Ms Carter And Miss Candy Ch 03

Brief Description:

A teacher and her son become ensnared into a love triangle with the school bully. Things get... complicated.

A nice, NonConsent/Reluctance - Incest/Taboo - Transgender & Crossdresser - Mature - Anal - Fetish kind of story.

All characters in this story are 18+.

NonConsent/Reluctance, Incest/Taboo, Mature

Sunday Fucking Sunday

Master - Nice try. Tell your son his friend got caught.

The message came around 2:00am while I was sound asleep. When I woke up on Sunday morning, I read it and felt real terror. "RUSSELL," I shouted, "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!"

Russell came running into my room wearing just that old pair of gym shorts. I was still naked. It didn't matter. I showed him the text from Mitch. Russell ran back to his room and came back with his phone. Keith answered but had no clue what was going on. Thomas answered yet had no clue either. When Russell called Mark, Mitch answered the phone.

"I don't know what he did or why you have his phone," Russell said. Then Mitch hung up on him. I wrapped myself in a housecoat, took my phone, and went into the living room. Russell followed me.

Thirty minutes later, Mitch knocked at my door. We let him in. He ordered us both to strip and join him in the kitchen. Then he ordered us both to bend over the kitchen table, face down, and grab the other side of the table.

"Please," I said, "I don't know what is going on."

"Shut up," Mitch said while he paced behind us. "What the hell am I going to do with you?" he asked rhetorically.

"Anything you want," Russell said, "we still won't know what happened."

Mitch's fist hit my son's taint. Russell screamed, then stopped himself. Oppressive silence filled the room.

"You don't know?" Mitch went back to pacing. "You expect me to believe that? Well, I'll tell you what happened. Your buddy, Mark, tried to break into my house—MY HOUSE—and steal my computer! And you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with that?"

Russell and I were completely silent. Mitch continued pacing.

"He didn't get anything," Mitch said, "but you should both know that if anything happens to me—or my stuff—there's a 72-hour timer that functions as a Deadman's switch. If I don't reset it regularly, then oops—all your shit goes out everywhere."

"I'll see you both for dinner," Mitch said after several more minutes of futile pacing. Then he stormed out of the house leaving the front door wide open.

When I closed the door, I spotted a young woman standing across the street. I hoped futilely that she hadn't seen anything. If I had looked a little closer, I would have recognized her. Wendy sure as hell had recognized me.

-----

Mark called Russell from the hospital later that afternoon. He had fallen badly. Just a weird accident. Mark said that his arm and three ribs were broken.

We had no idea what to do. Everything had seemed to be going so well the day before, but now... we talked about contacting the police or fleeing the country. We didn't do either.

At 5:00pm, Russell stripped down and put on another pair of my old panties. I guess Mitch had ordered him to do that; kinda like Mitch had once ordered me to never wear panties when he was around. I dolled myself up and put on the strawberry blonde wig. We had no idea what was coming. We were both determined not to do anything that would upset Mitch further.

Around 5:30pm, there was a knock at the door, and I answered it. Russell was standing a few feet away in full view.

"Hi, Ms. Carter," Wendy said to me, "Or should I call you Miss Candy?"

-----

"Aren't you going to invite me in," Wendy asked, "or would you prefer to talk about it out here?"

I stood there dumbfounded, while the girl walked past me into the living room.

"Thank you. This is much better," Wendy said while she looked around, "Hi, Rusty."

My son was just as dumbfounded. I looked outside for Mitch's car, and not finding it I closed the door.

"I guess you never realized we were neighbors." Wendy kept talking to my son, who was standing there in nothing but a pair of light blue panties. "We could've played and played," she continued, "if only you weren't such a dweeb."

"What can we do for you," I asked when I finally found my voice. The girl flopped down in the recliner my son usually sat in and put her feet up on the couch.

"Whatever do you mean, Ms. Carter?" Wendy asked, with faked confusion. "I just dropped by to visit my neighbors. By the way, you never answered me."

"What was the question?" I asked.

"Ms. Carter or Miss Candy?" Wendy singsonged, "or, perhaps something else—would you prefer it, if I called you Katherine?"

"I don't know," I replied, honestly. "Have you spoken to Mitch?"

"Mitch the Bitch," Wendy responded. "Who gives a fuck what that loser thinks? Let's talk about us."

"Okay," I hesitated to answer her, "I guess you know..." I trailed off, unsure of how to handle this situation.

"Let's talk about you two," Wendy interjected. "How long has this been going on? Do you fuck your son often?"

"Listen—" "Russell started, but I shook my head and he stopped whatever he was about to say.

"Not long," I answered her. "And no. We don't fuck."

"What a shame," Wendy said. "Of course, that's what a former president thought. Anyway, it's just a matter of time—isn't it?"

"What is it that you want? " I asked again.

"Isn't it obvious?" the girl responded, with her own question. "I want in," she said, "on whatever you and Rusty and Mitch have going."

Russell sighed and lowered his head. I was more confident for some reason.

"You'll have to take that up with Mitch," I said. "He calls the shots and should be here soon."

"Looking forward to it," Wendy spoke, with animosity, "but while we're waiting, why don't you lick my kitty."

-----

I'll spare you the details... or maybe I'm just sparing myself from writing them here. Mitch didn't show up for dinner until a few minutes past 6:00pm. Russell answered the door, because I was face down in Wendy's untrimmed muff. Mitch was pissed.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Mitch demanded when he saw us.

"Oh, Mitch," Wendy cooed, on her way to her third or fourth orgasm. "We were just waiting for you."

Mitch stomped forward and physically threw me away from the girl.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" Mitch demanded of Wendy.

"Listen, you son of a bitch—" Wendy started to get up, but she picked the wrong day. Mitch was already on edge from the break-in last night, and not knowing who he could trust. This bitch went out of her way to piss him off further.

He hit her.

He only hit her once.

She landed with a thud on the floor next to me.

Despite the thin carpet, I heard the crack of her skull when she hit the floor.

I got to my hands and knees and scurried away from her and from Mitch. Russell closed the door and put his back to it. Mitch looked down at the seemingly lifeless body of our would-be blackmailer.

"She's still breathing," Mitch said. Like that made it all better. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"It's Mitch," he said into the phone, "I need a pickup."

"Wendy," he said after a few seconds.

"She broke the rules," he said, with finality. He gave the address to whomever was on the other side of the phone, and then hung up.

Russell and I were both still in our positions. Neither of us dared to move.

"Do you have any duct tape, rope, something like that," Mitch asked Russell. My son nodded and immediately ran out of the room. He returned with two rolls of duct tape from the hall closet.

I watched as they bound Wendy with duct tape, and then moved the recliner and the couch into the hall. I just sat there watching.

Don't get me wrong. I have experienced violence. I was more experienced than most—especially when the violence was directed at me. Yet, I had never seen anything like that. One punch, then a crack on the floor, and she's unconscious. I wondered how many times I was beaten for what felt like hours and never passed out—no matter how much I wished I could. Punch, thud, done. Wrap her up in colorful duct tape like some bizarre Christmas present.

It could have been me, twenty years ago.

It could've been me if I had pissed Mitch off enough.

Russell came over and extended his hand. He helped me up out of my crouched position and led me into the kitchen. We sat down around the table.

"Do you have any cigarettes?" Mitch asked, while he paced the kitchen. We both shook our heads. Mitch walked out the front door, closing it behind him. I remembered seeing a pack of Marlboros in his glove box the previous day. I wondered if he had a lighter.

A few minutes later, the front door opened. Russell and I stood at the kitchen doorway and looked to see who it was. Wayne—the bouncer, the football player, the student who got A's in Ms. Carter's history classes four years in a row—stepped inside and looked around. Mitch tossed his lit cigarette into the front yard, then followed Wayne inside. Russell and I just watched.

Wayne knelt over Wendy, took her pulse, and then pulled the duct tape off of her mouth. She was still unconscious. He took a face mask out of his bag, placed it on her, and injected two cartridges of compressed gas. They looked like CO2 cartridges for seltzer water bottles, except for the color—one white, one green. I had no idea what he was doing, but assumed one was oxygen and the other was some sort of sedative.

Then Wayne and Mitch rolled her up in my living room carpet. Wayne picked up the carpet by himself, and Mitch held the door for him. Two minutes later, Mitch opened the door again, and Wayne brought in a new carpet. Unlike the cheap carpet I had put down years ago, this one fit the room perfectly.

"Wait," I said, as Wayne was about to leave. He turned his attention to me and my son for the first time. "I've gotta know," I started, then realized I didn't need to know anything—I just needed to talk to him. "You excelled at my history classes. Why didn't you go on to college?"

Wayne looked at me, then at my son, and back to me. If he realized anything his eyes and expression didn't let on, but he did say, "Hey there, Mrs. C," meaning either Ms. Carter or Miss Candy, "you know, I've changed my mind. You shouldn't ever go upstairs." I nodded in agreement. Wayne started walking to the door, then he stopped and looked back at Russell.

"Hey Rusty," Wayne said, "I don't know if she would care, but next time you see your mother..." He paused thinking about what to say, "Let her know that I'm taking classes at the community college and should start at a four-year program next spring." He started walking away, and Mitch opened the door for him. "I'm working toward a history major, of course," Wayne said, as he left.

Mitch closed the door, and we both felt a whole lot less safe than we had a moment before.

-----

"So, what's for dinner?" Mitch asked while moving furniture back into the living room with Russell.

"Pizza," I said.

"Oh good," Mitch stated, finishing with the sofa. "Where from?"

The bread machine issued forth a happy little song letting me know the dough was ready, "Here. I mean, I make it. Home-made."

Mitch gawked at me, "Home-made pizza? Well now I've heard everything."

-----

"She broke the rules," I asked, "What are the rules?"

We were all sitting around the kitchen table munching on pizza. Usually, one pizza was enough for both of us, but I had made a second pizza because I knew Mitch would be there.

"You saw what was going on there," Mitch said. "What do you think?"

"You mean the drugs and underage drinking," I replied.

"Let me put it this way," Mitch said, while eating, "you two could openly fuck as mother and son in that house, and nobody would say shit about it."

"Except she did," Russell spoke up.

"And she paid for it," Mitch said, with finality.

"What happened to her," I couldn't help asking, "after he took her away?"

"I would never ask," Mitch spoke calmly, like we were talking about the weather, "and you don't want to ask that - ever."

We all ate in silence, trying not to think too much about it.

"You don't have to worry about her," Mitch broke the silence, "none of us will ever see her again. That's it."

I figured the best-case scenario was that she was dead. Then I remembered Wayne putting that face mask on her. That's not the sort of thing you do if you just wanted someone dead. I blocked my mind from thinking of the possibilities worse than death that she might be facing.

"You like sucking cock, huh?" Mitch interjected. It was unexpected and I didn't know how to answer him, even though he was looking at me. I did. I really loved sucking cock. I really loved sucking both Mitch's cock and my son's cock. Maybe I even loved those two cocks more than any others. But I wasn't about to admit that.

"Yes," Russell said, then took a big bite of his pizza crust.

Mitch and I both turned to face him. "What?"

Russell said, with a mouth full of food, "I like the way it feels."

That was enough for me. Maybe more than I wanted to know about my son.

"Me, too," I joined in the conversation. "Why do you ask?"

"Yesterday, there was a wet spot on my passenger seat," Mitch said, before taking another bite, "which was impressive since you were wearing panties and a skirt."

I blushed red. It wasn't just a skirt—it was leather. Then again, it was a micro/mini skirt. Still, I was embarrassed that I had gotten so wet from giving road-head that I left a mess in his car. Especially since he keeps that car in pristine condition.

I stopped and took a mental inventory. I wasn't wearing the glasses he bought me, but I was wearing one of Candy's wigs. I was wearing one of Candy's outfits, and that pair of Candy's boots. Who was I to him right now? Was I the same woman he made spread herself naked next to her son, across this same table this morning? Or was I Miss Candy, his would-be girlfriend?

I took another bite of the pizza and looked over at my son, Russell. He was sitting here wearing just a pair of my ordinary, everyday panties. He might be a bit of a nerd, but we both exercised often enough that he looked good.

I looked over at Mitch. He was wearing roughly the same outfit as always—jeans, t-shirt, no underwear, socks, and sneakers. I wondered how many pairs of jeans he had or if he always wore the same one. At least his shirts changed every day, but I never paid them much attention. He could have three T-shirts or an infinite supply, and I wouldn't have noticed the difference.

A housefly somehow flew over the table. Mitch's hand snapped out with incomprehensible speed. He stood up from the table and walked to the front door. I heard him open the door and then close it. I assumed that he plucked the housefly out of thin air and released it outside unharmed.

I really didn't understand what motivated this boy in the slightest.

Mundane Monday

I woke up Monday morning with a cock in my mouth.

The room was still dark, but it wasn't like I could see anything other than the crotch in front of my face. Someone was kneeling over me and had just slipped their dick in to get it wet. After a minute or two, he decided he was hard enough and wet enough to fuck my tits instead. I looked up to see Mitch staring down at me, pushing my breasts together, and rubbing his hard-on between them. I just had to lay there on my back in my own bed, waiting for him to finish.

This was the first night he stayed over. He hadn't tried anything the night before, just walked into my bedroom, stripped naked, and went to sleep on the far side of my bed. Russell and I were both still awake for another hour before I decided to go to my bedroom, strip naked, and go to sleep on my bed. Russell probably went to his room and played on his computer for a few hours before going to sleep.

Maybe I could have slept on the couch instead. It's not like Mitch ordered me to sleep with him. He didn't even order me to sleep in the nude. I thought about that while Mitch fucked my tits off in the early hours. For over eighteen years, I had slept in PJs in winter, and panties and a t-shirt during the warmer months. For over eighteen years, I had slept alone and didn't have anything resembling a sex life.

There was a locked drawer next to my bed with toys. I only masturbated once a month or two and hadn't used any of those toys in over a year. And yet pretty soon after Mitch started showing up for dinners I had reverted to sleeping in the nude—like I did when I was younger, stupider, and unhappily married.

Mitch's pace changed and I opened my mouth as wide as I could, knowing what was coming next. He grabbed my head, shoved his cock as deep into my throat as humanly possible then released his load into my stomach. It was uncomfortable—the position didn't allow me a good angle to deepthroat, but he went for it anyway. I figured he would and was prepared enough to control my gag reflex. After he came Mitch held that position long enough for me to slap his thigh trying to indicate that I couldn't breathe, then he rolled off me and laid back down on the other side of the bed. Facing away from me.

I turned to look at the clock, and discovered it was 4:44am. Close enough to the time I needed to wake up anyway. I dismissed my alarm and got out of bed. I tossed some cold water on my face from the sink, then sat down on the toilet for my morning urination. Mitch joined me in the bathroom almost immediately after I started peeing. I marveled at his silhouette and what I could see of his body. I never really noticed him before. I'm not sure if I had even seen him completely naked before that moment. He had a terrific physique. Athletic with the right amount of muscle, the hint of abs, and built for function and endurance. He was a bit skinnier and shorter than my son, but they had very similar builds. I tried to shake the thought from my head.

"Do you mind if I use your mouth?" Mitch asked me.

"Sure," I said. I mean, he just had a few minutes ago. If he was ready to go again and didn't mind that I was sitting on the toilet I guessed I didn't have a problem with it. I didn't realize what he was asking. He stepped between my legs; I wrapped my lips around his semi-erection; I started sucking to get it hard again. Instead, I felt the warm splash of his piss on my tongue.

"Oh," I thought. I remembered that Mitch had read my file—or at least, looked at the pictures. That file was now locked in that bottom drawer next to my bed with my sex toys. There were all kinds of horrible photos of my ex-husband abusing me—taken by my then husband—and probably a dozen of those photos showed me being used as a human toilet.

I swallowed someone's urine for the first time in a couple of decades. Over the past week, I had reverted so much back to the woman I had been before my son was born.

-----

Breakfast was nothing special, but still managed to be odd. I was fully dressed and ready to go teach history at school. Mitch was just wearing his jeans. Russell was sitting there in just a pair of my panties. We needed to get him some of his own—after he wore them, they were too stretched out to fit me anymore. It couldn't have been comfortable. Russell had emerged from his bedroom and asked Mitch if it was okay if he didn't wear panties overnight, or in the morning. Mitch had answered simply, "Starting tomorrow." The three of us sat around the kitchen table eating oatmeal.

"Are your parents going to be worried that you didn't come home last night?" I asked my guest.

"They won't even notice," Mitch responded. "Besides, I have to go back over there before school."

"Oh," Russell joined in the conversation, "why's that?"