This is the first in a series of follow-ups to the events from 'random connections'. It makes little difference if you read them, as each one can be read as a seperate chapter. The following events explore the relationships between the charecters from the first series in greater detail and lead up to the final installment which reveals who made the calls in the first place.
Gordon didn't know if he would die with embarrassment or from the look on his mothers face. The latter seemed more likely. She gave her shoes a cursory inspection, her lip curling with disdain at the slimy trails of his cum marring the highly polished leather before closing the door behind her.
"Well now." She drawled, her stony gaze crushing the remnants of his ego. "Before you explain yourself I think you'd better clean this mess up."
Her foot beckoned him forward and he crawled across the floor, his penis, withered by scorn and dripping with shame, swung limply between his legs. He pulled the towel with him and began using a corner of it to mop up the mess.
"You should know better than that by now." His mother hissed, taking a handful of hair in painful grip.
He knew alright, ever since she'd caught him masturbating into her panties he knew better. Gordon stuck out his tongue as though concentrating on a knotty problem and dipped the tip into a blob of cum, catching it deftly before it slid off her toecap, swallowing it up as he licked another spot clean, then another until her shoe shone clean once more.
"Good boy!" She crooned patronisingly, patting his cheek. "Now get the rest off my stockings."
He could hardly contain his moans of pleasure as he kissed along her satin-smooth calf, gathering each stain on his lips, sucking it onto his tongue and surreptitiously tasting her at the same time, risking a sneaky peek up her skirt to discover the style and colour of her undergarment. French knickers; blue. Perfection! That would've surprised all who knew Mrs Hawkes, but Gordon was well aware of her kinky quirks - and loved her all the more for them.
His lips roamed over her leg and ventured across an exciting expanse of thigh, brushing the soft flesh at the top, an intoxicating mixture of perfume and her natural scent enticed him onwards in a vain attempt to reach the summit but, with a knowing sigh and a firm grip his mother pulled him away.
"You made quite an impression Gordon, but I'm sure you couldn't reach any higher than that, can you?" She mocked. "But you can, and will, clean my carpet. Now, tell me the reason for this disgusting display." She hung up her coat and put her shoes under the ornate stand, an old family heirloom, while listening carefully for any hint of prevarication in his voice as he explained himself.
"...And I still don't know who it was mother, honest!" Gordon explained, avoiding his mothers piercing gaze by staring at a particularly large stain on the carpet, a corner of his mind worrying how he was going to remove it while the larger problem loomed over him like a thundercloud.
"Very well dear, i believe you." She said softly. "Now. Go and take your bath while i get changed."
Gordon wasn't lulled into a false sense of security by those dulcet tones. It only meant he was in deeper hot water than any bathtub would provide but he did as she asked anyway. He always did. Ever since she'd caught him masturbating into a pair of her knickers he'd had no other choice. He closed his eyes and thought about that moment as he lay among the soothing suds, idly stroking himself at the memory.
He'd just started work at the store; cleaning floors, running errands, nothing above his limited ability to push a mop or fetch lunch for his boss. Gordon had never aspired to greater things as he knew he wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, he'd been told so often enough to leave little doubt in his own mind. 'Gordon is a moron!' That was the chant most often heard at school where he'd suffered many painful indignities before leaving at sixteen. He must've been eighteen or nineteen when his mother found out his dirty secret though. He remembered it had been a hot day, hot enough to melt the tar on the driveway, as he made his way home on the bus. A friend of his mothers, Mrs Warner - or was it Mrs Walker? - Gordon shook his head in irritation, it didn't matter. She had sat beside him on the way home, probably because the bus was full, he thought sullenly. He hated having to talk to anyone on the bus and replied with a monosyllable her and there in what he hoped were the right places. His eyes were drawn to her full breasts that almost poured from the summer dress, distracting him from his usual scrutiny of the familiar landmarks going by. The sun shone through the window, illuminating her buxom breasts beneath the thin material which gallantly strove to keep them decently covered. He'd had erections before, usually in the dark privacy of his bedroom, but nothing like the one pitching a tent in his trousers. Luckily she'd got off the bus two stops before him and he'd managed to walk home holding his bag strategically placed to avoid further embarrassment. He could've swore she bade him goodbye with a knowing smile and he felt his face flush red at the thought she knew exactly what he'd been thinking!
He arrived to find the house empty and made his way upstairs to the bathroom. His trapped erection must've hit a nerve or something as he needed to pee real bad! Unfortunately there was no way to relieve himself as his hard-on refused to go down and the more he tried the harder it got. In desperation he slapped it which only made his balls tighten and he realised the only way to relive the pressure would be to masturbate. His hand moved cautiously, usually he did this in his pyjamas and the stimulation of his bare hand didn't provide the necessary friction to enable his orgasm. He looked around, spotted the laundry basket under the sink and shuffled over to see what he could find. The basket was full due to washday being tomorrow and he fished out his pyjama bottoms distastefully as he'd used them for this very function already. A pair of his mothers French knickers fell on the floor as he pulled them from the basket. He looked at them, then at the soiled garment in his hand, torn between the need to respect his mothers privacy and the more urgent need to relieve himself. He picked them up, feeling the soft pink fabric rustle softly in his hands, the sensation unlike anything he'd ever imagined.
He glanced furtively at the door, wondering if he should go on. His penis throbbed 'yes-yes-yes' as he caught a mixture of womanly smells wafting from the garment. He put it over his nose and inhaled the rich odours, stroking himself as he breathed deeply, wondering if Mrs Woolmer (that was her name!) smelt as good ...
down there
. He groaned her name aloud as the image of her breasts loomed large in his mind, imagining them naked, in all their glory.
His cock throbbed and he pulled it harder, jerking it in his hand while burrowing his nose into the gusset where the aroma was strongest, breathing deeper in an effort to induce the orgasm he now craved more than the need to urinate. Gordon wondered if Mrs Woolmer smelt as good as this. What was she like? What did she like? He'd never been as close to a woman as this and had only seen them naked in magazines. Was she hairy? He loved a thick patch of hair on a woman's sex and fantasised he was sticking his tongue into her cunt, licking the gusset in simulation of the lewd act, tasting the bitter-sweet aroma for the first time and dreaming of a time when he might have the real thing. How would it feel?
He took another deep sniff and wrapped his cock in the smooth silk, moaning at the indescribable pleasure, bucking his hips forward to imagine himself sinking balls deep inside her. The mere thought brought his orgasm spurting in a hot stream into the knickers - his mother's knickers!
