All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older.
*****
Ricky Jones was an 18-year old loser: short, thin and unattractive; constantly bullied by the other kids. He had resigned himself not only to a life of virginity, but also to not even securing a date to the prom. "Man," he thought to himself, "even the ugliest girl in the school wouldn't go with me."
Little did Ricky know that his mother, who loved him very much, had a surprise lined up for him. His mother had attended high school with one of the most popular centerfold models in the world, Pettra Kervaik, and had reached out to her in hopes that she would take her son to the prom. Having heard of Ricky's tough life, Pettra had agreed to go with him, in the hopes that her companionship might boost his self-esteem. Although Pettra was now in her late 30s, her body was still impeccable and she was beloved by readers of the magazine for her staggeringly large, and natural, breasts. Pettra had continued to model throughout the years and had made a modest living through modeling shoots and appearances. In general, the years had been kind to her, but she had struggled with alcoholism - ordinarily demure and sweet, when Pettra indulged in alcohol, she went through a stark personality change and became arrogant and impulsive. For that reason, she had sworn off alcohol - it had been years since her last drink.
The night of the prom, Ricky was irritated by his mother's insistence that he put on the tux she had given him. "I don't want to go, Mom," he told her. "No one will talk to me - they'll just make fun of me." He had just gotten his cumberbund in place when the doorbell rang.
"Who could that be?" Ricky's Mom wondered aloud. She opened the door and Pettra strode in - she was wearing a strapless dress that barely covered her large breasts, which threatened to spill over. Her dress barely covered the bottom of her ass, showing off her long, shapely legs. She came over to Ricky who stood, mouth agape, unable to process what was before him.
"Hi Ricky," Pettra said, kissing him on the cheek, "I'm your date for the prom."
"Is this a joke?" Ricky asked.
"No!" Pettra laughed, and she grabbed his arm and pulled him close. Even through his thick tuxedo, Ricky could feel Pettra's breasts press against his arm. "And not only am I your date," Pettra told him, "but I'm driving, too. Let's go, tiger!"
The drive to the hotel where the prom was held went quickly for Ricky, whose brain was still in a fog. Pettra was asking him questions about his life, and in his daze, he almost felt like he was under hypnosis - he found himself speaking frankly about his life and problems - being bullied, feeling alone - and Pettra found herself feeling more and more sympathetic and loving toward him as the drive progressed. As they got out of the car and prepared to enter the hotel, Pettra turned to Ricky and, looking in his eyes, told him, "This is going to be such a fun evening," and then she kissed him fully on the lips.
Holding his hand, Pettra walked into the hotel ballroom, and all eyes were on the couple. "Holy shit!" several students exclaimed at the sight of Pettra. In her heels, she was a good six or seven inches taller than Ricky and the contrast in her height and beauty made the pair a striking, if unusual couple. "Show me where the kids are who bully you," Pettra asked Ricky. He pointed to a table where a group of young toughs and sleazy looking tramps sat. Pettra steered Ricky to two unoccupied seats at the table. Ricky had a horrified look on his face as Pettra boldly asked, "You don't mind if we sit here do you?"
The entire table looked dumbstruck at Pettra, who had her arm around Ricky. Both the boys and girls at the table stared stupidly at her breasts, amazed at their enormity. Finally, the leader of the group, a muscle-bound dolt named Ron, broke the silence. "Sweetheart, you can sit anywhere you like - ideally right on my lap!"
"Well, these seats are fine," Pettra said, sitting herself and Ricky down.
Pettra picked up her water glass and began to drink her ice tea, not realizing that the table had spiked their drinks with alcohol. She paused for a moment at the taste of the drink, but thirsty, she quickly downed the glass and poured herself another. Almost immediately, she began to feel flush and relaxed.
Ricky and Pettra danced several times - the band was playing fast numbers and Ricky was self-conscious about his dancing. Meanwhile, Pettra was feeling the music and was swaying lively to the beat. After they returned to the table, Pettra went through several glasses of what she thought was ice tea. She tried to make small talk with the rest of the table, but to her consternation, all they did was try to humiliate Ricky.
"Nice of you to bring your Mom to the prom, Ricky," Ron told him. "I plan to slow dance with her and check out those nice ta-tas she's got!" He made a squeezing motion with his hands and his girlfriend slapped him.
"Well, I'm not Ricky's Mom," Pettra told Ron. Turning toward him and squeezing her breasts together with her hands to emphasize their volume, she told him, "And Ricky's the only one who's going to be pressed up against these nice ta-tas while slow dancing." Ricky couldn't believe his ears and he felt a stirring in his pants.
"Alright, Ricky!" Ron laughed. "It pays to be a charity case, you fucking loser!"
"What do you mean by that!" Pettra retorted.
"Face it, lady - you're just taking him to the prom out of pity. But he's still a loser. And later this evening, when we go up to the hotel suite, we're going to get lucky! Our girlfriends are going to suck our cocks and fuck our brains out - and meanwhile, you're just going to be a dream girl. You wouldn't fuck this loser if you were paid a million dollars. If Ricky's lucky he'll have a memory to jack off to, but that's all. He's not even going to get to see your tits unless he goes on the Internet like the rest of the losers who beat off to you."
Feeling emboldened the liquor, Pettra flushed in anger. "What makes you think he's not going to get lucky?"
The boys at the table hooted and hollered. Then the group calmed down and Ron spoke. "I call bullshit. He's not getting laid tonight and you'll go back to fucking good looking guys like me while he goes back to being a loser who makes love to his hand."
The group, even the girls, laughed uproariously at this comment and Pettra felt compelled to defend Ricky. "You don't know what you are talking about," Pettra told the table. "I'm going to fuck Ricky's brains out tonight!"
For a moment, the table sat in stunned silence. Then Ron spoke up: "Prove it. We're headed up to the suite to fuck our girlfriends. Prove it to us. Come up with us and fuck your so-called boyfriend."
