tags: blowjob, titfuck, anal, MILF, femdom, abuse, bullyfucking, humiliation kink, SPH, older woman, younger man, bbw, feet, m/f, f/f, m/ff, mm/f, very light m/m
Christina Hendricks ruins a teenage boy’s life, and he loves it.
There is a document that is feared and dreaded throughout Hollywood.
It is called a perquisites sheet.
Supplied by an A-list celebrity’s agent prior to a shoot, it details the star’s requirements. Their transport wishes. Their dietary needs. Their (often grotesque) personal proclivities.
Mariah Carey demands Cristal Champagne with bendy straws, and kittens and doves for her dressing room. Justin Timberlake insists that all doorknobs in the vicinity be disinfected on a rolling two-hour schedule. Jennifer Lopez requires that everything in her dressing room be completely white—curtains, couches, candles, flowers, and wallpaper.
The perquisites sheet is non-negotiable. Its demands, however unreasonable, must be satisfied to the letter. This is the reality of working with a “name”.
In 2025, one month before her fiftieth birthday, Mad Men alumnus Christina Hendricks signed on to appear in a TV ad for telecom giant TeraKnyfe. Her agency delivered her perquisites sheet three days prior to the shoot.
Its contents were as follows:
- Roja Haute Luxe floral-scented perfume
- A salon-grade makeup station with 360 degree ring lightning
- Artisanal vanilla-birch triple-wick candles
- A bottle of Dom Pérignon, 2008 vintage
- A set of hand-blown crystal flutes, for Ms C. Hendricks and her PA, Ms Z. Danieloupolis
- A Himalayan salt lamp
- An 18-year-old boy
The limo door swung open. Christina Hendricks got out.
She stood; brushed a crease from her elegant equestrian riding jacket, and smiled at the thirty-plus men of the film crew who’d gathered to receive her.
David’s jaw clenched—she hurt to look at.
She was tall. At least 5’9 in stockinged feet, and her black Louboutin Pigalles lifted her to a valkyrie-esque 6’0. Flame-red hair fell in pigtails around her refined chalcedony-hewed features.
She blew a kiss to the lovesick men, then crossed from the limo to the set. She walked with the slinky, ice-cold deportment of an international runway model.
Her body, however, was not engineered to runway spec.
Christina Hendricks was built like a schoolboy’s fantasy. She was pornographic. Obscene. Erotically overfleshed in a violent, lust-maddeningly way that turned boys into men and men into pigs. Her hips were sybaritically wide. Her rump could have fit two normal butts inside it. A chic equestrian riding jacket caught and snatched her figure into a perilously overfilled hourglass. Her massively thick legs and ass were poured into backstitched silicone jodhpurs that gripped every debaucherous curve of hip, thigh, and calf.
Huge breasts wobbled ponderously inside her riding jacket—the tightly-cut navy-blue fit did nothing to hide the bowling-ball sized mountains of flesh violently jolting and rebounding with each step she took. David sprouted a honking erection at the sheer amount of jiggling inside Christina’s packed-to-exploding jacket. He writhed painfully, trying to disguise the bulge stabbing his private academy slacks. Greg snickered at David’s misery—but not very hard. He was covering his crotch with his hands too.
Christina sauntered and sashayed among the film crew; charming, smarming, disarming. She smiled, flirted, giggled, touched shoulders, asked for names, spoke saccharine nothings. She was in her late 40s, and radiated a comfortable MILFy energy. A mom you’d self-mutilate for, just so you’d have a booboo for her to kiss and make better, it took Christina less than a minute to wrap the entire film crew around her finger.
In the brief seconds David was able to stop eye-fucking her outrageous Neolithic fertility-goddess body, he saw a second person get out of Christina’s limo.
A girl, with short blue hair, scissored and shaved in an androgynous pageboy cut. She was young, with a compact, curvy body that was covered in tattoos of snakes. Her breasts were half the size of Christina’s—which meant a mere four times bigger than the average woman’s. Struggling and straining, the girl hauled a half-dozen heavy bags from the limo to the street, then hurried to catch up with her mistress.
Christina’s take-no-prisoners charm blitzkrieg ended in from of Ivan Schneider and his son.
“Ivan!” she trilled. “So good to see you again.”
David’s father beamed. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
Then the girl with the blue pageboy trotted up beside them, panting with exhaustion. Christina clapped a hand on her shoulder, and planted a kiss on her cheek. The girl blushed demurely. One stockinged ankle kicked against another.
“This is my new personal assistant, Zoe Danieloupolis.”
At the word personal, Zoe brayed laughter, screwing up her adorably cute nose. David couldn’t figure out what was so funny.
Then Christina’s eyes slid across, settling on David. “And who might this be?”
“My son David!” Ivan slapped David’s back, making him cringe. “He’s here for work experience!”
Then he leaned in, whispering conspiratorially in Christina’s ear.
“A birthday present. He just turned eighteen.”
“I see.” Christina chewed her lip thoughtfully, her face unreadable. “Perhaps you’d better leave me with him for a minute.”
“Of course.” Ivan walked away, clapping his hands, bawling at the others to get back to work.
…and then the three of them were alone. David, Christina, and Zoe.
Christina’s lewd whorehouse madame eyes were all over David. Dissecting him. Taking him apart like a butcher’s hacksaw. Her maternal warmth was now cut with something sinister: a predator’s rapacious hunger. She had the eyes of a snake that swallows mice whole and shits out a bag of twisted skin.
A hand flicked out. A finger pushed his chin up.
“Stand up straight,” Christina commanded. “I want a better look at you.”
David stiffened his back, trying not to wilt before Christina’s domineering gaze. She was four inches taller than him, and probably eighty pounds heavier.
Mommy. He felt like a child before her, one that might deserve cossetting or punishment. He just wanted to crawl into her arms, nestle his head between those huge motorcycle-helmet-sized breasts, go to sleep, and probably never awaken…
“He’s kinda cute!” Zoe giggled.
“He’s adorable!” Christina squealed and patted him on the head as if he was a puppy. “Well, David, I don’t have a birthday gift for you, so how about a kiss?”
Moving with stunning boldness, she pounced on him. She gripped his head, and pulled him into an aggressive, ravenous smooch.
SMACK!
David had no words. Even if he’d had them, he no longer had a mouth.
The kiss was lewd and hot and sexual. The sensuous pressure—her cheekbones, her skin, her lips—smashed through him like a hammerstroke cutting through marble. He shuddered. His cock squirted an involuntary jet of pre-cum down a shivering scrawny thigh. He’d expected to be kissed on the cheek—and that alone would have fueled his next six hundred cock-flogging sessions—but her crimson-maned head was latched onto his like a facehugger, smothering his mouth in a flamenco-red lipstick onslaught.
Her tongue—oh god—her tongue was inside his mouth! Exploring!
As she violated him with her lips and mouth, Christina thrust her buxom body against his, pushing him back against a wall. He prayed she couldn’t feel his erection throbbing against her jodhpurs as she straddled him with her thighs, practically humping him.
Squelch!
Her water-barrel sized-tits swelled massively against David’s chest, pinning him to the wall. They were so huge and meaty and heavy that it was like being in the path of a steamroller. He glanced past her cheek, down her neck, and saw her thick body bulging out, almost bursting apart her outfit.
How is she so big? And so…fuckable?
Just when he thought he was about to die from crushing or asphyxiation between her boobs, she broke the lip-lock.
“God, barely-legal boys are fun to kiss,” Christina panted lustfully, easing back a little so he could breathe. Her hands stayed on his shoulders.
“As much fun as barely-legal girls?” Zoe gave another far-too-clever fox-laugh, and David realized how extremely young she was. Maybe only a year older than him.
“Such a mouth on you!” Christina laughed, her face flushed. “Well, he’s gotten me all hot and bothered, anyway!”
She unbuttoned her riding jacket. It gaped wide, matching David’s mouth. Beneath the jacket, she wore an undershirt that was exploding with cleavage. Her industrial-sized bra pushed a sweaty mountain of breastflesh up her neck, threatening to bury her skull in her own cleavage. Christina’s breasts were so big they barely registered as breasts—they looked more like a pair of butt-cheeks stuffed down the front of her shirt.
Christina pulled off the jacket, and held expectantly at arm’s length. “A-hem!”
Zoe stepped forward to take the jacket.
Christina’s hand flew out, striking her cheek.
WHAP!
The girl’s head snapped sideways. David almost jumped out of his skin. The sharp note of skin on skin rang out in, startlingly loud, the echo hanging over the cold air like a scythe blade.
I’m dreaming, David thought, trying to stop his racing heart. She didn’t just do that.
Zoe faced Christina, her eyes wide and shocked. A bloody red spot stood out like a jewel on her left cheekbone.
Christina wagged a remonstrative finger. “Bad, Zoe! Bad, bad, bad Zoe! Did I tell you to take my jacket? No. Obviously, I meant it for David.”
“I’m sorry, Christina!” Zoe whimpered, hands clasped. “I made a mistake! I’ll never do it again! Please forgive me!”
“Hmm…” Christina laid hands on her buxom hips, and chewed her lip thoughtfully.
Silence dragged out for twenty agonizing seconds. Then…
“Kneel,” Christina whispered to her assistant, eyes smoldering like coals.
Zoe’s voice diminished to a whisper. “But the gravel…my knees…this skirt’s a rental!”
“Kneel, Miss Danieloupolis.” Christina’s tight smile became a single hard white line, like a chalk outline at a murder scene.
Tears filling her eyes, Zoe kneeled in humiliation before her mistress. A worshipper, supplicating a savage, brutal blood-hungry god. Christina towered imperiously over Zoe, dwarfing her beneath those wrecking ball tits. Zoe probably can’t even see Christina’s face past those things, David thought.
“Is…that enough?” Zoe asked timidly, her face pressed to the ground.
“No,” Christina said with gleeful and horribly practiced cruelty. “I need you to prove that you understand just how badly you insulted my new friend.”
David began stammering. “Um…It’s okay! I wasn’t insulted—”
“Shut up. Be quiet until I speak to you.” Christina didn’t turn to him; nor did her smile shrink.
David was drowning in sweat, totally under the spell of this huge, terrifying MILF. He’d never been so horny, not even when he’d attempted No Fap November (in his case, it had turned into No Fap November 2nd, 11:30am). His cock was nearly ripping a hole in his pants.
What happened next almost made him pass out.
Still kneeling on the ground, Zoe leaned forward, and kissed Christina’s feet. She planted her lips on her mistress’s raised-arch pumps. First the right. Then the left.
“Forgive me, Christina,” Zoe said as she drew back. Venom-blue lipstick now stained the glossy black Christian Louboutins.
Christina nodded. “Stand, Miss Danieloupolis, and comport yourself more respectfully herewith,” Christina bopped her on the nose like a bad dog. “Next time, I won’t forgive so easily.”
Chastened, Zoe stood, brushing dirt from her ruined skirt.
Christina swiftly spun back to David, who yanked his stare off her tit-wobbling undershirt.
“Well? Don’t just stand there, boy. Hang up my jacket in the wardrobe room.”
She tossed the equestrian jacket into David’s arms. He scrabbled for it, and for a horrid moment almost let it fall into the dirt.
“Right away, Miss Hendricks!”
“What a gentleman!” Christina cooed, all sunshine and silk, patting him gently on the cheek with the hand she’d just beaten her assistant bloody with. “I love it when young men are…accommodating to my needs. We’ll get to know each other more later, David.”
Then she sauntered away.
David stared wide-eyed at Christina’s monstrous backside. She rolled her enormous ass from side to side, her doorbusting hips and buttocks threatening to break every stitch in the jodhpurs. With every stride, her giant milkers wobbled massively, their huge slosh and bounce visible even past her body.
Zoe giggled softly at him, covering her mouth so the older woman wouldn’t hear.
There was something about this girl that he didn’t like.
“You’re in luck,” Zoe whispered nastily, her blue lips pursed like coiled snakes. “She loves boys who are virgins.”
Then she left to follow the massive wake of Christina Hendricks’ swinging ass.
David was quivering. About to explode. Like a can of soft drink that had rattled in a high-speed tumble dryer for an hour.
Where was the wardrobe in this place?
And far more urgently, where was the bathroom?
David hurried away, his emotions a swirling chiaroscuro.
He’d just seen his best friend’s penis. Despite being flaccid, it had been longer than his own by half.
David had been insecure about his penis for as long as he could remember. He regularly woke up from nightmares of girls pointing at his cock and laughing. Five point two inches. The number was lithographically engraved in his neocortex, at a place where bus timetables and calculus derivatives feared to tread. It seemed to summarize him as a person: not quite adequate.
Is a 5.2″ penis really that small? He’d read online that the average male penis length was six inches…But that couldn’t be right, could it? Men exaggerate. Surely the real average was lower.
Even so, he’d spent years religiously doing jelqing and stretching and countless other exercises, purchasing one scam remedy after another. He’d measured his dick thousands of times, shoving the ruler so deep into his pubis that it had left a permanent scar in his skin, trying to coax an extra fraction of an inch out of the stubborn measurement line. Please just get bigger! I spent a thousand dollars of my pocket money on pills. Please, God, just give me another tenth of an inch, and I’ll be happy!
Once, he’d gotten up the courage to ask his mom if women cared about a man’s dick size. She’d laughed and kissed him. “Absolutely not! No woman is even slightly concerned about that. We care about your personality, your sense of humor, and who you are as a person. That’s what matters. Not what’s in your pants.”
He’d looked up at her pleadingly. “…so if I’m a little small, it’s okay?”
This frank confession had brought his mom up short. Her eyes broke contact. They seemed to hold something like pity.
“David, you are a wonderful young man, just the way you are. Any woman would be lucky to have you. Remember that.”
Forty minutes passed, before Ivan yelled cut for the final time.
Christina was cut loose from the harness, and strode to the edge of The Line.
Strode to where David stood.
She pulled off her mocap hairpiece. Her hair flew in wild disarray over her flushed, sweaty face. Her huge knockers wobbled inside black lycra, sweat stains soaking through the outlines of her bra cups.
“I can’t wait anymore,” she panted desperately, a woman barely in control. Flushed red spots danced beneath her skin. “I’m leaking through the crotch of this suit.”
She gripped his hand.
“I’m supposed to leave you alone until we’re at home afterward, but I need a teenage cock in me right now.”
What the fuck—
In full view of dozens of witnesses, the 49-year-old woman dragged him at a brisk march to the back of the set, where her personal makeup and changing quarters were. NO ADMITTANCE BEYOND THIS POINT, a sign warned in purple, feminine typescript.
She flung open the door, pushed David through—he landed with an undignified flop on a full-sized chaise lounge, in the shadow of a cabinet-sized makeup mirror—and followed him in, slamming the door behind him.
“I’m horny enough to rape an Arriflex 35,” she said, stalking toward him like a lioness. “If I don’t get stuffed, I’m going to lose control.”
She lunged, pouncing on him, pressing him bodily against the chaise. Her thick body was wriggling all over his, lycra-sheathed boobs sloshed against his bare skin.
“In fact, I’m probably going to lose control anyway.”
Christina gripped his shoulders, and loomed over him. Her wild red hair trailed down toward his face. Her eyes were ravenous. Starving.
She kissed him, squeezed him, groped him, mauled him, molested him, humped him like a bitch in heat. Her fingernails clawed him, cutting little half-moon shapes into his shuddering skin. He winced and gasped, pleasure at war with pain. He was too shocked to articulate words. He’d understood the joke right in the middle of the punchline.
Dad brought me here so she can fuck me. That’s what’s going on. That’s what Greg meant.
With her thick thighs pinning him in place, the sex-berserk woman began ripping off his clothes. His shoes, socks, shirt, and jeans all went thud and flump on the floor.
Her fingers squeezed his crotch. His exhausted cock lethargically began to chub.
“I hope you’ve saved up lots of sperm for me.” Christina plunged her head into the curve of his shivering neck, breathing words into his skin like dragonfire. Each syllable glowed. “I love huge teenaged loads splattering against my back walls.”
She lay across him, smothering him in kisses. He felt her excited heartbeat pounding beneath the lycra outfit. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Oh God. His eyes stared in horror at the ceiling. Strange how you could long for something to happen…and dread it.
With a sinuous motion of her hips, she pulled back. Her hot slippery tongue coiled over his navel, tracing a wet line down through his treasure trail. All he could see was a wild tangle of red hair obscuring his crotch.
“We’re going to do it here, David,” Christina whispered, gripping his underwear with both hands. “And then we’ll go back to my mansion, and do it all night. Brace yourself. You won’t get any sleep tonight. I fuck a lot.”
She yanked his boxers down. His shaft popped out.
“Hmm.”
Christina stared at his sad, small, half-flaccid penis. It was a little beneath five inches long. She wrinkled her nose at the obvious scent of dried cum lingering around his crotch.
“…And this is the part where you assure me it gets bigger?” She raised a tawny eyebrow. Half amused, half concerned.
“It does,” he said. “A little.”
She flashed a toothy smile, and began blowing him.
Her moist lips engulfed his cock. He grunted softly, bumping his hips up against her face, trying to control his racing heart. His tip was chafed raw after three dates with his hand in rapid succession, and she was extremely rough.
As Christina slurped and sucked his limp dick, David began to panic.
He had to get erect. Had to perform, or he was dead.
This woman could turn into a monster on a dime. He’d seen her thrash her assistant for practically nothing. God only knew what she’d do to him if he failed to satisfy her.
Get hard, he thought to his dick. Get hard. This is literally a wet dream come true—if only you get hard!
As Christina fellated his tiny dick, her eyes drifted up to him. They were smoldering with impatience. Then with contempt.
Well? her sapphire-blue eyes seemed to say. Is there an issue?
Frantically, he replayed his most potent masturbatory fantasies—the time he’d stolen his sister’s panties and autoerotically asphyxiated by wadding the pungent crotch around his nose, the time he’d helped his big-assed mom tug a thong strap out of her sweaty buttcrack while she was suntanning, the time at school he’d stolen busty Mrs Shapira’s bra and jerked off into the 32GG cups so many times it had grown green and crusty by the end of the term—drenching endorphin receptors in an bleary orgy of sin and flesh and tits and ass. Pornographic fantasy was the only real talent he had. And unfortunately, he’d gotten far too good at it. He meant to get erect, but he fantasized so hard that he overshot the mark. Literally overshot.
Without warning, an orgasm erupted in his crotch; like the blossoming of some dreadful flower.
He couldn’t stop it. No! No! NOOOOO! he thought as he prematurely ejaculated.
“The fuck?” Christina’s words were choked and muffled—*duhh-fuhhk?*—by the five-inch cock that was bouncing and jumping against her tongue, releasing a thin dribble of cum.
David had virtually nothing in his balls. He’d jacked off three times in as many hours, and his testes were nearly totally empty. His shaft welled up, spat a single desultory rope into her black sucking maw, and spasmed in dry convulsions for twenty seconds—as rubbery as a Panic Pete stress doll, and as sexually potent.
Christina spat out the limp, disappointing dick. It flopped into his barely-existent pubic thatch and shrank, looking as humiliated as he was.
“Oh…FUCK! OFF!” Her snarling lips seemed to scissor the words brutally short. “You cannot be serious!”
She reared vengefully over him, looking furious enough to breathe fire. A lock of incarnadine hair swung from her scalp, and tickled his forehead.
“What was that? What the hell was that?”
David couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. He felt sleepy. There had been no pleasure in the climax. It had been as unsatisfying for him as it was for her.
“Uhhh….” was all he got out through a prolactin-induced fog.
She stood up, hands on hips. “That was pathetic. You weren’t supposed to cum in my mouth, idiot. Not that I’d call that cumming. How many times have you jerked off today?”
“None!”
“Liar. You’ve been wanking like a chimp. I can always tell when boys waste their sperm. When they waste my sperm. How many times today?“
“Once! Just once!”
“Then, naturally, another round won’t be a problem,” Christina closed her eyes. When she opened them, rage had gone from her face. “Let’s forget this even happened, and try again.” She smiled winsomely. Dangerously. “But I warn you, David, this is your last chance.”
Then lifted up one thick thigh, and stomped a foot down on the lounge beside his head.
“Get hard and fuck me. Right now.”
David was paralyzed. His mouth went dry.
He stared at the small, shriveled penis between his legs, and tried to pump some blood back into. Come on. Get hard. Fuck Christina Hendricks. You can do it!
Nothing happened.
Christina laughed scornfully. She leaned further over him. Her dangling boobs swung and hovered over his face.
“This is sad. You’re a teenage boy, for God’s sake! You’re meant to be able to slam pussy all day! That’s your only redeeming quality—I don’t spend my life chasing boys your age for their hygiene or conversational skills.”
“So you fuck other boys?” he said, trying to take his mind off things.
Her eyes slitted malignantly. “Hundreds of them. Does knowing that turn you on? Does it arouse you? Do you like hearing about other boys’ penises? Is that how you plan on getting hard?”
David was aghast. Horrified. “No! I’m sorry!”
“Good. We can make small talk, or we can fuck. Personally, I’d rather fuck.” She glared at his limp penis, as if it owed her money.
He furiously replayed a highlight reel of his most sordid wank fantasies.
His sister’s cunt. His mom’s ass. His substitute teacher’s tits. His favorite porn star. His second favorite porn star. His 27th favorite porn star. He even imagined his grandma naked—fuck it, maybe he had a GILF fetish and just didn’t know it yet.
Nothing worked. His cock was finito. Totally and utterly out of commission.
Christina gave his DOA penis a spiteful flick with her painted nails.
“I expected better from Ivan’s son. Get dressed and leave. I have no further use for you.”
The car ride to Christina’s mansion wasn’t pleasant.
Zoe drove. Christina lorded over them from the front-passenger, projecting a serene dowagerlike mien over the leather-upholstered interior. David hunched over like a worm in the back seat, stewing in shame and misery.
Silence was unbearable. So he talked.
“Um, so…I’m a senior at Harvard-Westlake High School.” David said.
“Thanks for sharing,” Zoe said. “We are both so interested in what you do at school.”
A ray of light seemed to shine. Maybe they were warming up to him…?
“I’m still picking out a college,” David said proudly. “I’d like Caltech. UCLA’s my safety. I want to study Computer-Aided Drafting and Design.”
“No, seriously, keep talking!” Zoe said. “I wasn’t being sarcastic before! This stuff is just fascinating to hear about!”
He perked up. “Well, basically in Computer-Aided Drafting and Design you use AutoCAD and photogrammetry software to model the interiors of—”
“Do you have Aspergers or are you just retarded?” Zoe said. “Read the goddamn room. Nobody cares.“
The smallest intimation of a smile crossed Christina’s chalcedony-flawless features.
David sank into the back seat, praying a speeding Mack rig would swerve over the center line and kill him. Zoe watched him through the rear vision mirror, relishing in his humiliation.
He hated Zoe. Hated her even more than he hated her boss.
At least Christina Hendricks had a reason for bullying him. He’d disappointed her with his limp cock. Zoe Danieloupolis was cruel for no reason at all. Imagine being a bitch purely out of love for the game.
They pulled up at Christina Hendricks’ mansion soon after.
The House that Mad Men built David thought, staring in awe at the lawns, the topiary hedges, the understated wood-tone Craftsman-style exterior.
He felt hope stirring as Zoe ushered him across the lawn, and up the steps.
Despite her abuse, Christina had at least brought him to her mansion. Clearly, she intended to have sex with him, however pathetic she judged his penis.
Why else would I be here? he thought as he stepped through the front door. It had been a few hours since his last orgasm. He was sure he could get hard.
He clenched his fists, and made a vow. He wouldn’t disappoint her again. Wouldn’t.
The interior of her house was ornate and spacious. A Persian throw rug stretched down the main hall. Imitation Rothkos and Mondrians hung from the walls.
In the drawing room, Christina set Zoe to business with an imperious point of her finger.
“Drinks, please. For me, the usual. Do we have something non-alcoholic for Jason? He’s underage.”
“My name is David,” he whispered timidly.
“We have some Kool-Aid in the fridge.” Zoe said. “From when the cleaning lady brought her stupid kid over. The one with the retard haircut.”
“That will do. Get Jason some Kool-Aid.”
Zoe hurried away.
“My name is David.” he said, louder.
Christina hit him. Her hand hissed through the air, and struck his skull like a bomb-blast.
“OW!” He reeled, blinking back tears. Christina had a strike like Mr Miyagi. She gripped his shoulders, and shook the world back into focus.
“Understand something, brat,” she snarled. “I do not enjoy being corrected, least of all by a pathetic palmhumping loser who jerks off constantly and can’t even use his dick when it matters. So clear out your ears, because I’ll only say this once…”
She rattled him back and forth like a doll, shouting at him.
“…If I call you Jason, YOUR NAME IS JASON!”
David nodded, tears running down his face.
“Tell me your name,” Christina said.
“David.”
She slapped him again. Hard enough to draw blood.
“TELL ME YOUR NAME!.”
He sobbed. “J…Jason…”
“Good boy!” And just like that, Hydericks transformed back into Jekyllina. She hugged David, smooching him, cooing to him that he was a good boy. His brains began to catch fire and melt in her embrace. All his pain and fear and shame seemed over, in the past.
So long as this woman hugged him, the world did not hurt.
Mommy…
The door swung open, and an unimaginably bad day became even worse.
Greg Torrance walked through the door, motorcycle helmet under one arm. “Hey, what’s good!”
David’s face fell. He wanted to hide. This is not happening.
“Gregory!” Christina stood and curtsied. “The man of the hour!”
Greg looked and saw David sitting in a child’s seat, drinking Kool Aid from a Mickey Mouse sippy cup. He laughed.
“Jesus, Gayvid. What’s this I hear about you trying to rape Christina Hendricks? That’s fucked up, bro. I know you haven’t gotten any pussy since you dropped out of one, but c’mon. Raping women ain’t the move.”
David wanted to scream. “I wasn’t trying to rape her! I just…misunderstood!”
“Well,” Christina said dulcetly, “clearly you need some education in how a gentleman courts a lady, so that further misunderstandings in that vein can be avoided. Let’s all adjourn to the bedroom.”
She began to climb the baroque staircase, swinging her dump-truck sized ass behind her.
“Jason, it’s time you learned how to fuck.”
All David could do was watch.
Watch his worst nightmares came true, one by one, in an orderly line.
First, Christina slid back onto the mattress, propping her voluptuous body up with pillows.
She spread out her arms imperiously. Her basketball-sized breasts poured into her armpits like twin masses of jelly. Greg mounted her, spreading her legs apart, and then positioning himself at the fork between her legs. His ballsack hung like a bloated speedbag above his horse-sized prick.
Christina shuddered as his hips lunged into hers, spearing his colossal prick into her depths. A loud, lewd moan slid out of her lungs.
Greg went slow, extending her pleasure until it became indistinguishable from torture. It took Greg nine seconds to fully penetrate her—one second per inch—with Christina groaned and bellowed continuously beneath his cock.
“Fuck me, he’s biiiiiiig!” she trilled, her shoulders sweating.
Greg gripped her mammoth udders as he bottomed out inside her. They sloshed pendulously back and forth with each sway of her body, overflowing his fingers.
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!
He fucked his well-muscled hips back and forth, driving his coke-can-thick shaft in and out of her drooling slot.
“AHHHHH! OOHHHHHH!” Christina’s mouth twisted and forked in analects of joy. Her flame-red hair trailed behind her on the pillows, like jet exhaust. Her makeup was pouring off her face in rivers.
She swiveled her hips upon his skewering organ, seeking more depth, more stretch, more, more, more.
slrrrrp-slrrrrchhhh-skrrrrrrch!
Greg mashed his chest into Christina. Her breasts squished out like dough. His huge penis splayed her lips wide apart, stretching her out before his enormous maleness. “Don’t stooohh-oooop,” she wailed; vowels fluxing and mutating like glass folding under a glazier’s flame.
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!
Greg groped and mauled her overfed breasts, rolling the orbs in his disgusting palms. He was grinning at her sexually-charged moans and grunts. Sounds he was causing, with each brutal thrust and swing of his hips.
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!
With the humping gaining intensity, and her orgasm fast-approaching, Christina’s face transformed, twisting horribly with insane lust. Eyes bulging, mouth split open wide, tongue out, drooling long strings of saliva onto into her infinite void of cleavage.
“I’M ABOUT TO…..HUHHHHH!”
Christina’s entire body jiggled and writhed against his. SHLURRP! POP! Then Greg pulled his dick out of her cunt, and shoved his ring finger into her sweaty asshole.
Christina flung back her head, screaming.
“FFFFFUUUUUCCCCKKKKK!!!!!!!” She hollered so loud that everyone in the postal district must have heard it. “GODDDD, I’M CUMMINNNGGGG!”
Her asshole clenched around his finger. A massive shot of orgasmic juices pulsed out of her pussy, spraying across the white counterpane. It was followed by a second, a third, a fourth, and a fifth.
“BUHHH!!!!” Christina yelled, more volleys of cum exploding from her pussy.
After a dozen pulses, she ran down, and sagged against the stacked-up pillows, shuddering with post-orgasmic spasms. The huge canopy bed looked like the site of a Super-Soaker battle royale to the death. Cum puddled and dripped from every surface. Christina was spasming witlessly in aftershocks.
But Greg wasn’t finished.
With practiced confidence, he mounted her again. His cock found her slit, and he stabbed, sliding in smoothly and deeply. He dropped his hips, and sank into her overheated genitals, burying the full length of his cock into an abyss of soft warm gooeyness. Christina’s limbs quaked as the teenage boy’s hairy crotch went squelch again her navel.
“I LOOOOOVE THIS!!!”
The lewd, sloppy rutting resumed. It went on and on, for what seemed like hours. David soon struggled to breathe. The air was rank with sex-juices. Their fucking was turning it to poison.
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!
Greg drove and slammed his enormous prick into Christina’s slurping channel. Her huge ass bucked up to meet him. Their frantic humping was punctuated by bellows and shrills and throaty, bassy grunts. Messy, liquid plops tore apart the air.
David shrank back from the lewd sex-noises. They crawled through his hearing like drosophilae hatching and buzzing in rotten fruit. This is the worst. The worst. So why can’t I look away? Why can’t I leave?
Squelching, splurting, slurping, rutting, gurgling, pounding, humping. Curses and oaths and expulsions of overheated breath. The noises on the air wove prison bars around him, locking him inside this awful room, with these awful people.
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! Greg’s ballsack rose and fell as he drilled his fat cockhead against her cervix. Ejaculatory fluid was spilling from the union of their engorged genitals, churned into a froth by his humping.
“FUCK! Oh god! Make me cum you fucking big-dicked brat! Make me cum make me CUUUUM!”
David hated it, and loved that he hated it, and hated that he loved that he hated it, and loved that he hated that he loved that he hated it, and…
And…oh fucking God…!
Christina’s mouth flared open in a piercing scream as she was gaped. She orgasmed again. It wasn’t a climax, it was an explosion. A arc of squirt sprayed out of her pussy, writing shimmering cursive on the air. Droplets glistened like jewels as they splattered over the bedposts.
“OOOOOHHHHH THAT FEELS SO FUCKING…!!!”
Where’s Zoe? David looked around, but couldn’t see her. She’d slipped away at some point.
“MORE! MORE! FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME!”
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!
Their humping bodies made loud, obscene, wet, slurping, slapping music, drowning David’s thoughts beneath a sticky-sick glue of splooge and bodily fluids.
They’d changed positions. Greg was now screwing her doggy style. Their hips slammed and crashed together like magnets. Two softball-sized globes of breastflesh jiggled and bounced and swung and smacked. CLAP! CLAP!
With a cocky grin, Greg gripped Christina’s waist with one hand. With the other, he lifted up one of her enormous sweaty hooters, wrapped it around her body, and plopped it onto her back like a sandbag. Winking at David, he planted a kiss on the breast’s massive surface.
David swayed, and tried not to pass out. The nipple on Christina’s back was staring at him, like a living eye.
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!
Another ten minutes flew past. The bedroom walls echoed back the sickening depraved sounds of fucking. Christina’s endless moans rose and fell in time with the huge-cocked teen’s thrusts. Sweat poured off her thrashing body.
Her ass and thighs wobbled, and her lips slackly hung open as Greg jackhammered her through a third orgasm.
“CUUUHHHH-MING!”
Her pussy spasmed and squirted. Her heavy tits swung from her chest like pendulums, like great golden bells for a church that was always in service, always connected to the Lord of Lords, the Host of Hosts.
Then Greg bottomed out his disgusting shaft in her twat, and busted.
“UGH! CUMMING! TAKE MY LOAD, YOU FAT-JUGGED SLUT!”
His bloated scrotal sack visibly retracted as it squirted its payload. David watched the massive tube in the center of Greg’s cock bulge and flex, over and over. There was a disgusting, earthy ejaculating sound.
BLURT BLURT BLURT BLURT BLURT!
Christina’s eyes opened wide as massive ropes of teenage sperm blasted into her cunt at firehose volume. As Greg’s ultra-virile genetic slop flooded and drowned her remaining eggs, Christina babbled nonsense, pushed to the edge of words and then straight off the side, into whatever dark beyond lay past the side of the tongue.
There are things in heaven and hell that make language burn. This was one of them.
Greg finished sperming her. He grunted piggishly in satisfaction. Then he dug his pipe out of her pussy, with the sound of a post-hole digger being yanked out of six feet of wet mud.
SQUEEELLLLCHHHHHH!
His cock tore free. Disgusting volumes of baby batter splattered out onto the bed. Twin sperm-rivers streamed down the quivering fenceposts of her thighs, lubricated by sweat and female squirt, forming puddles on the sheets.
Creampied harder than Laurel and Hardy in a barber-shop, Christina was gasping for air. Her hair was tangled, no more red that the sweat-flushed face beneath it.
But she hadn’t forgotten her purpose.
Education.
“And that…” Christina said, sitting up and wiping perspiration from her forehead. “Is how a man fucks a woman. Say ‘thank you’ to Greg for the demonstration”
“Thank you, Greg,” he whimpered, feeling two inches tall.
“Don’t mention it, Gayvid.”
Christina waved at the door. “You may leave. We will be busy for quite some time. Shut the door after you”
David slunk from the bedroom, hearing the rhythm of sloppy, animalistic sex resume.
Heart thudding, he followed Zoe outside, onto to the patio.
There, he tried to kiss her. She shoved him away with a cruel laugh..
“I’m a lesbian, you pathetic loser. And even if I wasn’t, your pindick would turn me into one.”
She shoved a piece of paper into his face. There was a list written on it.
“Our groundskeeper is sick. There’s a lot of yard work that needs doing. Get started now if you want to be finished by sundown. Otherwise you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
With a sinking heart, he stared at the list.
- wash the windows
- water the plants
- trim the hedges
- mow the lawns
- repaint the decking
“Chores?” he asked blankly. “You want me to do chores?”
“You’ll find tools in the shed. Make yourself a PB&J if you get hungry. Also, wash the dress she made me kneel in. I’m renting it, and I lose my two hundred dollar deposit if I return it dirty. Bye, now!”
She merrily flounced away.
With the sun setting, David staggered back inside Christina Hendricks’ mansion.
He was physically exhausted; emotionally drained. His back ached. The muscles in his forearms burned. His mind was a terrarium of horrors both real and imagined.
He slumped against a wall to catch his breath, and felt rhythmic vibrations surging through the plaster. Like a heart, going beat-beat-beat. He wondered what was causing it.
…just as a raw, obscene, bass-heavy chorus of grunts and moans erupted from the master bedroom.
“FFFFFUUUUUCCCCKKKKK!!!!!!! GODDDD, NOOOO! UGHHHHH! I CAN’T….OOOOHH!!!”
Upstairs, a woman was cumming, getting murdered, giving birth, or all of the above.
He hunted for Zoe, and found her lying on a couch, shoes kicked off, reading a Cosmopolitan. He saw the front cover. LYING TO MEN FOR MONEY? MEET THE WOMEN WHO DO IT…AND LEARN THEIR SECRETS!
“I finished the chores,” he gasped.
“M’kay.” Zoe Danieloupolis sounded bored. “You can leave whenever, I guess.”
“Um… so are you driving me back to the city?” he asked.
“Nope,” Zoe said. “I have to stay here until she’s fucked your cognitively subnormal friend into a coma. They’ll be at it all night. She has pills and injections to keep boys hard. Whatever he thinks his sexual limit is, Christina’s gonna take him past it.”
David’s shoulders sagged. “Can’t you at least drive me to…”
“Um, hello?” Zoe turned her head, so he could see the bruise that had been slapped into her face earlier. “I can’t leave! If Christina needs me for something and I’m not there, I’m in shit mondo deep! I know you’re some spoiled kid who has daddy pay for everything, but some of us work for a living, David! She’s a good boss, but she has a bit of a temper. You got off easy. You haven’t seen her when she’s really angry.”
David was close to despair. He hadn’t brought his phone or any money.
“So how am I getting home?”
“Dunno.” Zoe yawned and turned a page.
Another of Christina’s orgasms shook the walls.
Dearest Ivan,
It was so nice to reconnect with you at the TeraKnyfe shoot yesterday! You are aging like fine wine.
I was enchanted by your son. Diligent. Helpful. Careful. Attentive and good with his hands. I made many demands of him yesterday: duties which he performed with nary a word of complaint. He will make a fine homemaker.
I view my role around young men as largely one of pedagogy and mentorship. The difference between a boy and a man is subtle but profound—and if it’s my body that helps them navigate the gulf, so be it. Many eighteen year olds are adrift and uncertain. They feel adulthood’s winds pulling them toward manhood—yet they still have the mentality and habits of a child, holding them back like an anchor. Who are they? They don’t know…until they suddenly do.
A child cannot choose to be a man. He simply becomes one. Either that, or he stays a child forever. I’m glad I could help young David understand the difference.
Yesterday, his status in the world was undecided. But today, he knows his place.
Calumniously yours,
~Christina xoxo 🙂
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