The Arrangement

The Arrangement

by Liza Sharpe

Copyright 2022 A Likely Story Publishing

Author's Note: All characters portrayed in this fictional work are aged 18 or older and are products of the author's dirty imagination.

"James Michael Dugan!" I hollered, really annoyed now. "I told you to put your dirty dishes in the sink to rinse. Get out here!"

"I said I'll get them!" I heard my son's voice roar from his bedroom. "I'm working right now, ma!"

I stormed down the hall and threw open his door.

My son was sitting in his gaming chair, his headset on and a game controller in his hands. I looked at the big TV mounted on the wall. One of his hyper-violent multiplayer games was showing.

"This is you working?! Get your ass up and put those dishes in the sink. No, you know what? In fact, you're on dishes duty for the next week. Wash them, now!"

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, then said into his headset, "Dug-Mar out." He swung his long legs off his bed and pushed past me, muttering under his breath.

I stood in his doorway, taking deep breaths to get my rage under control. I was shaking from the adrenaline coursing through my body. "I am so tired of this shit," I said, tears of frustration in my eyes.

Jimmy was in the kitchen now, angrily washing the dishes. The sound of them rattling loudly in the sink put my hackles up. I felt the tension building in my neck and shoulders.

"Be calm, Sandy," I muttered. "Don't make things worse." I focused on my breathing, just like the government-sponsored YouTube videos suggested. I visualized my stress and anger leaving my body with each exhale. It sounds stupid, but it worked for me. Little by little, I felt myself relax.

"Overreact much, Sandy?" I said wryly. "He's 18. He left a plate and a glass on the coffee table. Like you didn't do worse at his age."

It wasn't Jimmy's fault; it wasn't mine, either. Two people kept in close quarters - and our little 2-bed, 1-bath, 450 square foot apartment definitely qualified as that - are bound to have conflicts. My only son and I were no different.

I crossed to Jimmy's bedroom window and looked down the six floors to the street. A National Guard patrol was on the road, one of their large trucks flanked by soldiers at each corner moved at a snail's pace. The soldiers all word hazmat suits, just as they had since the "lock down". The news never called it what it was: martial law.

We live in Riverton; yes, that Riverton. The epicenter of the weird hybrid of COVID and... I don't even know. The CDC had been working on it for months, trying to determine - honestly, I don't know. I can't follow most of what they tell us.

All we know for certain is that some kind of mutation occurred, that the affected area stretches for an untold distance around our town, and that it is deadly. Like, more than one of every two people who get it die. Young, old, sick, healthy, it doesn't matter.

It only took days for the military to be called in; mostly men and women not much older than Jimmy, people I'm sure would rather be in their own hometowns with the people they love. I don't bear them any ill will.

But we are basically prisoners in our own homes. You don't leave your home, or if in a building, like us, your apartment. Not to the hall, not to the roof. It's not recommended, but you can open your windows - they know the virus doesn't live long airborne. But when it comes to person-to-person transmission? It's just better to stay indoors.

They were optimistic at first.

"We anticipate no longer than three to five weeks," they'd said. That was nine months ago.

You can't go to a job outside of your home, so the government is providing food and supplies. All health care, with the exception of necessary surgeries, is tele-health. Rent and mortgage payments for those who can't work from home are taken care of by the government.

That, I've thought, was the real reason we were locked down. What if someone managed to escape, and carried the disease? It can be undetectable for up to a month. It would spread like something out of a Stephen King novel.

Jimmy was still 17 when we were locked down. He's been drawing graphic novels and comic books as long as I can remember, and he started making a little money at it when he was just 14. Since he was a minor when we went on lock down, they don't consider his income, and we get our full rations paid. I make him put most of his money aside; it's not like he has a lot of options for spending, anyway. I just want him to someday have a better life than we have now.

But there are all these hours to fill, and as much as my son and I love each other, sometimes we get tired of seeing each other's faces.

I went out to the kitchen. Jimmy was wiping the counter, the dishes all dried and put away. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he shrugged it off.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," I said. "I guess I went a little batshit."

"Hmph."

"Hey, kiddo. Look at me." I put my hand firmly on his shoulders and turned him toward me. I'm not short - 5'-8", most of it legs, my ex used to joke in better days - but my son towers over me. He's got a good 7" on me, all long legs and arms like his dad. He was always skinny but, these days he uses his energy to work out several hours a day and has put on a lot of muscle. He's such a cutie, especially since he finally relented and let me start cutting his hair so he looks presentable. "I was wrong. I take back your punishment. No dish duty."

He sighed. "I don't care about doing the dishes, mom. I'm sorry I forgot to take care of them."

"Hey, don't sweat it. I'm sorry your mom's got cabin fever." I hugged him tightly, pressing my head to his shoulder. His arms went around my upper back, his strong hands giving me a squeeze.

"How long, mom? How long is this going to last?"

"I don't know, Jimmy," I said into his chest. "I really don't."

"This whole thing is so unreal," he said, rubbing his hands up and down either side of my spine. I closed my eyes; the kid could make a good living by giving massages.

"Mmmm," I grunted, more from the feeling of his hands than agreeing with him. I pulled back. Frankly, it had been a long time since I'd been touched, aside from my several daily masturbation sessions, and a part of me was willing to give myself over to these sensations, despite knowing how wrong it was.

"So," I said quickly, "are you actually doing any work today? I need to know when to start supper."

"I actually had been working. I had finished up not 10 minutes before you..." He shrugged, tilting his head and grinning.

"Gotcha. So, you have a choice of entrees for dinner." I opened an upper cabinet, looking over our rations. "There's canned beef, canned chicken, canned tuna, or Spam."

"Mmm. No vegetarian option?" Jimmy laughed.

"All the finest canned veggies," I said, reaching into the cabinet for a jar. "And white asparagus."

"What could we do with beef, mom?"

I looked through the cabinets. "Jimmy, how are we doing on flour?"

He reached overhead, above the counter. "Plenty," he said, showing me a nearly full canister.

"Softshell tacos," I suggested. "I can make homemade tortillas."

"Sounds like a plan. Need any help?"

"No," I said, smiling at my thoughtful son. "I made you do enough. Go find your friends online."

"Okay," he said, kissing my cheek, his hand on my lower back. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do, sweetheart. Thanks."

Less than an hour later, Jimmy pushed his chair back from our small kitchen table and leaned back, pushing out his flat stomach to make himself look fat. He patted his tummy happily. "That were a mighty fine meal, missus," he said with a drawl, doffing an invisible cowboy hat. I smiled.

"Thanks, Marshal," I said in a breathy voice. "Anything for our local lawman." I grinned, but Jimmy looked uncomfortable. He grinned too late, then quickly stood up.

"You cooked; let me do the clean-up tonight," he said, grabbing both of our plates and taking to the sink.

"Well, thanks, son. You don't have to, though. I think I should be on dish duty for the week as punishment for my outbreak."

"Nah," my son said with a chuckle. "I'll just ask you to remember my gracious nature next time I fuck up and freak out."

I laughed at that. "You're always looking for the best angle, aren't you?" I asked, not unimpressed at his skills.

Jimmy shrugged. "If I don't have a good angle, I just adjust my position," he said, is if on reflex. His eyes flew wide. "Oh, shit! I can't believe I said that in front of you. Sorry, mom."

"Don't worry about it. It was funny." I did think it was a good line. "So," I changed the subject, "feel like a movie tonight?"

"Sure, but no rom-coms, okay? No romance at all, if that's okay."

"Okay. You can pick. Since when are you anti-romance, though?"

He turned back to the sink and started washing. "I dunno." His body looked tense, uncomfortable all of a sudden. It seemed like this was a touchy point, so in the interest of keeping peace, I let it slide.

We had kept the same basic schedule for months now. To keep our sanity, either of us could let the other know they wanted to isolate, and we'd leave each other alone until we heard differently. We tended to eat breakfast and dinner together most days, just like before this all started, but we did our own thing for lunch.

I made a point of giving Jimmy all the privacy our living arrangement allowed and also left him to his drawing as much as possible. It was a good, creative escape for him. I was just glad they had worked out a way to have that online retail giant deliver to our town every week. They loaded semi-trailers and dropped them at the edge of the quarantine zone. The Army would then use their vehicles to bring them into town and deliver the packages, outside of our apartment doors. Hearing the elevator running, we knew the Army had started them up again. It always made me feel like a little girl, hearing the ice cream man's music coming from some unknown street nearby; the anticipation of a delivery left my heart pounding still today. You could hear the faint shouts of neighbors as they begged the soldiers distributing the packages for information; something, anything.

Yeah, because the guy who drops off the packages is also in on top-level meetings. Sometimes, people astounded me with their foolishness.

Early on, we'd tried to have shouted conversations through doors and walls with our nearest neighbors, people we didn't talk to, or even know, before all this. We had nothing in common with them and the attempts soon fizzled out.

We sat down in our small living room; we had a loveseat and a recliner, which was almost too much furniture for the space. The apartment was the best I could afford after the divorce, and we made the best of it. I sat on the love seat; Jimmy stretched his tall frame out in the oversized recliner.

He started scrolling through Netflix offerings; he moved faster than I could keep up, until he stopped to read more about a particular movie.

"Oh, that one has Sydney Sweeney, Jimmy! You like her."

"Nope. Next!" he said quickly, skipping to the next option.

Several more movies were rejected just that way; all of them had pretty, sexy young actresses I knew he liked.

Finally, he tossed the remote onto the love seat next to me. "I give up. You pick something."

"Hey, what's wrong, sweetheart?"

He took a deep breath. "All of these movies have so much sex in them! I just can't take it anymore, Mom! Like I need any more reminders that that part of life is gone, right?" He exhaled loudly, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's just too much!"

Oh, could I ever relate! The past months, I'd explored so many ways of getting past the boredom of my own hands. Many of my deliveries were things to stick inside of myself. I'd gone through a period of masturbating with random men via cam; and I think I'd seen more porn than any one woman was ever meant to.

The past few months, for variety, I'd been reading erotic stories online and slowly playing with myself, teasing and edging myself for the duration of the story and only letting myself climax when the characters did. It was a nice change from jamming thick vibrating dildos into my holes. Some of the stories were poorly written or just silly, but there were also some folks out there with deliciously dirty minds and time on their hands.

"Dang it, Jimmy, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about how movies and things would affect you."

He shook his head, frowning. "It's not your fault, mom. You didn't create this. And it's not just the things I see on TV." He took a deep breath. "The walls are thin, and the neighbors are pretty vocal. At first, I didn't mind, you know? I mean, it was sexy to hear, and it helped me to... um, I mean... er-"

"I know what you mean. It's okay. Don't beat yourself up about it." I sighed heavily. "I don't think too many people are probably dealing with it well. I think frustration is half the reason I'm so short-tempered lately. After a while, fantasy just doesn't cut it."

"Yeah. Why can't I meet a nice girl who would be willing to brave the possibility of being shot dead in the street in order to come here to share passion-filled weekends with me?" He laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it.

"Jimmy..." I just didn't know what to say.

"Do you think you could find us something, mom? Something that's like the farthest thing from sexual you can think of?"

"Like Disney?"

"Are you kidding me?! No way! I draw for a living. Some of those Disney princesses are hot!" he said with a grin. At least he had a sense of humor about it.

"Well," I said, thinking, "I remember your grampa liking a particular movie a lot. I haven't seen it since I was not much older than you, but I don't think you'd have any trouble with it. It's a real sausage fest."

"Cool. What's it about?"

"Well, let me see if they have it." They did. I started it up.

"It's about four friends who decide to go rafting on a river before it's dammed to turn it into a lake."

"I like watching things that happen outdoors. It helps me get out of the apartment in my head."

"Well," I said with an evil grin, "I hope you like this."

Jimmy watched as the credits started. "

Deliverance

, huh? Sounds religious."

"Oh, it's not. Don't worry about that."

"And no sex?"

"I don't think there's anything in here you'd find arousing, Jimmy." Sometimes, I can be kind of mean.

"Holy shit, mom!" Jimmy exclaimed at the infamous 'squeal like a pig' scene.

I laughed like I hadn't laughed in months; my son's expression was priceless. "That... was my... reaction, too!" I sputtered, wiping tears from my eyes with one hand and holding my midsection with the other. When I calmed down, I told him the story of how I came to know that movie:

"Your grampa flew off the handle when I was invited on a camping trip - a co-ed camping trip, mind you, when I was your age - and he made me watch this so I could learn the dangers of camping in the wild. 'You see what they did to that man - what do you think could happen to a pretty girl like you,' he said."

"My God! Did you go on the trip?"

"Would you have gone? Hell, no, I didn't go!" I laughed some more. "Grampa was determined I'd stay a virgin, and he thought that trip might ruin me."

"So, he got what he wanted, then."

I scoffed. "My virginity was but a memory at that point, Jimmy, my boy."

"Oh. I don't think I needed to know that."

"It's a brave new world, my son. You realize I made you, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"Okay, then. But I suppose I wouldn't have wanted to hear about my parents' adventures, either. No harm, no foul, okay?"

"Okay, mom."

After the movie ended, Jimmy put the footrest down, stood, and stretched. "I think I'm going to hang out in my room," he said.

"Alright, honey. You have a good night. Sweet dreams." He leaned down and gave me a kiss on the cheek, just like always. "I love you, Jimmy."

"I know, Mom. I love you, too."

I sat in the quiet of the room, enjoying a few moments of solitude.

"Squeal like a pig," I chuckled. "What a world."

I went into my bedroom, stripped off my clothes, and opened my laptop. Masturbating before going to sleep had become as much a part of my day as eating or exercising. I went to the Smashwords website and looked at trending erotica books.

Since finding online erotica, I'd explored different genres, bingeing on a particular one until I wanted something different. I had just spent a couple of weeks reading lesbian erotica and had come to think that it might be fun to try in real life when things changed in the future.

"Ooh.

Lust in Lockdown

," I said, clicking to read the description. "I wonder what that's about?"

The story was about a woman trapped at work with her rich, handsome, and well-hung boss, whom she detested... until her need became too great.

"Power and control," I muttered, buying the book. "Sounds kind of fun!"

I sat with my back to the headboard, my laptop between my spread legs. I started out just touching myself as I read. I caressed my breasts, both hands squeezing my firm flesh, feeling my nipples harden against my palm until I just needed to tweak them, pinching and pulling as I imagined myself in the story, sitting at the long conference table while my Alpha male boss stood towering over me, his trousers unable to conceal his thick bulge.

I loved to watch as I touched myself. For 39 years old, I thought, I looked damn good and had started looking better since lockdown. My breasts were bigger than a man's handful and I'd always thought I had amazing nipples, a dark mocha color that contrasted beautifully to my pale skin. Right now, they were fully extended, hard nubs pinched between my thumb and middle fingers as my index fingers flicked the tips, causing waves of pleasure to shoot straight down between my long legs. I couldn't wait to be able to get some sun again, not to mention go for a run in the park.

At least I kept up with exercise, making sure my legs were still toned and shapely. My body was somewhere between athletic and thick, and I had powerful thighs. As the months passed, I grew increasingly eager to wrap them around some stud's waist as his cock plunged deep into me...

Lost in my thoughts, I hadn't really paid attention to what I'd been reading. My juices were already running, the warmth of my creamy nectar warming my thighs as heat radiated from my pussy. I ignored my purring kitty for now; I wanted to take my time.

I inhaled sharply, biting my lower lip, as I raked my unpainted fingernails up and down my torso, scratching deliciously at my swollen nipples. My puffy areolae tightened as my breasts seemed to swell at the contact. My hands moved slowly, languorously over my naked skin, my arousal building and building.

In the story, the employee had reached the point where she could no longer deny her body what it needed, pushing her much-larger boss against a wall and pressing her aching body against his, feeling his cock swell as she ran her tiny hand between his powerful thighs.

Oh, damn! What I wouldn't give to just jump on a flesh-and-blood boner like that. I swore, when this was over, I'd offer myself to the first hot guy I saw. My nipples were taut, straining peaks, rising tall from my half-dollar sized areolae. My stomach muscles were twitching rapidly. I was clenching and unclenching my ass cheeks and making quiet mewling sounds as my horniness built.

The woman in the story, held down, bent over and pinned to the conference table by her boss's thick, rough fingers on her neck, was whimpering as she felt the head of his cock split her young pussy. Her greedy vagina grabbed at the thick meat driving hard into her depths. Her fingernails dug against the lacquered oak table, then her fingers splayed wide, reacting to the hard meat rubbing against her insides so perfectly.