Alex DuValle hid in his bedroom, anxiously waiting for his parents to leave. Had Frank and Stephanie known their son had returned home, they would have been horrified. He was supposed to be at Tommy's house. Alex's parents had an active social life and they frequently packed him off to stay overnight with his best friend when they had one of their events to attend or just wanted a little "alone time." Tonight was one of the former; they were expecting to be gone until the wee small hours of the morning.
Once again, they had dispatched him to Tommy's, paying for an extra-large pizza, twelve-pack of soda and the new, much anticipated Halo 3 game for Tommy's Xbox 360 to keep the boys entertained all night. No, it wasn't because he still needed a babysitter; not at his age, they assured their son, although it was comforting to know Nick and Cora Bradley would be there "just in case."
"We're just thinking of you, Sweetheart," his mother had cooed. "We're going out to have a little fun tonight. There is no reason you can't, too. What fun would it be to mope around alone in a big, empty house while we're gone?"
'Well, I wouldn't be alone if Tommy stayed overnight with me, would I?' Alex thought wryly. 'I have an Xbox, too.'
Alex knew better than that. They wanted, needed him out of the way while they were getting ready for their 'event' and when they returned, as well. It was just easier to send him to Tommy's for the entire evening. If they had been staying home, they absolutely would have required that he be gone all night.
"He's much too young to understand," he had once overheard his beautiful, doting mother telling his father. "We need to protect him from this until he's mature enough to process it in context."
Of course, his father had been in complete agreement. They were being overprotective to a fault and Alex resented it. He wasn't a kid anymore. Besides, it was much too late; he already knew.
***
He hadn't suspected a thing in the beginning. Alex had grown up amidst the hustle and bustle of a typical suburban two-income household. His father was a successful money fund manager. His mother had been a "dancer" (she hadn't elaborated on that somewhat cryptic description) before she married Alex's father. After Alex had started school, she had taken a part-time position with a public relations firm. Stephanie DuValle didn't really need to work; her husband made a mid-six-figure income. As she had once confided to her son, she would have been "bored out of my gourd" had she remained cooped up inside their home all day. Still, she had always made time to be with her husband - and him.
A year and a half before, when Alex was still sixteen, he had gone down the street to Tommy's house for the night when his parents had requested some time alone together. He had returned later in the evening to fetch a video game he and his friend wanted to play. Ever the thoughtful son, Alex had entered the house stealthily and crept up the stairs, not wanting to disturb his folks. If truth be told, he was more than a little curious. He and Tommy had heard all kinds of stories from their friends about what grownups did alone together. Alex acknowledged the dirty little thought; he wouldn't mind seeing it for himself, just this once, to see if the stories were true.
Noises emanated from his parents' open bedroom doorway; his mother's loud, angry voice and a series of soft, whistling noises, each punctuated by a sharp slap. Were his folks actually having a fight and had sent him away so he wouldn't witness it? As he peeked around the corner of the doorway, all thoughts of Tommy and the video game left him.
Nothing he had heard from his friends had prepared him for this. His father stood naked, spread-eagled, in the center of the room, manacled at his wrists and ankles with padded leather cuffs. The cuffs, in turn, were snap-clipped to chains attached to eye bolts set in the ceiling and floor. His mother was dressed in a skintight, shiny black latex catsuit and knee-high black patent boots with towering stiletto heels. Her face was heavily made up, her hair severely styled, and she wielded a long, thin, flexible leather crop-like object. He overheard her referring to it as a "quirt". She was whipping his father's exposed butt, leaving vicious-looking red welts. Alex could tell it hurt; although his father stoically made only quiet grunts as the blows landed, his body recoiled under each impact.
At the same time, Alex's mother unleashed a string of vile, abusive taunts and invective at her prisoner, intended to belittle and humiliate him. Alex would not have believed his sweet, loving, kind-to-a-fault mother was even capable of such viciousness, much less had the inclination to do so. Time stood still. Alex had watched, astonished, wondering what his father could have possibly done to make his mother so angry at him. For that matter, under what circumstances had Alex's big, strong father come to be in this position?
Apparently satisfied with the physical punishment she had already inflicted, the demonic Stephanie tossed the quirt onto the bed, seized a huge black latex dildo (the Internet, plus stories from their friends had taught Alex and Tommy what such things were) and stepped in front of her beaten hubby. As she turned, Alex noticed the crotch area of her catsuit was fitted with a zipper, running from front to back. That zipper was open, and little Alex could see his mother's most private parts for the first time in his life. Those parts were unmistakably wet, glistening!
His mother took obvious delight in slowly inserting the huge phallus into her pussy, right before the eyes of her hapless husband, and proceeded to fuck herself with it, calling it "more of a man than you are" and labeling him a "weak, pathetic excuse for a husband and lover." She fucked herself to what appeared to be a monumental orgasm, causing her to become weak in the knees and stagger a bit, coming to rest in a seated position on her bedside table.
"I should go out and find myself a real man, a Black man with a man-sized cock," she spat. "Someone who can make me feel like a
real
woman, rather than wasting my time on a disgusting, bird-dicked wimp like you!"
Regaining her strength, she rose angrily to her booted feet and advanced. Alex couldn't see clearly from that angle, but she apparently grabbed his father's penis and began jerking it with her hand.
"Look at this miserable excuse for a dick," she growled. "What use is this to me? You can't even get this tiny thing in me! All it is good for is jerking off while you watch me have sex with a real man. Is that what you want, Sissy Boy? Would you like to beat your little pee-pee off while you watch a big, strong, macho stud fill me up with his twelve-inch tool, making me scream, making me moan, making me whine, making me beg him to fuck me harder? Is that what you want?
TELL ME!!!!"
Alex had been completely unaware he had his own little stiffie out of his jeans, in his hand, and was stroking it furiously. His fevered brain was fixated on the compelling, overwhelmingly erotic vision of his mother. At that moment, Alex's beaten, defeated father had repeatedly jerked against his bonds, grunted heavily and cum in his abuser's hand. Alex came in his own hand at the same instant, struggling mightily to suppress his groans and avoid discovery, even as his own legs became weak and rubbery.
When Frank's spasms ended, his dominant wife placed her hand to his face.
