Awakening: 7 Slutty Blackmail Tasks

"Jasmine?" I asked, a fellow teacher at my school. She was a cute slender brunette, always wore nylons, even on casual Fridays with jeans. We were often mistaken for each other as we did look somewhat alike.

"Yes," she admitted.

"Why did she recommend me?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," she said, before adding, "I think she thinks you're hot."

"Do you?" I asked.

"You definitely taste good," she answered, resuming licking me.

Glancing at the clock, and realizing time mattered, I didn't probe to learn the other names and instead enjoyed her tongue. I moaned, "Oh yes, worship my cunt."

She didn't respond, instead attacking my clit aggressively.

"Oh yes, you're a great cunt muncher," I moaned.

She licked me for three or four more minutes until my orgasm was close. I grabbed her head and shoved her deep into me until I came... wanting to coat her face with my gush of cum.

Which I did.

"This is your baptism to becoming my pet slut," I declared, as I rubbed my cunt all over her face.

She kept licking until I let her go.

Her face was a mess.

I considered making her go back out there like that, but instead I gave her a choice.

"You can either go back to the service without washing my cum off your face or tell me right now when the next girl's night is."

She didn't hesitate. "Thursday."

"Where?"

"At Joan's."

"Which Joan?" I asked; there were three, although one was in her seventies.

"Carter," she revealed.

That made sense. She was single, so there was no chance of kids or husbands walking in on them. She was also very attractive. A redhead and the owner of an online fashion shop. I bought some of my clothing from her. She gave me a good discount. I wondered why she hadn't thought of inviting me. We had coffee once a month and she'd been really supportive during my divorce.

"I see," I said.

Fahara added, "She said you were not ready for the group."

"Why?"

"Something about being worried about her friendship with you," she said.

"Oh," I said, understanding completely why she would think that. She was a very caring person. Yet, she had never hinted at all she was a bi... or maybe a lesbian, as I don't recall her ever dating anyone.

I got off the desk as she moved away and asked, "What time Thursday?"

"Seven," she answered.

"Don't let any of them know I know," I instructed. "Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" I questioned, wanting to remind her of our clear hierarchy.

"Yes, Mistress," she corrected.

"Actually at church, you can call me Goddess," I corrected, with a smile.

She shook her head, "You really are a piece of work."

"Says the nigger-loving cum slut," I bluntly said, using the 'n' word for the second time ever.

"As are you," she countered.

"True, but I'm single," I pointed out. I asked, as I got to the door, "Where do you hide your choker?"

"Same place I hide the toys," she smiled.

"You're a piece of work too," I laughed, deciding it was enough for now.

"All of God's children are," she said, a line she often used in religious conversations at church.

I laughed before I added, "And I expect you in a skirt or dress and thigh highs all the time. If you dress up like a dirty, bimbo fuck slut for black cock, I expect you to dress, at least underneath, like a dirty, bimbo cunt muncher for cunt, is that clear?"

She shook her head in dismay, even as she nodded, "Yes, Goddess."

"That sounds really sexy coming out of your righteous mouth," I said, as I walked out, returning to the service, a bit of wetness trickling down my leg.

After the service, I chatted briefly with a few friends, including Jasmine, although the conversation was about the week-long break where I just said I got re-energized... which was the ultimate understatement of the year.

I checked my phone... nothing.

I was dying to find out who my blackmailer was ... as the more I had considered it, the more it had to be someone I knew... didn't it?

I drove home, walked in and Donald was home. I greeted, "How was your weekend at your father's?"

"Same old, same old," he answered, looking at my stocking-feet again.

Wanting to test my theory that he liked my nylon feet, I moved my feet around as we chatted, "What did you do?"

"Gamed," he answered, seeming to look down quickly every time I moved one of my feet.

"I see," I said. "Where's your sister?"

"Cheerleading practice or something," he said, definitely staring at my nylon-clad feet.

"So it's just you and me for lunch," I said.

"Yep," he agreed.

"Well, why don't I make us some grilled cheese?" I said, it being his favourite.

"Sounds great," he said, as he continued looking at my feet.

"Take a seat, this won't take long," I said.

"I'll be back in a couple of minutes," he replied.

"Okay," I said, as I pulled out the cheese and butter. As I was making the grilled cheese, my phone buzzed.

I quickly grabbed it and read the text: Ready for the truth?

I responded: Yes.

I put the phone beside me as I finished getting the grilled cheese ready and pulled out a frying pan.

I was annoyed when he didn't respond right back.

I texted again, just as my son returned to the kitchen: Well???

"So Mom, what did you do all weekend?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing major," I lied. It wasn't like I was going to tell him of my last wild 48 hours. I then added, "Went out with the girls last night." I mean there were other girls there so it wasn't totally a lie.

"Have fun?" he asked.

"It was one of the greatest nights of my life," I admitted, then realized I'd just said too much.

"Really? Why?" he asked, as I put the grilled cheese on the frying pan.

"Oh, it was just an unexpected night," I vaguely, but truthfully, answered.

"Meet anyone?" he asked.

"What's with all the questions?" I asked back.

"Just making conversation," he said, looking slightly nervous, which was weird, especially since he couldn't see my feet with the island in the way.

"Well, I may have met someone," I admitted, although it was Anastasia and Friday I was referring to. Sure I loved the black cock, and sure I planned to go back (there were a lot of intriguing theme nights to go to), but Anastasia... there was just something about her that captivated me completely.

Now that my blackmail week was over, I planned to tell her about everything when I saw her tomorrow night.

"That's great," he said, as I flipped the grilled cheese.

"You're okay with my getting back in the dating world?" I asked, my desire for my kids' approval being one of the many reasons I hadn't yet dipped my toes into the pool.

"Mom," he said, standing up and walking around the island.

"What?" I asked, as he was suddenly in front of me.

"Charlotte and I both want you to be happy," he said, "we don't agree on much, but we talked about you and we agree on that with all our hearts," giving me a hug.

"Oh honey," I said, enjoying my son's warm sweet embrace.

After a second, I blurted, "Shoot, your grilled cheese!"

I leaped away and quickly got the grilled cheese off the stove.

I put it on the plate and handed it to him. "Thanks, Mom," he said, as he quickly looked at my feet again.

"Anything for you," I said, wiggling my toes, for some reason enjoying tempting my son, before I put my own sandwich on.

He went to the fridge, grabbed the ketchup (he loved his ketchup), and glanced back to my feet before going to the table and sitting down.

I asked, as I made my grilled cheese, "Is there anyone special for you?"

He started laughing.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm not exactly popular at school," he admitted.

"Honey, that isn't true," I said, even though I knew he was a bit out of an outcast.

"Mom," he said. "You don't have to pretend for me. I know how high school works."

"Well," I said, trying to make him feel better, my heart breaking for him, "high school gives you the worst years of your life."

"Now there is a truth spoken," he said, as I pulled my grilled cheese off the stove.

"The most popular kids in high school end up big losers in real life," I pointed out.

"So Charlotte is going to turn out to be a loser?" he asked.

"Donald!" I said, but with a laugh. Charlotte was definitely one of the more popular girls in the school. I then added, "She may marry a loser, although I hope not."

"I hope not too," he said, although I wondered whether he meant it; they rarely got along.

"And you'll marry some hot lawyer just like yourself," I said, coming to join him at the table.

"Not a model?" he questioned with a smirk.

"Well, or a model," I said, as I sat across from him, but extended my feet out so they were fully visible to him in case he wanted to feast his eyes.

I wondered if he was a virgin.

Likely.

Briefly, I recalled his hard cock flinching against my thigh the other day.

Could I commit incest?

With Charlotte?

With Donald?

My cunt was suddenly tingling again as I shook my head at my thoughts.... This week had really fucked with me... literally.

He asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "I haven't completely been myself lately."

"You seemed happier this past week," he said.

"Really?" I asked, moving one foot over the other, which got the attention I expected it would get.

"Yes, you seem rejuvenated," he said, addressing this to me but still staring at my feet.

"Well, surprisingly it has been a week of rejuvenation," I agreed. "I wasn't expecting it to be, but it was."

"So it's been a good spring break?" he asked, continuing to give quick glances to my feet.

"Yeah, it will be tough to go back to work tomorrow," I admitted, which was the truth. Although that still would have been the truth if I hadn't just had seven days of submissive, wild, multiple-hole sex.

"I know," he sighed.

"Only three months left," I pointed out.

"I know," he agreed, looking like he wanted to say something else.

I asked, "Is there something on your mind, Donald?"

"Yeah," he said, now staring at nothing but my feet, avoiding eye contact.

"What is it?" I asked. "You can tell your mother anything."

"You'll be mad," he said, still staring at my feet, seemingly afraid to look anywhere else.

"Honey, I can never be mad at you," I said.

"It was me," he whispered.

"What was you?" I asked, not making the obvious connection.

"Seven days, seven tasks," he admitted, sheepishly.

My eyes went wide as the revelation finally translated. I stammered, "I-I-It was you?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Why?" I asked, my son seemingly incapable of doing anything so manipulative.

"Because you were so lonely," he said, finally looking up at me through almost visible waves of guilt.

"So you wanted to turn your mother into a slut?" I asked, really struggling to process what I was hearing.

His eyes went wide. "No! I was trying to make your fantasies come true!"

"What? How?" I asked, confused and overwhelmed.

"I was on your laptop one day and accidentally found a Literotica site you frequented," he explained.

"Oh." I said, still processing. I wasn't mad at him, although once I made sense of this I might very well become so. But for now I was just trying to comprehend what he was saying and to figure out how it fit with all that I'd experienced last week. My head was swimming!

He continued, "Although it was wrong, that led me to snooping through your whole computer and finding a lot of your..." he paused, even as I felt my cheeks burn red at what he must have found, "...your fantasies."

As I was beginning to process what he was saying, I asked, "How did you get those pictures of me with your father?"

"I was bored at his house, found an old computer and was hoping I could play Minecraft on it. I couldn't. So I scrolled through his photos and found some ones of you being... well, naughty!" he revealed.

"Just sitting there with his other photos?" I asked, not mad at him, but my ex.

"Not completely," he said, before adding, "it was in a folder called bj."

"That asshole," I said annoyed. "He promised he'd gotten rid of those."

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said. "It's just that you were so lonely and I figured I would just set the spark. I didn't expect you to actually follow through with those tasks."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I only had two days planned. I really had to get creative when you began complying," he said, suddenly coming to life a bit after the sheepish responses until now.

"That excited you?" I questioned, as I decided I still wasn't mad at him, but I was intrigued. Before we were done, today might become very interesting! I moved my nylon-clad feet onto the table, so my soles were facing him in plain view. I wiggled my toes at him but didn't interrupt.

"I know it's sick, but it did," he admitted. "It got my creative juices flowing and I snuck back onto your laptop, figured out what I thought you would enjoy most and offered each treat to you."

"You thought I was yearning to watch your sister have sex?" I questioned, that being the one that definitely wasn't on my laptop.

"Okay, that one was for me," he admitted, his face burning red... both our faces burning red.

"Why?" I asked.

"She's always been a bitch to me and I wanted some evidence to use against her down the road," he admitted, staring at my feet.

"You were going to blackmail her too?" I questioned, even though it was obvious.

"Yes," he whispered.

"But I never sent you any pictures of her and Dean," I pointed out.

"I set up a tiny video camera to film it all," he admitted.

"But how did you manage to get all of those pictures of me this week?" I wanted to know, "I never saw you following me around,"

"I installed a GPS app on your phone that would send my phone a signal," he bragged. "So I always knew where you were without being obvious about it. Businesses like that sex shop and Starbucks aren't too careful about locking their back doors during business hours, so I snuck into them, and when you parked in the alley that first day, I just knew you must be doing something interesting, so I checked. The GPS is also how I knew when you arrived at The Pit, even though I was miles away at Dad's house."

"Well, I've always known you were way too smart for your own good," I gave him. "But wait a minute! On Tuesday we were both at the kitchen table with Charlotte when your text arrived. How'd you manage to pull that one off? I was beginning to think it might be you until that happened!"

He snickered. Yes, actually snickered, like the villain in a bad melodrama. "I was hoping that would throw you off! I'd pre-loaded the message in my phone so I could just hold it under the table and press Send. I knew you'd go upstairs to read it, so I was then free to continue the texts without you seeing me. Charlotte just assumed I was texting with some guys from school."

"You bad boy," I said, but in a voice telling him I wasn't angry.

"You're not mad?" he asked, startled.

"I'm a lot of things right now," I answered, which was all true.

I was angry.

I was impressed.

I was bewildered.

But above all, I was horny.

Horny enough to create my own Sunday Task Eight: Repay my blackmailer for rekindling my sexuality.

I took charge and donned a stern expression: "Donald, go into the living room and wait; we will continue this talk in a couple of minutes. I need to change out of my church clothing."

"Yes, mother," he said, the term he used the rare times he knew he was in trouble.

I walked out and up to my room, where I got naked and then put on some sexy lingerie and nylons... I was going to seduce my son!

Was it wrong? Yes.

Was it incest? Yes.

Was I going to hell? Likely.

Was I going to live my life on my own terms from now on? Fuck, yes.

I looked in the mirror, I looked pretty damn sexy if I said so myself.

No way would he be able to resist me!

This was going to be so much fun!

I walked to the living room and he was sitting on the couch watching the news.

From the entranceway I ordered him, "Turn off the TV and don't look around."

Once he'd obeyed, I silently walked up behind him, bent down and crooned in a little-girl voice, "So did any of the pictures of your sedate mother becoming more and more of a submissive slut turn you on, baby?"

His eyes went wide as from behind him, I reached out my hand ran it down his chest.

"Um, I...." he stammered.

"Be honest," I murmured, my breath hot in his ear.

"Yes," he admitted.

"Which ones?" I asked, as my hand moved slightly lower, drifting towards his hidden package.

"All of them," he groaned, even though I hadn't even reached his cock yet.

I asked bluntly, "Did you masturbate to my photos, Donald?"

"Y-y-yes," he admitted, completely overwhelmed.

"Did you imagine fucking me, you bad boy?" I asked, just as my hand reached his cock. "When you climaxed did you pretend your hot cum was shooting inside your slutty mother?"

"Oh God, Mom," he groaned, as I squeezed his hard cock.

"I think Donald Junior here needs to be released," I said, as I tugged at the buttons on his jeans. "He looks pretty confined in there."

"Oh God," he groaned again, as I fished his cock out.

"Is this naughty soldier standing at attention because of me?" I asked, as I gently stroked his very impressive cock.

"Y-y-yes," he stammered.

"You never answered my question, Donald," I pointed out. "Did you imagine fucking your mother and cumming inside her?"

"Yes, mother," he groaned, as I rolled my fingers around his throbbing cock head.

"Did you imagine Mommy sucking this big hard cock?" I questioned, enjoying being the one in charge for once.

"Oh God, Mom," he repeated, apparently my Harvard college-bound student was paralyzed with the sudden inability to think straight and could only process short phrases.

"Answer the question, Donald," I ordered, as I let go of his cock, sat on the top of the couch and moved my nylon-clad feet around to his cock.

"All the time," he groaned, as my feet wrapped around his cock.

"And you love Mommy's feet when she wears nylons, don't you?" I asked, as I began to give him a nylon-clad foot job.

"Yes," he admitted.

"How long have you been staring at Mommy's nylon feet?" I asked, as I rubbed his chest with one hand and combed my fingers through his hair with the other.

"Forever," he answered, as I pleasured my son.

"Is that why you made all the tasks include nylons?" I asked.

"Yeah, except The Pit," he answered.

"Yeah, you just innocently sent me to be gangbanged by black men," I scolded.

For the first time he seemed to find some confidence. "I just sent you there, I didn't make you do anything."

"True," I acknowledged, before adding, "but you knew I wouldn't be able to resist."

"I assumed so," he agreed.

"So you assumed I would be unable to resist a bunch of well-hung black men?" I questioned.

"A third of your porn is black gangbang porn," he pointed out.

"And you have a huge collection of incest porn," I countered.

"You searched my computer?" he asked, surprised.

"Tit for tat," I pointed out.

"Well, you're to blame for my incest fascination," he accused, before adding, "you in your sexy stockings and a half-naked cheerleader sister prancing around the house. Do you know people call her tits lively? How many guys have a sister with lively tits?"

"So you want to fuck both your mother and your sister?" I bluntly asked.