ... organs."
She squeezed her son's cock and balls. Really squeezed them until he moaned.
"Oh yes, these ... organs have given you pleasure, I know, but they've taken your mind off the really important things ... your studies, your grades, your progress in life, in fact, your whole healthy future. That's what we'll have to cure. And right now!"
Mrs. Jorgensen left the room and young Brad was left there hanging from the ladder, naked, defenseless, panting with strain and fear, seeing his helpless, spread-out, muscular body in the mirror, watching sweat spread out over his pectorals, dripping from his erect tits down onto his stretched, rippled belly, being caught in his pubic hair, running along his proud shaft, finally making muffled splashing sounds as it dropped from his glans to the carpet. He sighed, still a bit drunk, still not grasping the scheme of things.
Mrs. Jorgensen returned, carrying a sharp knife in her right hand. Brad saw the knife, thinking, that's the one she cuts onions with, then, realizing what he had thought, Oh My God....
Mrs. Jorgensen stood before the tied, naked body of her son, holding the knife in front of his eyes.
"I hope you know that this is only for your own good. It is going to hurt, I know, but that's necessary. I could do it easily, you know, just a slash and that's it. But, for your own good, you'll have to remember this all your life. And pain is the best way to remember…"
To be continued…
