Shepherd's Pie Ch. 05

Finally, Mom waved to her across the hall, as Megan turned to us and smiled, politely excusing herself, gracefully sauntering over.

I stood by as she and Mom warmly embraced, patiently waiting to feel her arms take me in as well.

"Ms. Shepherd, lovely to see you again," Megan said. "So glad you could join us," she added, turning to me. "Christopher, my goodness darling, you look good enough to eat," she said, pleasantly greeting me with the scent of rose petals, as she leaned in, pressing against my chest.

With a kiss on the cheek, she then took me by the hand, leading the two of us over toward the two girls I'd seen making out moments earlier. "Come," Megan said. "I'll introduce you to the family."

Making our approach, struck by a feeling of repressed anger, I thought to myself, stunned by how pretty they were, that these were exactly the same kind of spoiled, beautiful, privileged young girls who'd always ignored me growing up.

"Girls," Megan said, calling them over. "I'd like you to meet Ms. Lauren Shepherd," she said, as each girl stepped over and gave Mom a brief hug. "And this handsome devil is Lauren's son, Christopher," she added, seeing their eyes grow wide. "These lovely young ladies are my eldest daughters," Megan told us. "This is Chelsea," she said, waving to her left. "And this is Emma," she followed, waving to her right. "Emma is actually visiting from Los Angeles," she said, explaining why her skin was so tan.

I wasn't expecting for Chelsea to step over and hug me as tightly as she did. Her arms lingered around my shoulders far longer than any girl that sexy had ever done before.

Stepping back, I stood there staring at her outfit, soaking all of it in.

"Great costume," I said. "You must really love Katy Perry."

Flashing a brilliant smile, Chelsea instantly gushed all over me.

"Oh my God! You're like...the only one who's figured that out. Everyone else thinks I'm a fembot"

"It's the hair," I said, noting the color was mostly black mixed with bright purple, draping down to her shoulders.

As a whole, Chelsea's entire costume could have been something taken from Willy Wonka's wet dream: soft, natural, bouncing tits stuffed inside a sparkling, silver bra, cleavage spilling over the pointed metallic cups, with huge rainbow lollipops glued to each one, paired with an equally bright pair of skintight purple hot pants, glittering as much as the stardust twinkling from her slender thighs, sharply inhaling as I looked down, stunned by the magical effervescence of silver Lurex tights, leading down to white go-go boots.

"Um, if you don't mind," said Emma, apparently not wanting to be left out. "I'd really appreciate your opinion too."

Hoping she hadn't seen me sweat, I watched as she slowly turned for my inspection.

"Honestly," I said, scanning her costume up and down. "I don't even know where to start. I noticed you the second we walked in. I mean, what guy hasn't dreamed about Lara Croft. The whole thing is perfect...the hair, the outfit, even the guns look real."

"They are real," Emma said. "They're just not loaded. Like Mom says, we have five rules here...no one under 18, no photos without permission, no drug use or smoking inside the house, no pain inflicted without consent, and absolutely no deadly weapons."

"Mom, I think everyone's ready," Chelsea said. "Have you seen Dad?"

Megan shrugged. "He's probably off somewhere boffing some blonde stewardess. We can start without him."

With that, Megan led the four of us back through the foyer, turning right into the cigar room, passing the pool table, taking us by a dark wooden wine rack, leading us on to the parlor, with a reclining sofa facing a large mounted plasma TV, and a chaise lounge over the by window, in the far left corner of the room.

Waiting there side by side, standing behind Megan, Mom and I watched as another possibly 20 to 30 guests steadily began filling the room.

"Greetings," said Megan, centered amidst everyone. "As always, Bill and I want to warmly welcome and thank you all for joining us this evening as all of us gather to celebrate hedonism and debauchery. For those of you who participated in this month's auction, I'm pleased to announce that we've set a new record, raising over ten thousand dollars for underprivileged youth, with the generous cooperation of our dear friend, Mr. Dante Lavelle."

Nodding and smiling through brief applause, Megan then briefly reminded everyone how the auction worked. Prior to the party, all the participants were given a number between 1 and 100. After blood tests and thorough background checks, of those hundred, only thirty applicants received an invitation. Until the party, the highest bids remained secret, known only to Megan, who then placed the winning numbers on each of the four available girls, explaining why I noticed Monique with a round button pinned to her dress, quiet next to Chelsea, as I looked around, wondering which lucky bastard had 35.

"Now," Megan continued. "In keeping with tradition, at this point we'd like to begin by formally initiating our newest members. For those of you who don't know, it gives me great pleasure to announce that we now have our first genuine, biological mother and son. Please join me in welcoming Ms. Lauren and Chris Shepherd."

Again, we were greeted by a second round of vocal applause, louder and longer than the first. Glancing to my left, I noticed Monique lean over and whisper something in Chelsea's ear, to which Chelsea then whispered something to her mother.

"Now I realize the two of you might feel a bit nervous performing in front of all these strangers," Megan assumed correctly. "Fortunately, someone has graciously offered their assistance, considering this is your first time.

Calmly, Monique stepped forward, as Mom and I turned to each other, firmly squeezing each other's hand.

"I should have known he was your son," said Monique, as she reached out and took my mother's hand. "Allow me to make it up to you," she offered, leading my mother toward the chaise lounge.

Clearing a path, the room quietly parted, as Mom and I followed Monique.

Reaching the longue, Monique turned to Mom and softly asked, "Where do you want me?"

Standing beside them, quickly removing my belt, I shivered as Mom ran her fingers down my chest, head turned, focused on Monique, yet highly aware of Mom's hand, which ultimately slid its way down to the prominent bulge straining against the black spandex.

"Why don't you show me yours," Mom whispered. "Then maybe I'll show you mine," she added, squeezing my cock, reminding everyone it was hers.

Quietly taking Mom's direction, Monique gracefully settled down, thankfully leaving on her black slingbacks. Knees up, legs in black stockings, she then swung them around, heels pointed straight out, revealing a lacy black G-string, as she leaned back, spread eagle, offering herself up to Mom.

Until then, my sole objective in life was simply to fuck Mom in pantyhose. So the concept of seeing her eat Monique's pussy was something for which I wasn't mentally prepared.

Fortunately, somehow, among all those people, I managed to process seeing my mother kneel down, lunge forward and bury her face in Monique's twat, black G-string pulled to the side, tongue gliding over rosy lips, moist, shiny, widely spread by Monique's fingers, as she lay there moaning, tongue fluttering over her clit, feeding Mom's surprisingly urgent hunger for Latin cuisine, prompting Monique to respond audibly in her native tongue.

"Ay dios mio! Uhh uhh si señora. Me gusta su lengua en mi chocha. Ay chinga me! Chinga me con su lengua!"

Clearly, Mom knew what she was doing. Had she done this before? Was it pure instinct? Had she always dreamed about eating pussy, only there, in front of me and all those people, was she then finally getting her chance? Either way I was so horny I had to pull out my cock.

"You see," Monique said, in her rich throaty accent, as she reached up and gently grabbed me by my dick. "I knew you'd have a big cock. You fuck your mother with this?"

I looked down at Mom, smiling as she looked up, smiling back, beaming with pride, watching as Monique carefully guided my penis toward her mouth.

Right at the moment, when I urgently wanted her Latin lips wrapped around my knob, my head spun toward the sudden appearance of two people who, judging from Mom's reaction, couldn't have picked a worse time to show up.

"Lauren..?" said Cynthia, standing there with her husband, ignoring the series of heads turning immediately on her arrival, given her astonishing lack of modesty, trumping every girl there, instantly drawing the attention of anyone there who had a cock.

Recalling our photo shoot, for the most part, she was wearing the same costume. The only difference was the white nurse's hat on her head, red heels instead of white; a real stethoscope dangling between her stupendous jugs, with "Head Nurse" printed on a name tag over her right lapel, below that, a round button indicating her winning bidder was 63.

Making her lab coat fit as tight as a dress, she'd left most of it purposely buttoned from the bottom up, thankfully leaving the top three open, partly to show more cleavage, but also I imagined so she'd still be able to breathe. The white fabric outlined her busty figure so well, that I stood there questioning how she could walk at all, especially in those bold, shiny, high-heeled, red pumps.

Recognizing her voice, Mom spun around, white as a ghost, with a ring of fresh pussy juice coating what little remained of the cranberry lipstick smeared all over her gaping mouth.

"Cynthia!"

Justice served. Two MILFs busted at once. Honestly, in that moment, what else was there left to say? Had Cynthia said anything like, "What are you and your son doing at an orgy?" Logically, Mom would have followed asking why she was at the same orgy with her husband. It was clearly a no win situation, as Cynthia slowly turned and looked at me, prompting my mother to follow suit, both of them frowning with equal suspicion in their eyes.

Feigning innocence, I looked back, shrugging my shoulders, holding my erect penis over the tongue extending from Monique's mouth.

"What?" I said, frowning back. "Obviously, Megan invited all of us."

"He's right," Megan said, stepping through the crowd. "I did invite all of you...though I certainly had no intention of causing trouble."

From the looks on their faces, Mom and Cynthia were only becoming more embarrassed and confused.

"Um, maybe we should go find someplace to talk," Mom suggested.

Cynthia nodded back. "Yeah, maybe we should."

Leading the way, Cynthia turned and headed toward the front door. For his part, Joel's outfit showed no imagination at all: blue jeans, flannel shirt, tool belt, yellow hard hat; barely a costume at all.

He and Mom followed behind Cynthia, weaving through the crowd, as I stumbled along, two steps behind, belt in one hand, struggling to tuck away my hard-on with the other.

Near the wine rack, Cynthia quickly stopped short, long enough for me to catch up.

Blocking her path, shamelessly underdressed, was a girl I recognized from her auction photos, the black one with really huge tits, showing far more cleavage than costume, with '15' pinned to the gaping front of her low-cut, blue-collared shirt. Dressed like the strip club version of a cop, in black boots, black fishnets, and painted on black booty shorts, in person her costume made her look far more physically imposing, as she and Cynthia stood face to face.

"See, I told you she'd walk out," she turned and said to her slutty Asian cohort, shorter and more petite, with long, floppy, black pig tails, clearly braless, in a white, see-through, sailor shirt, cut off above her navel, black tie loosely hanging from her neck, paired with a short, pleated, navy blue miniskirt, white knee highs, and black high-heeled Mary Janes.

Skirting to her left, Cynthia raised her hand dismissively. "Jasmine, not a good time," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Hold up," Jasmine said, purposely stepping in her way. "First off, don't ever put your hand in my face. That's number one. And what makes you think you can show up late, then start acting disrespectful? The only reason Brandi's not here tonight is because of you. You're taking money out of her pocket. Money I know she needs more than you. How much is Dante paying you anyway?"

As if to steady herself, before answering Cynthia first took a deep breath. "Two thousand."

"For the night?" the second girl quickly chimed in. Kimberly, I recalled.

Subtly, Cynthia turned to her, shaking her head. "Per hour."

Kimberly's eye widened with shock. "Are you kidding? He's paying you double! What the fuck?"

"What can I tell you?" Cynthia shrugged. "Out with the old, in with the new..."

"Oh, hell no!" Jasmine snapped, ready to haul off and slap Cynthia any second. "I'm done playing with you. You obviously don't know who you're fucking with..."

Stepping in, Mom suddenly reached over, grabbing Jasmine by the arm.

"Hey," Mom said. "This is a friendly gathering. Why don't you just leave her alone?"

Feeling her hand, Jasmine glared back at Mom, snarling with anger and disdain.

"Bitch, I don't know who you are, but you'd best take your motherfucking hand of me right now!"

That's when I saw red. If Joel wanted to stand there and look stupid, letting someone threaten his wife; that was on him. But no one could get away with calling my mother a bitch. Sorry, not happening.

Just as Jasmine balled up, ready to swing, I grabbed Mom's shoulders, pulling her out of the way, as I stepped in, reached over, seizing Jasmine by throat, applying enough pressure to show her I meant business.

Her eyes registered fear, as she looked back, struggling for air, heeding my angry warning.

"Don't ever call my mother a bitch!"

Even as Mom begged me to stop, I held tight, choosing not to let go.

"Son, let her go," came a deep voice, turning my head.

"Dante," Cynthia said, turning and smiling to my left.

"Did you think I'd miss this?" he said, smiling back.

Soon, Megan was there as well, standing beside the tall, thirty-something, black gentleman, nattily attired, in a crisp, black tuxedo, paired with a cape, black as night, with a red, upturned color, matching the contacts glowing from his blood red eyes, with a menacing pair of realistic pointed white fangs.

"What's going on here?" Megan asked, clearly not amused.

"Jasmine was just apologizing to this young man for insulting his mother," said Dante.

Turning and squinting, I looked over, not quite believing my ears, releasing Jasmine, who quickly inhaled, before turning to Dante, who instantly denied her a chance to plead her case.

"Apologize," he insisted, "unless you'd rather go back to Chauncey and Essex, spend Christmas on the stroll."

Slowly, Jasmine turned to me, sniffing and bowing her head. "I'm sorry," she meekly whispered, failing to look me in the eye.

"No, not like that," Dante said. "You know what I mean."

Frowning, Jasmine turned to him, voice timid. "You mean...right here?"

"Would you rather go somewhere else?"

Jasmine looked around, turning behind her shoulder. "What about the pool table?"

I looked over to Mom. She looked back, nodding with approval.

"Fine," Dante agreed. "Get to it," he added, turning to Kim. "That means you too."

As if waiting for someone to give them the green light, Mom and Cynthia swiftly accosted Jasmine, each grabbing an arm. Following their lead, Dante and I dragged Kimberly along, ignoring her high-pitched whining and squirming, protesting all for not, pulling her to the nearest end of the pool table, tossing her down to the floor.

Laying my belt across the table, over my shoulder, I noticed Megan quietly supervising from the corner, where Dante opted to step back and watch alongside her, allowing Monique to slide over and press her tits against me, while Jasmine stood there in front of me, Cynthia on one side, Mom on the other, neither one letting go, as Kimberly knelt inches from my feet, with a plaintive look in her eyes.

"What now?" I said, turning to Dante.

With red eyes, he looked back, showing his fangs. "You're the boss."

Grateful for the chance, I still couldn't help feeling that the notion of taking on multiple women was definitely entering new territory.

At 19, between Mom, Cynthia, Kendra and Bethany, I could still easily count the number of women I'd fucked on one hand. Hence, it was definitely scary, not to mention surreal, to look back and see not one, but five different, insanely hot, older women, all of them perfect tens, each bringing their own unique flavor, turning from one outrageously slutty costume to another, as I stood there thinking how great it would be to one day see all of them beautifully featured in the pages of my own filthy, cum-splattered, porn rag, with Mom naturally on the cover, aptly entitled 'Eye Candy.'

Breathing in, I took just a moment for a short, silent pep talk. Over six months, my whole body had undergone rigorous training for a major challenge like this. I'd conquered the fear of fucking my mother, so how much harder could this be?

Seeing her next to Jasmine, in a leotard clearly intended for high school gymnasts, sleek, shiny, fire engine red, I couldn't believe how well she embodied my greatest comic book fantasy. Clearly, something as tight as that wasn't designed for a fully grown woman, lusciously filled out; busting with curves my eyes lingered over with forbidden lust.

Truly deserving to be worshipped, my first thought was making Kim crawl over and lick Mom's boots. With no other option, she nodded back, quietly spinning on her hands and knees. Reaching Mom, I watched from behind, enjoying the sight of her full-bottom, white cotton panties peeking from the rising hem of her short, navy blue skirt. Using her tongue, she then proceeded to polish the latex, tracing a line from the spiked heel over my mother's angled knee.

"Now lick the pantyhose," I told her, loving the power almost too much, watching as Kimberly followed orders with blind obedience, moving higher, tasting the nylon, leisurely grazing her tongue over the glossy surface, rising toward the cleft where Mom's leotard pressed up against her precious cunt.

"Kiss it," I said. "Kiss her pussy all over." Sure enough, Kimberly had no problem with this.

Sucking air sharply in her mouth, I noted Mom's excitement, despite feeling the tingle of Monique's lips, soft kisses pelting down my neck, sensing what seemed to be her growing infatuation with my cock, rubbing her black stocking against my leg, with one hand permanently fixed to my bulging hard-on, squeezing it over my spandex shorts.

Soon, Mom was gripping Kimberly by the back of her head, pressing the Asian schoolgirl's face flush up against her twat.

In my left ear, Monique warmly whispered, "May I suck your cock?" To which she failed to wait for an answer, dropping down, pulling it back out, before hungrily stuffing it in her mouth.

The challenge of orchestrating everything all at once grew more difficult the longer Monique demonstrated her wet, messy, highly persistent, sword swallowing technique.

"Lift her up," I said, meaning Kim, directing my mother to pull down her panties and bend her face down over the pool table. "Now spread her ass," I ordered next, watching as Mom roughly parted her cheeks. "Now," I said, turning to Jasmine, quietly held by Cynthia. "Make her eat it."

In no time, Cynthia forced Jasmine down to her knees, one hand clutching her by the hair, using it to shove Jasmine's face straight toward Kimberly's ass.

"That's right. Lick it bitch!" Cynthia yelled. "Lick that dirty ass!"

Judging from her tone, the hatred between her and Jasmine was unmistakable, as Cynthia cheerfully attempted to smother her bitter rival, shoving with all her might, laughing at Jasmine's whimpers, pushing with such anger and aggression that Kim's ass seemed to be swallowing Jasmine's face.