A Stitch in Time

A Stitch In Time

Characters: Madison, Cheryl, Carol, and Rebecca; all customers of Mona, a seamstress.

Mona is Ricky's mother. Mona is married to Lester, who cheats on her with Amy. Ricky is 21. Everyone is an adult.

Madison is the most trendy, she wears the latest styles, shoes, jackets

Cheryl is the homemaker, baking bread, cooking new dishes

Amy is the gym rat. She always working out, toning her abs, working on her glutes

Carol is quiet, keeps things to herself, confides in no one

Becky is the horniest, always toying with her body parts, always has needs

Chapter 1

With his fist wrapped around his throbbing cock, precum drizzling over his sticky fingers, Ricky's mind was ablaze with conflicting thoughts. There were too many women and so little time. It was all his mother's fault. When he should have been at the gym pumping iron with his homies, he was pumping his fist, delirious with the thoughts of licking Cheryl's tits, or running his hand over Amy's ass or fingering Madison's juicy pussy. It was his mother who taught him to appreciate the beauty of a woman's body, about a woman's needs, and a woman's love for adventure and sizzle in her life. He remembered 'don't sell the steak, sell the sizzle'. Maybe he should be selling lingerie door to door, however those days were gone. Women bought their undies on line nowadays.

It's a truism, women were insatiable and never seemed to get enough. Whether it was an orgasm, and wanting more, or helping another friend explode, crying hysterically as her cunt splattered her juices here and there. A veritable feast of grool, because that was what life was about. If a women's most intimate parts were happy, buzzing, and driving her over peaks and valleys, she would do anything for you. That's what his mother taught him. Early on. Instead of watching mind bending daytime TV, she introduced him to porn, lesbian porn. That's when it began. In his formative years, when he ripe, eager to experience the difference between a woman's clit and a baseball bat.

Ricky was 21 years old when this story takes place. He had a part time job, if you'd call it a job, working for his mother. She taught him about work: work smarter, not harder. Any dimwit could bust his balls. And for what? Peanuts. If you're smart and know how to work the system, you can have the easy life. Money, women, fast cars, but no drugs. You don't need drugs if you're smart. That's what his mother told him. You can't lick pussy if you're stoned. You can't find your cock if you're stoned. If a woman's lips are wrapped around your cock and you're stoned, she might as well be sucking your thumb. When you're stoned.

His mother's name is Mona. It fit her. When he thought about his mother she was either moaning or eating some woman out. Moaning. She studied fashion design in New York City. She could have gone to Pratt, but she had talent so took some courses at a city college. It was cheaper. She didn't want to be another Donna Karan.

Mona loved her son too much. Ricky was her pride and joy. Ricky had a cock to die for, and when you're fixated on your son's cock, fashion shows weren't that important. She didn't want to deal with models and photographers and buyers from Bloomingdale's. Maybe when she got older, but now she had Ricky. Ricky the dickie. That's how she thought of him. She giggled.

Ricky was medium height, and slim. He had brown hair like his mother, and could have become a pretty good musician. At one time Ricky wanted to be study piano. He had beautiful hands, strong hands, with long fingers. He didn't have hairy forearms.

His body was almost hairless except for his privates. His balls were huge. And his dick was thick because that was what mattered most. Women told him his thick limb rubbed against their clit and made them come faster and often. A thick dick was good.

If you asked which parent Ricky was closer to, it would be his mother. Ricky hated his father because his father hated Ricky. The feeling was mutual. His father was a psychologist. Like most therapists, he felt the kid was going through a phrase. Life was a series of phases. Thumb sucking phase, bed wetting phase, temper tantrum phase. But that was OK.

When Ricky was younger, he smashed stuff. Maybe it was internalized anger. His father felt that was part of growing up. His mother pampered him, and when Ricky got out of control, she'd finger his doodle and calm him down. His father always had a clinical explanation for Ricky's attitude. They say it takes a village to raise a child. But all Ricky needed was his mother's fingers.

Ricky had to learn patience because he was too high strung. He tried building balsa model airplanes and didn't have the patience. He smashed them. She taught him to calm down and when he creamed into her hand, that calmed him down. Maybe he had too much testosterone. Whatever it was, a hand job always worked. Drain his balls.

Mona's preoccupation with her son was the ruin of her first marriage. Her husband filed for divorce and within a few weeks he was gone. He was effeminate and she felt he was gay. He left her with Ricky and that was fine with Mona.

She met her second husband, Lester, at the Harvard Club. He was an MBA type, and good with numbers. He knew all about investing. The market. Futures, options, and shit like that. To Mona it was all luck and she hated to hear about which of his clients got wiped out, and which made money. Mostly, it was Lester who made money, either buying or selling, he made money. His clients usually went bust.

There were fights over Ricky, and Lester took it out on Mona. Lester wanted to kick Ricky's ass, and Mona stood up for Ricky and protected him and that pissed Lester off even more. He started drinking heavily and coming home late and then Mona could sense Lester had been whoring around. A wife can always tell if you've been out with another woman.

Ricky's mother was a long suffering woman, with an ample bosom, and her name was Mona. We already knew this, but the name did more for him than drinking, or beating off. She was an attractive woman with appetizing haunches, that kind you want to sink your teeth into. His mother was a buffer between himself and his irate old man. Loving someone too much is sometimes worse than none at all. Mona loved Ricky so much she suffocated him with affection, not overtly telling him 'your mother loves you' but hugging him so close to her massive breasts he could hardly breathe. She always wore scoop neck house dresses around the house and the memories of her perfumed flesh stayed with him for the rest of his life.

Even though she took fashion design courses at city college she really wanted to become a seamstress. She was good with her hands, her stitches were almost invisible and her business grew. Since her business was cash only, she paid no taxes.

Since Mona worked from home, she bought a dressmaker's dummy and a state-of-the art sewing machine. There were Japanese models but when she was young, she learned to sew on an old Singer machine so she purchased a new Singer machine. She converted a spare bedroom into a fitting room, and this gave Ricky fuel for his voyeuristic tendencies.

Word of mouth referrals are always the best. Her customers were attractive women in their 30's and 40's. They were curvy women, some women with very large bosoms, some with wide hips and broad curving bellies. Those with muscular thick thighs required special fitting. It was not unusual that Mona appreciated the female form, otherwise why bother to pamper to those voluptuous women, women who appreciated other women. It was part of her job to adjust the drape of the dress, many were either zipped up the back, or zipped in the side, buttons in front. Back zipped were form fitting, and flattered the bust. The type of bra used was important and Mona suggested the Bali bra which made the lady appear braless. Mona also made dresses, like wedding dresses, because that's where the money was. She had a library of patterns, and zippers and bolts of cloth left over.

Most times the fitting room door was left open and Ricky would walk by, apparently not interested. His mother proudly intoned, "Oh, that's my son ...don't mind him." As business grew she needed an assistant and asked Ricky to help out. Keep the books, make appointments, stuff like that. But act professional, don't salivate in front of a customer. She told him if he needed to relieve himself, go out back in the garage.

* * *

Mona felt Ricky should not be shy about watching her get dressed. It was fun to have an audience, especially her son who was at the age where he had a perpetual hard-on. Ricky had 'new eyes' -- like a photographer -- and he was seeing stuff for the first time. Mona breasts took on a new dimension, they appeared larger and more glorious, being thrust in his face. She always seemed to buy bras that were too small and she asked Ricky to pull the straps together, so that her cleavage was almost up to her chin, and Ricky tried to avert his eyes but she said, "Ricky, I'm your mother ..."

At this time, Ricky is 21, old enough to drink and old enough to appreciate the way his mother was built. Her resilient bosoms made his mouth water. Mona was only 41 and looked 10 years younger. That's what she told herself and she acted like it.

Mona was flirty. Watching her son's shorts give her an indication of how well she was doing. Progressing from her luscious boobs, she gave him more and more to ogle, more eye candy. She wore underpants usually but one day she wore a thong. There wasn't much the thong covered, just the crack in her fleshy ass, and her hairy vulva was barely covered. The small patch of material, being her attempt at modesty, only served to make his dick throb so much it hurt him. Her cunt lips were exposed, the flaps thick and moist. When she bent over to pull up her stocking the cheeks of her ass gaped open and he saw her hairy butt hole, the hair extending from her rosehole to her pussy. She knew Ricky stored these visuals in his mind, and it was just a matter of time before she enlisted him to enter the fray.

Chapter 2

Madison had just returned home after an exhausting shopping trip. She'd been to all the high end stores, stores like Bloomingdale's and Nordstrom's where the salesgirls were considered family. Madison had no children, but she did have a husband, Ernesto, who made good money as a general contractor. Ernesto spoke Spanish of course, and when he got pissed at Madison for spending so much of his 'hard earned money' he broke into rapid fire Spanish. He'd barely finished high school and his Spanish wasn't Castilian, but he knew a few choice expressions involving applications of 'puta' and these are what he called Madison -- his 'puta' wife. She took out her frustration, her nagging pussy, by shopping. It didn't matter what she bought, a new hat, new shoes, a Gucci bag, it had to cost money. The more it cost the less her pussy nagged at her.

If Ernesto had spent more time with her in bed, making love to her, caressing her lovely breasts and tickling her intimate sex, she might have spent less money. When they first met, he was fascinated by Madison's ass and he spent an inordinate amount of time romancing her bottom, not literally, but keeping his big hand on her ass cheeks which only made her giggle. When he palmed her plump backside, he'd whispered words to her in Spanish which she didn't understand but the sounds of those words made her hot.

Ernesto couldn't get enough of Madison's majestic ass, but as time went on, he got bored and turned his attention to other women, new faces, or rather new bodies. Ernesto preferred the ladies he met on the job, housewives, women who hired him for electrical work, plumbing, or roofing. Naturally he hired subcontractors to do the actual work and this gave Ernesto plenty of time to smooze his housewives, most of whom were horny as hell.

Buying dresses off the rack were not enough for Madison, they mostly didn't hang right, she decided she wanted fitted dresses to accommodate her rump, and she was referred to Mona by one of the women at church. Their meeting went well, Mona was thrilled to meet a new client who loved to spend money and asked Ricky to open an account for her. A cash account. When their eyes met, Madison felt it was auspicious, a good omen, that she might be able to kill two birds with one stone, as they say. Ricky leered at her and she stood as close to him as possible without knocking him off his chair. Her fragrant bottom was eye level to him and his muttering sounded more like 'thank you, Jesus', to which this puzzled her, but she took it as a compliment.

Chapter 3

When Carol fought with her husband it was ostensibly about money, but really it was because she needed to get laid. She was, she convinced herself, a religious woman but really went to church to get out of the house. There was always something going on, church suppers, a bazaar, bingo, whatever. As a last resort there were prayer meetings for religious fanatics.

She joined the choir. She was a quiet person, as her friends knew her to be, quiet. She did not gossip. She was a slim woman, with jet black hair, kept up in a bun. If it weren't for her clear blue eyes, and cupid bow mouth, she might have been the wicked witch of the West. She had needs and she kept those needs to herself. The ladies in the choir liked Carol, because she was quiet, and did not gossip.

She was from the old school, and kept her body clean but she didn't obsess over it. She didn't make designs out of her pubic hair, but let it grow, What attracted her husband to Carol was her private parts. Her pussy was hairy and the hairs grew back up her ass. Her gynecologist was a female, Irena, a Russian and Irena wanted to photograph Carol's pussy, her entire lower body. Initially Carol was offended, thinking it rude that she should display herself in such a wanton manner. She knew Irena wanted it for masturbation fodder, not to publish a paper in some dumb medical journal. But gradually Irena's admiration for her made Carol feel special so she made appointments for weekly photo sessions, spreading her thighs open, while Irena groaned, salivated, and panted, taking hundreds of shots of Carol's juicy pussy.

Mona met Carol at church, at choir practice, and was taken by Carol's figure, an ideal size 5. When Mona asked Carol to model for her, Carol was flattered and accepted. They met over lunch at the Marriot Hotel, discussing whether Carol would model, as a showroom model, and Carol would in return meet the 'girls'. Mona left the details to Carol's imagination.

Chapter 4

Cheryl never seemed to gain weight. No matter how much she snacked, as she called it, she clocked in at 130 pounds. Her figure was not slim, but curvy, especially in the bust. She had voluptuous proportions, almost a DD in the chest. Her nipples were sensitive and she was forever adjusting her bra because her nipples tingled. They were large nipples and when they were sucked she was in the land of euphoria or whatever it's called. She preferred her nipples to be worshipped, not mauled, and she gave priority to women. In laymen's terms, she was a lesbian but she preferred to think of herself as liberated, open minded, and adaptable. She loved going to church because the choir was largely made up of women, and whatever bass parts were sung by tall, goofy looking guys with bobbing Adam's apples. Those middle aged men were so far back they were almost invisible, while women jostled for parts that would allow them to grope each other without attracting too much attention.

When Cheryl masturbated she twisted her nipples, rolling them until they almost double in size, and the stimulation translated directly into her clit. Her breasts also increased in size when she was aroused. She never considered implants and preferred to think of herself as having 'big naturals'.

When Cheryl met Ricky she felt he was more of a momma's boy, because he just stared at her chest. When she had her blouse off, and Mona was fingering her bust line, ostensibly to be taking measurements, Mona spent an inordinate amount of time on Cheryl's nipples, calling out measurements to Ricky while he bug-eyed tried to look professional, in spite of his erection.

Chapter 5

Becky thought there was something wrong with her because she was always horny. She masturbated five or six times a day, and if she didn't have to go to work, she'd stay in bed all day and masturbate. At first she bought as many sex toys as she could afford but then she thought it more prudent to get a job, or better still, start her own business that specialized in delivering pleasure. Battery operated pleasure. She employed college girls mostly, who needed money for tuition, but she had two matrons in their 50's, both married, who needed extra cash. These females were eager to apply the latest technology to their sex parts, and Becky smiled, pleased with herself as the test lab was filled with moans, groans, and hysterical crying.

She herself owned clitoral sucking vibrators, bullet vibrators, rotating G-spot vibrators and dildoes. In her mind there was no man that could ever satisfy her and she dated only women. Straight women, or bisexual women she preferred most. She loved to seduce straight women, or at least open minded women eager to experience Sapphic delights.

She asked Mona to design clothing for the active woman, women who worked out, runners, tennis players, and soccer players. Her designs allowed vibrators to be inserted into the genital area inconspicuously, and target those ladies hungry-for-action G-spot stimulation.

Becky was single and was happy to be single. She wasn't worried about who would take care of her when she was old and withered. Her wish was to die from a massive coronary while orgasming with a butt plug up her ass. She hated the idea of a dirty cock in her mouth and even avoided kissing a man. She kept a photo album of herself, new 11x14 photos added every year, taken by an androgynous male photographer. She wasn't sure if he was a guy with a dick or a trans, and she didn't care. She masturbated through her photo shoots, and even though her body got a little softer with time, her eyes always sparkled with lust. If eyes are the mirror of the soul, and the soul is eternal ... there you have it.

Chapter 6

Stretched out naked on her king sized bed, Mona ran her hands over her plus sized body. Her flesh was silky and warm, soft, pliant, very sensitive to touch. She pretended her husband Lester was caressing her, trailing his hands from her big firm tits down to the springy curls of her thick bush.

"Mmmmm, yessss ..." she sighed.

Lester would be home soon, but meanwhile she could fantasize about him. She rubbed her palms over her large cone-shaped red nipples and felt them go stiff and tingly. When her nipples were fully erect, she ran her hands down to her sex and pressed the pouting mound beneath. Hot cream leaked from the mouth of her hungry slit.

She'd been feeling so horny lately, but never more horny than tonight. She and Lester just hadn't found much time for fucking the last couple of months. Mona had her own business, Lester was involved with the market, and often his heavy schedules interfered with their sex life. Tonight Mona hoped they could make up for lost time. She was way overdue for a long hard fuck.

She slid off the bed and strolled over to the full-length bedroom mirror. It reflected a lovely woman of 41, medium height, with shining brown hair that fell below her shoulders. She had a curvy body, with a bit too much weight in her backside. Her heavy tits thrust out firmly. Mona knew she was a very sexy lady. She just wished Lester appreciated that fact a little more. Maybe after six years the magic was going out of their marriage.