The Breaing of Connie

Author's note. There is a Connie and this is her dream. The story thus far: Tied upon her kitchen table awaiting the return of her son from his first quarter of college, we meet Connie, who is reflecting on the people and decisions that are responsible for her current situation. Connie is 50, and three years removed from her husband Fred leaving her and her son Brian for his last Chance For Happiness in the form of a younger woman, Brenda. After a rather sudden economic and emotional downward spiral, Connie has met Rick who is good looking, interested in Connie and well hung. Rick provided has new appliances and a new sexual game, seducing Connie's now 18-year old son without Brian being aware of it. After an intense bout of Brian-inspired love making in Chapter 1, Chapter 2 begins with the new changes in Connie's life with Rick. Oh, some of you have commented that Rick seems to be unusually well endowed. The descriptions of his cock are direct quotes from Connie.

*****

So it began. Rick out-lined the new rules for what I could wear around the house, with heavy emphasis on yoga pants, low cut sundresses, halter-tops, and shorts. When I came home from work, I had to not be wearing panties. I could take them off at work and or in the garage and then bring them into the house. They were forbidden on the weekends, of course.

Rick installed nanny-cams, with sound throughout the house, and later as he was fucking me, we would watch me displaying myself in front of Brian. The "accidental" brushing of the hip. The arching of the back. The reaching for something on a top cupboard. The leaning forward to display my cleavage. Choreographed by Rick. Performed by me. And Rick was always watching, live, and later the two of us watched, while we fucked.

At first, Rick was the director, but the more we did it; the more it became our game. We took to "rehearsing" what I would do with Brian in the room, with Rick as the "stand-in" for Brian. Rehearsals that often ended up with Rick's glorious cock exploding, usually more than once, in or somewhere around me. I would say that it was like I was a teenager again, but I had actually been pretty conservative back then, and so this almost perpetual sexual shower of pleasure was exciting and new all at the same time.

All by saying the word, "Brian."

We would also go shopping where we would openly discuss what "he" would like. I am sure that the people who over-heard us had no idea who the "he" was. We were just too nice and normal and old to be kinky to be talking about my son and what items would attract his interest, and that in turned thrilled me. The tight tops, the yoga pants, house dresses with thin material. I was Connie the nice middle-aged nurse being so naughty in public in a way that no one else could suspect.

All by thinking the word, "Brian."

And for Rick, all this time playing with me meant he spent little time drooling over Corvettes or watching NASCAR or being obsessed with golf. Or even worse, obsessed with televised golf. Instead the two of us had a project, something we were doing together.

Brian.

And I wasn't really DOING anything bad, it was just a game we were playing, I told myself. It was all in our heads. Well, mostly. And Rick, after lying down the initial rules, seemed, the best I can come up is, well content, with what was going on and seemed to have forgotten about his more extreme requests that I actually DO much more to Brian. He was very aroused by just what we were doing. And I was glad, flattered, aroused that Rick was playing WITH me. It seemed to be...fair to use Brian like this. I mean he really didn't seem to KNOW what was going on around him.

Like I said, these were the things I said to myself.

And, objectively, Brian was a good-looking kid who by the evidence of his used underwear, which we continued to play with as a martial aid, did cum buckets, it seemed.

Then came The Dinner.

It was his 18th birthday, and so of course we made a big deal about it. I even invited Fred the Ex to join us, but the Brenda Breast Fest Tour was in Cancun that week so the shit passed. Of course, I had to be the one to tell Brian that it would be just the three of us, and that his dad had better things to do. Rick could tell I was upset (the 45-minute scream and tell fest on the subject on fathers who leave their sons alone on the 18th birthday for big breasted bimbos was a pretty good clue that Rick picked up on right away], and promised me the best night ever.

In this case the best night started with Rick giving me his credit card and telling me to indulge. So I bought a Pissaro Nights three quarter sleeve beaded gown that was midnight blue that they hugged my curves and showed the best parts of my legs. The shoes were Gianvito Rossi's. At first I was sensible and tried on the block heel, but then said, "Fuck it. I work on my feet all day, I can stand a few hours in a stiletto." I think Rick liked the strap. Black lace bra and crotchless panties completed the outfit.

It was like the last three years had never happened. I hadn't gone back to work after Fred had left. I hadn't screwed up so many jobs that I burned all my contacts. I had never ended up as the nursing supervisor at that third rate board and care facility on the night shift.

It was like I had never been poor.

It was glorious.

Feeling glorious we pulled up to the nicest place in town.

Unlike Fred, Rick could leave the car with the valet guys without bitching about the cost or making some lame ass joke about how hard it is, really to park a car in a "money I mean monkey suit. Ha. Ha."

It was so glorious to enter a nice place not being embarrassed even before we made it through the front door.

And with Rick, paying the check was never a stomach-churning exercise either.

Well, OK, that night it was, but not in the way it had been with Fred.

At any rate, we walked in and it was more than nice: thick carpet, guy playing the piano and flowers all over the place. Everyone who worked there looked like they had just climbed down from a wedding cake, and not a Baskin-Robins ice-cream cake either.

And that included our waiter, James. He was tall, slender, muscular and African-American. When he saw Brian, he said, "Hey, do I know you?"

"I was on the freshman water polo team when you were a senior."

"Oh yeah, right on. Just here to try and not get in TOO much in debt before I graduate."

"I hear you."

"So nice to see you...Brian, right? So guys, can I get you started with anything?"

About 10 minutes later, I got The Text.

My box buzzed.

*Go to the bathroom. Take off your panties. Bring back them 2 me, wet.

I looked over at Rick. My mouth, I'm sure, was open.

"I really think you should do it," Rick said, looking at me.

I reached for my phone, eager to reply and more than a little pissed.

"No texting during dinner," Brian said mechanically.

"Yes, honey, no texting."

"But I really should answer it. It's," honestly my mind went black for a moment, "work."

"No, you shouldn't. Just read it and do what it says. Or ignore it and face the consequences," Rick said, just looking at me evenly.

Consequences. My heart stopped, and I wondered what Rick would do in public, and in front of Brian. I took a deep breath and considered. I mean it wasn't too different than not wearing panties in the house, right? It was kind of the same thing. Right?

"Yeah Mom, like you don't always have to respond." Brian and Rick smirked, albeit for different reasons.

Damn, that is what I always said to Brian. And I bit back his usual response of, "But... I got to..." as I was the mature one.

"I suppose you're right," I said. My heart was going a mile a minute. I took a sip of my wine.

Rick smiled. Damn, he was good looking. No way I could ever get another guy like him again to look at me. Or take me to a place this nice. Or have a cock that big.

"If you two will excuse me, I think I need to use the ladies' room." As I stood I reached for my purse.

"No, Connie, you can leave your purse here. We can keep an eye on it, can't we, Brian?"

Brian shrugged and he returned to eating his salad.

"Whatever you need to carry, you can just carry it in your hand."

"Fuck fuck fuck," I thought. Already standing, I was committed to going, but this additional demand floored me. I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another, trying to figure out what exactly I was going to do.

Brian looked up; puzzled, and looked like he was about to say something.

"Yes, yes, yes, OK," I said before he could say anything. "My purse would just get in the way there anyway." Agreeing and getting away seemed easier than to argue with Rick in front of Brian. I hurried away, almost running to get away before Brian would notice the oddness of the conversation.

Or my behavior.

I swear to God that it was only after a few steps from the cocoon of the table did I realize what exactly I was going to do. That I was going to the bathroom to take off my panties and bring them back to the table wet. I felt my face go flush from the thought, then more flush because I felt that all at once everyone else in the restaurant knew precisely where I was going and what I was going to do there.

Stumbling slightly did nothing to make me feel better. I glanced back at Rick and Brian. "Take off my panties and bring them back to Rick, wet," I repeated my instructions in my head. It was my new mantra. I said it to myself again. I felt a little brush of hysteria rising. Ricks was basically staring after me, with his sexy half smile looking at me. Brian had his head down in his salad. Rick made a little shoo-shoo gesture with his fingers, as he mouthed the word, "wet." I turned to go to the restroom, but the restaurant was so classy, they didn't have any signs saying where the restroom was. I stood there, feeling all the more embarrassed when I heard our waiter, James.

"Ladies room?" he asked. His slender muscular swimmers body was nicely contained by his white dress shirt that was in stark contrast to his dark skin.

"Oh, my um, why yes, Please. Thank you." I was suddenly as composed as a 13-year-old girl who was the first girl lucky enough to talk to the new cute transfer student. It didn't help that Rick's instructions were tugging at my brain, worming their way to my pussy.

"Just follow that wall over there to the left to the back."

I instinctually reached out and asked him gratefully, "How did you know what I was looking for?"

"Well, there are just so many reasons for someone to get up in a restaurant, and you looked like a lady who was needing direction."

"Well, thank you," I paused.

"James, ma'am."

"Yes, thank you, James."

I glanced over at Rick. He was making no effort to hide the fact that he was looking at me. At us. At me. At James. At me doing his bidding.

"Take off panties. Bring back wet." God, it WAS becoming a mantra taking over my brain.

"Four legs good, two legs bad." God, I was seriously in danger in losing it, as the maxim from Animal Farm also emerged from somewhere in my brain. Hell, here I was 51 and as coherent as a kitten on catnip. "Take off panties, brink back wet."

I made it to the bathroom and found a stall. I flipped up my dress and pressed the fabric of my panties up into my pussy. My wet inflamed pussy. The panties were crotchless, so my fingers kept slipping and inserting them selves deeper inside me as I made them wet. Still standing, I leaned forward, clutching the door. Making them wet was gonna make me cum, it seemed. The stall walls were shaking. I let go, as silent spasms ripped thought my body shaking me, and the stall.

My body still silently rippling, I heard another woman enter the bathroom. I let go of the door and I collapsed on the toilet sliding my panties down to my ankles. She entered the next stall over and I heard her settle down.

Suddenly I had a practical thought. How do I get out of here holding a pair of panties in my hand? I can't just put them on the counter and do my hair, right? Women check out other women, if only to judge them in restrooms. Crap, so I have to time my escape when no one was at the mirror.

How long would she be? Should I try and leave before she got out, holding my panties? Or wait for her to leave? But then what if someone else would come, I could be here forever. A different kind of panic arose within me. I had visions of my being trapped in the stall forever and a succession of small bladdered women repairing their make-up or just needing respites from their dates keeping me trapped until the restaurant closed.

I never recalled this scene from 50 Shades. Maybe there had been Teacher's Edition that had covered it.

Rick would not be pleased if he had to wait.

So it was now or never, Connie, I thought to myself, slipping my panties into my hand, flushing the toilet, sacrificing a very small amount of the local water table for the illusion of having used the restroom legitimately, and headed out. I paused at the mirror, but the sound of the other toilet flushing propelled me out of the bathroom, clutching my panties between my wet fingers.

Once a burst through the door, out of the relative safely of the bathroom, I paused, and looked about. My hand patted my hair, which I didn't have time to do nothing more than glance at in the mirror before I left the bathroom. It felt like I looked like a mess. I took a very tentative step, half tempted to go back in and repair the damage.

"I believe that way back to your table is to go along the wall, and then turn to your right."

It felt like I jumped a foot.

"Oh yes, thank you, James."

It was only later did I recall his carefully concealed smirk. At the time all I knew was that I felt like a ball in a pinball game, just being bounced from place to place. Only now with my panties, wet, tightly wadded in my hand. I hurried back to the table, eager to finish my task, and resume the meal. I leaned down and lightly kissed Rick, and discreetly put my panties in his lap.

"All better," I said in my best Mom voice looking at Rick. "Now that that is all done."

Brian was clearly bored, longing for his electronic tether, and was mechanically chewing his food.

Rick brought my panties to his lips as if they were his napkin and dabbed his lips.

"Yes, well done, Connie."

I sputtered in surprise as I saw the black lace between his fingers. I glanced over at Brian, his head still buried in his food.

"Rick, don't you think that's a bit much?" I asked, looking at his "napkin."

"No, I think it's kind of restrained, actually," he said, punishing me by more openly wiping his upper lip.

Again, I just reacted to conceal.

"You're right of course, no need to go any further, dear."

The meal finally drew to an end. Other than dabbing discretely with my panties throughout the meal, Rick hadn't done anything more...overt. I began to relax, and even enjoy the periodic display of my panties. It was like another hidden in plain sight game like we did when we bought the outfits for Brian, I told myself. Rick and I began to share secret smiles, and I once pointed out when a bit of mashed potato had gotten caught in Rick's moustache. Not soon thereafter I also began to think the places (note the use of the plural) where Rick's cock might end up once we got home.

James brought the check, and Rick paid in cash. "We don't need anything back."

God, he just glanced at it and paid it. If I had been wearing panties, that alone would have made them wet.

God, all this and huge cock. I took and squeezed his hand with what I hoped carried a promise for later that night. Rick squeezed back.

"Thank you, sir. See you later, Brian, and congrats on the grad thing, man. And it was very nice giving you directions too."

Thinking of Rick and the night still ahead of us, it took me a moment to realize that James had directed that last comment to me.

"Oh, yes," again I felt like I had jumped a foot. If I had been actually jumping each time James spoke to me, I would have seemed like an absolute ninny to him. I know I squeezed Rick's hand. "Yes, thank you again for your help."

We made our way out of the restaurant, slowly. I was a little..."weak in the knees," and Rick was being the perfect gentleman, supporting me.

"Excuse me, Sir?"

James was hurrying to catch us.

"I think you left this on your chair."

He looked down. My glance followed his down to his hand. My black panties were practically invisible in his dark hands.

If Rick thought I had gripped his hand hard before, I'm sure he was impressed at my grip then.

"No James, those are yours to keep. Aren't they, Connie?" Rick said.

My mind went blank. Rick tugged at my arm gently as James stared at me. Brian fidgeted.

"Connie?"

At the hospital, I had often wondered what a sudden stroke or heart attack felt like. I imagine it felt something like this.

"Um, I know. Uh No, I mean Yes? I, errrrr,"

Brian looked at me. "You OK Mom?"

Again, the presence of Brian snapped me into making a decision. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"Oh Yes, of course, honey, " I said in my mom voice. "Why yes, James, they are yours, thank you so much for everything you did for us."

"Well thank you very much. Please come back again and ask for me. It will be my pleasure."

Rick squeezed my hand like I passed a test, and I preened.

A few hours later, we had the best sex ever.

And we added a new name to the game, James.