It was one week until the start of summer vacation and Mrs. Cook the school's Vice-Principal's office was sweltering. The blinds were drawn to block the blazing sunshine, but the door to her stuffy office was shut and I sweated profusely onto the worn office carpet beneath her desk.

Mrs. Cook shifted her legs, grunting, “Keep going, Tommy.”

“Yes Ma'am,” I mumbled against her thick bushy vagina, which gaped and sweated in the darkness with me.

The late buzzer sounded from the school's main building.

“Stay where you are,” Mrs. Cook said, “I'll write Ms. Trenton your excuse note.”

“Yes Ma'am,” I replied, firmly painting the flesh surrounding her clitoris with my dry, swelling tongue.

“Aw, fuck! Shit” Mrs. Cook growled, pinching my head between her grapefruit-sized knees. “Yeah,” she cried between her clenched, crowned teeth, bucking her hips. Her large, cellulite-covered buttocks made wet suction noises against her leather chair while she enjoyed her second orgasm of the afternoon.

“Mmmm,” Mrs. Cook sighed, sliding her chair back from the desk and looking down at my kneeling, naked form.

“Not bad for a freshman,” she snorted, reaching for a Virginia Slim from the crumpled pack sitting in her office inbox. She lit her cigarette, and stood up tugging the black pantyhose back up her meaty thighs. Instinctively reaching up to help her, she slapped my hand away.

“Get dressed and get to class,” she barked, “I've got a lot of work to do.”

I crawled out from under Mrs. Cook's desk and began picking up my clothes from the floor.

“How's your Mother?” She asked.

“Fine Ma'am,” I said, pulling on my briefs.

“Tell her I said ‘Hi'” she said. “And thank her for the concert tickets. Tell her Mr. Cook and I would be glad to attend.”

“Yes Ma'am,” I said.

“Here,” she said, scribbling out an office pass and tossing it on her desk.

“Thank you Ma'am,” I said, picking up the note still bare-chested.

“If Ms. Trenton starts asking questions about your absences, I may have to let you make amends with her, understand?”

“Yes Ma'am,” I replied.

“You know you're not much to look at,” she said, putting her feet up on the desk. “But you've got it where it counts, kid,” she grinned, rubbing a hand over her crotch.

I nodded and finished dressing.

“Come say goodbye now,” Mrs. Cook said, wiggling the size 11 gunboats on the desk.

I walked to her desk and bent down, kissing each of her white leather moccasins as she took a drag from her cigarette.

“Goodbye Vice-Principal Cook,” I said softly.

“That's all for today,” she said, waving her hand. And I left.

----------

After school was cross country practice from 2 until 4. I rode my bike home and walked inside at 4:15. I walked to the living room still wearing my backpack to find Mother.

“Wine,” Mother said, pointing at the almost-empty glass on the end table next to the recliner. She was wearing her tattered pink and white slip and black bicycle shorts that were stretched to their limit despite their XXL size.

I went to the kitchen and poured her another glass of Chardonnay from the fridge, bringing it back to her. When I approached, Mother reclined in her seat, throwing one plump leg over the armrest.

“Mrs. Cook called,” she said, “She told me you were in her office twice today.”

“Yes Ma'am,” I said, “She said ‘Hi' and that she and Mr. Cook can go to the concert with you and Daddy.”

“Shhh!” Mother snarled, turning up the volume on the TV.

“Sorry Ma-“

Mother hurled the remote control at me, striking my left ear.

“I CAN'T FUCKING HEAR WHAT THEY SAID!” She screamed, her large face puffing up and turning red. Pointing at the controller, she boomed, “PICK THAT SHIT UP!”

I picked up the remote, putting back the batteries that fell out, and handed it to Mother, who snatched it away. Mother's 44EE bosom was heaving.

Instinctively I gingerly removed my backpack and undressed quietly while standing next to her. Once naked, I knelt on the floor next to Mother's chair and placed my face inches from her dangling foot.

We watched TV together in that position. Mother shifted in her seat, her foot hitting my face.

“Suck on it,” Mother finally spoke, pointing her dry, meatloaf-sized foot forward.

I took her foot in my hands and placed my lips against it, kissing it devotedly.

“Your father wants you wearing your blue dress tonight,” Mother said.

“Yes Ma'am,” I said, pushing my tongue firmly against her dark, unwashed sole, dragging it up and down to pamper it.

“I swear,” she said as a commercial came on, “You're such a little fairy maybe we should talk your cross country coach into putting you on the girl's team.”

“Anything you want, Mother,” I mumbled, stretching my lips around her short, squat toes and twirling my tongue between them.

“That's what I like to hear,” Mother beamed, kicking my head away, “Go get Mommy's toy for her.”

I stood up and went to Mother's bedroom, bringing back the hard plastic vibrator, turning it on to test before handing it to her. She took it and switched the TV to a music station.

“Dance,” she said.

Mother pulled up her slip and rubbed the buzzing vibrator against her quarter-sized nipples. I began moving my hips and raised my arms, dancing to the music.

Mother placed the vibrator down and pushed her shorts down. She pulled them off her legs, and twirled them, hooting before throwing them at me. I caught them, and knowing what Mother enjoyed, I reached into the shorts, pulling out her large granny-style panties.

“Oh yeah,” Mother cried, “Shake it boy!”

I wiggled my hips while rubbing the damp, stained crotch of her panties hard against my face and chest, covering myself with her scent.

She leaned back and spread her legs, rubbing the vibrator around her thick labia. Mother's glassy eyes stared at my body while I sucked the crotch of her panties and danced.

She began working the vibrator in and out of her pussy.

“Come here,” she said.

I walked to her, and stood still as she began to fondle my genitals with her free hand.

“Yeah,” she groaned, licking her dry cracked lips, “You love Mommy don't you?”

“Y-yes Ma'am,” I flinched as Mother's rough hand jerked my cock roughly.

“Tell me,” she said, “Tell Mommy how much you fucking love her.”

“I-I love you more than anything,” I whimpered softly, “Oh Mommy, I love you.”

Her fingers wriggled around my small boy's penis, and reached down to firmly pat my scrotum.

“Yessss,” she growled, smacking my balls with her palm while I flinched desperately, “Oh yesssss!”

Mother's vibrator disappeared inside her as her entire body began to spasm. Knowing what pleased Mother, I bent and kissed her mouth as she shrieked loudly with her climax. Her sausage-like arms and legs flexed and locked, trembling. Her breathing came in short, rapid breaths, breathing stale wine into my mouth as I French kissed her. As her orgasm subsided, I braced myself.

Mother wiped the sweat dripping from her forehead, catching her breath. Then she severely backhanded me with the same hand, screaming “Don't you EVER touch your Mother like that AGAIN!”

“You filthy, disgusting pig!” She shrieked as I quickly gathered my clothes, “You perverted little fucker!”

I sped out of the room with my clothes, running to my room as the house roared with her insults.

“I'm going to cut your dick off, faggot!” She howled. “Just wait until your father gets home!”

----------

By 6:30 I had the table set and dinner ready. Mother had finished her bottle of wine and gone to bed. Father was due home any minute. I had put on my blue dress as Mother directed. I also had on a white apron and lacey white ankle socks. It was Father's favorite outfit.

When I heard the garage door open, I quickly brought a beer from the fridge out of the kitchen and down the hall.

“Hi Daddy,” I smiled, meeting him at the garage door to the house.

“Hello Tommy,” Father said, taking the beer and handing me his briefcase to put away.

I followed him down the hall, pausing to put his briefcase in the closet. Then I followed Father into the living room, and knelt by the couch while he unlaced his shoes. I helped his black oxfords off, and put them aside for polishing later.

Father grunted as he sat back with his beer, flipping on the TV.

“Where's your Mother?”

“In bed,” I replied, setting Father's dress shoes aside for polishing later.

He put his feet up on the coffee table, and I scooted over and began rubbing them through his thin black socks.

“How's school?” He asked.

“Good,” I said, “I finished a poem for English class. I kind of wrote it for you.”

“Yeah,” he said, drinking more beer, “That's good. What's for dinner?”

“Chicken pot pies,” I said, gently pressing my cheek against my Father's tired, hard-working feet.

“You look nice,” he said, “Did your Mother tell you to wear that for me?”

“Yes Daddy,” I blushed.

“Your figure looks better too,” he said, “I told you running cross-country would help that.”

“Yes, thank you Sir,” I said.

“Well,” he said, sitting up, “Why don't you get my appetite worked up a little?”

“Sure Daddy,” I nodded, watching him stand and unbuckle his belt.

He undid his pants and pulled them down along with his boxers. I crawled to the spot on the carpet in front of him. Father's hand cupped the back of my head and pulled my face forward deep into his crotch, rubbing it into his thick musky pubic hair.

“Like it?” He asked.

“Yes Daddy.”

“Smell nice?”

“Yes Daddy, yes.”

His cock grew to its rock-hard state. He spread his legs apart and cupped one hand under my chin, squeezing my mouth open roughly.

“Stay like that,” he grunted, shoving his cock into my mouth and down my throat.

I gasped through my nose and held onto Father's hairy legs to stabilize myself. He pumped his cock in and out for several minutes, letting out an occasional grunt.

“Yeah,” he moaned, “Fuck yeah!”

Father coughed and cleared his throat, and spat a large wad of phlegm onto my head.

I reached up with one hand, and gently cupped and tickled his balls.

Father's grip on me tensed, and he stopped pumping his hips, crying out. A hot thick load of cum forced its way into my stomach, filling my nostrils with the smell of his semen.

“Go get changed,” Father said, “You look like a fucking faggot. No son of mine is going to be a goddamn fairy.”

“Yes Sir,” I flinched, crawling away from him and getting up.

I went to my bedroom and changed back to boy clothes.

When I came back out, the house was filled with the scent of perfume. It was my Mother's perfume. I walked into the living room and she was there dressed to go out. She had on black jeans, a black camisole, black cowboy boots, and a silver necklace. Her face and hair were nicely done. She was sitting on the couch with Father. They were eating the dinner I made for Father and me. Mother gave me a hard glance when I approached.

“You look beautiful Ma'am,” I said.

“Yeah?” She said, taking another bite of the pot pie, “Is that why you wanted to fuck me this afternoon, sicko?”

Father snorted. I stood silently, head hung low.

“Oh I'm sorry,” Mother said, “I forgot you were a faggot that wants your Daddy to fuck you!”

Father laughed, and Mother chuckled.

“We're going out with your little girlfriend Mrs. Cook and husband tonight.”

“Yes Ma'am,” I nodded.

“I'm done,” Father said, standing up, “I'm going to get ready.”

I took his plate to the kitchen and started doing the dishes.

Ten minutes later the doorbell rang. I peeked out the kitchen door and saw Mother welcoming Mr. and Mrs. Cook. Mother and Mrs. Cook kissed each other's cheek, and Mother hugged Mr. Cook. Father then came outside. He was wearing a black dress shirt, slacks, and black cowboy boots like Mother.

“Thomas,” Mother called out.

“Yes Ma'am,” I answered, coming out of the kitchen.

“Look who's here, Mrs. Cook!” Mother said, “And this is her husband.”

I smiled and shook hands with both of them. Mrs. Cook was wearing a red sweater, black stretch pants, and pointed-toe pumps. Mr. Cook was a balding man of about 60, dressed in a gray leisure suit, and brown sandals with black socks pulled up to his calves.

“Thomas has such a crush on you,” Mother said to Mrs. Cook. Everyone laughed.

“Well,” Mrs. Cook said, bending down and wiggling my chin, “I think I may have a use for you one day.”

“I'm not sure,” Father laughed, “His Mother and I think he may be headed for a different “lifestyle”. Everyone chuckled.

“What was this about a love poem you have for me?” Father smiled down at me.

I blushed profusely.

“Go get it now,” Mother snapped her fingers sharply.

Burning with shame, I went to my bedroom and brought out my notebook. Turning to the French section, I took out my poem.

“What's your poem called dear?” Mrs. Cook grinned.

“When I Look Up,” I said.

“Nice,” Mother said, taking my notebook, “Read it to your Father.”

My cheeks on fire, I turned sheepishly to Father, and began reading from the page.

When I Look Up,

My Dearest Father,

You are there, never farther,

Melting away in your arms,

Feeling so safe, from any harm,

For your love, I surrender gladly,

In my heart, you are my Daddy.

“Awwww!!!!” Mother and Mrs. Cook boasted, clapping loudly.

“Well,” Father smiled, “Bill Shakespeare he ain't!”

“I thought it was good!” Mr. Cook remarked.

“Okay,” Father grinned, patting my head, “Very sweet.”

“You have quite the admiring son,” Mrs. Cook said to him.

“Very much so,” Mother said, handing me my notebook, “In fact, by tomorrow night I want it written on the cover of that notebook and all of your books, understand?”

“Yes Ma'am,” I replied, taking the notebook. Mother had drawn a huge heart with an arrow through it, and the word DADDY inside. She smirked at me.

“Well we better get going,” Mrs. Cook said, turning to me, “Why don't you say goodbye to everyone?”

“Okay,” I said, dropping to my hands and knees.

“Who's driving?” Mother asked as I kissed her boots.

“I will,” Mrs. Cook replied.

I began kissing Father's boots.

“No tongue this time!” He bellowed, causing everyone to laugh.

“Why not?” Mrs. Cook smiled, “He might be good at it!”

Mother put her hand on Mrs. Cook's shoulder, laughing hard.

I turned and kissed Mrs. Cook's heels. Then I crawled to her husband's feet, kissing his socks and sandals equally.

“That's a nice start,” Mr. Cook said, “But I'm not going tonight.”

I looked up, seeing the old man reaching out and taking my hand.

“You're staying home with Mr. Cook tonight,” Father said.

Mrs. Cook placed a hand on her husband's arm.

“Maybe after tonight, he'll be writing poems about you too!” She giggled.

My folks and Mrs. Cook went to the door and bid Mr. Cook goodnight. The grandfather of 3 took my hand and led me back towards the bedroom.

Cooks and Folks

Chapter 2

My bedroom sweltered in the heat of the summer night. The windows were shut and the heavy, mildew-smelling curtains were closed, making it especially stuffy. The only light came from inside the bathroom. Mr. Cook was grunting while he worked to urinate through his 60-plus year old prostate. I heard his pee splashing periodically into the toilet water, stop, and then start again. After 10 minutes of this, I heard the toilet flush, and the elderly man wearing only black argyle socks held up by sock garters walked back into the bedroom.

“Hot as hell,” he remarked, taking out a leather-bound flask from the pocket of his leisure suit jacket.

“Your folks like to keep it this hot?” He asked, taking a long drink of liquor.

“Yes Sir,” I said, “To save money.”

“That what they told you?” He grinned. His teeth were long and stained a grayish yellow. “Funny, the rest of the house is so cool though.”

Mr. Cook sat himself on the dirty, sheet-less mattress next to me. He put his arm around my naked shoulders.

“It's all right,” He said, his breath stinking with scotch, “My Daddy was the same way with me when I was a boy. No Momma though, she died when I was really small.”

“I'm sorry,” I said, watching the sweat bead on his chest and run down over his pot belly.

Mr. Cook cupped the back of my head, and pulled me hard towards him. His mouth covered and sucked hungrily at mine. I kissed him back as best as I could, letting my tongue into his mouth and caressing his aged teeth and gums. We sat next to each other, sweating through the mattress and slurping at each others' mouths for a long time.

Mr. Cook released his grip on my neck and sat back, leaving my mouth slick with saliva. He took my hand and stood me up. He faced me, placing my hands around his neck.

“Dance with me,” he said, putting his hands on my waist.

There in the dark, sauna-like room, Mr. Cook led me in music-less dance. I swayed my hips gently under his wrinkled, bony hands. Hi eyes were closed, and I laid my head gently against the matted gray hair on his chest.

“That's nice,” he said, cupping my head.

I pressed against him, and we danced that way for a while. Then Mr. Cook took one of my hands and placed it against his warm, sweaty crotch.

“Play with me,” he said.

I curled my fingers gently around his thin cock and stroked it while we danced. It grew stiff, and I continued to rub him, taking time to comb through his tangled pubic hair with my fingertips.

“Do your folks give you an allowance?” He asked.

“No Sir,” I replied.

“That's a shame,” he said.

“Would you like to make a little money?” Mr. Cook said after a while.

“Sure,” I said.

Mr. Cook opened his eyes and looked down at me. “I've got a deal for you,” he said. “There's something I've always wanted to do,” he said, “I'll give you $100 if you let me.”

“Okay,” I replied.

“Good!” Mr. Cook beamed.

He led me to the bathroom.

“Lay down,” he said, pointing at the warped linoleum floor.

I sat on the floor and lay back, my feet between the bathtub and the toilet. Mr. Cook stepped over me, standing with my head between his feet. He braced his hands on the wall, and began to squat down. His knees popped as he lowered his buttocks more and more. He had swollen, painful looking hemorrhoids that suddenly shook as Mr. Cook let out a series of squeaky farts.

“Get ready,” he said, squatting even lower.

His badly inflamed rectum flexed and expanded, releasing a thin strand of dark feces that landed across the bridge of my nose. My vision was temporarily blocked until the turd broke in half with one part sliding down my cheek onto the floor. “Yeah,” Mr. Cook groaned, “You're doing fine.” He gripped his cock with one hand and started to masturbate. His asshole then opened wide, and a thick, nutty log began working its way out. Mr. Cook grunted hard as he forced the waste out of his body. Grabbing the towel rod for balance, he squatted even more and placed the end of the escaping log onto my upper lip. It rested under my nose as Mr. Cook pushed it out. Finally the heavy loaf dropped onto my mouth before bouncing to the floor.

Mr. Cook stroked his penis furiously, panting and groaning loudly. He paused for a moment, and a loud splattering sound came as a ball of liquefied feces and gas blasted from his anus, covering me with watery brown speckles.

Mr. Cook pointed his erection down at me and roared while stroking it wildly. Soon, a long white strand of viscous fluid leaped from his cock onto my forehead. Mr. Cook trembled as he stroked more strings of milky sperm from his well-experienced testicles.

After the remaining semen had been successfully deposited on my face, Mr. Cook's softening penis jumped a few more times defiantly. He gathered a fistful of toilet paper and bent over, smearing it between his ass cheeks.

“That was pretty good,” he said, throwing away the used toilet paper.

Mr. Cook went to the bedroom and began getting dressed. I got up and used some fresh toilet paper to pick up Mr. Cook's shit.

“Don't wash up yet,” Mr. Cook said, putting his jacket back on.

I followed him out of the bedroom into the living room. He slipped his sandals back on and told me to follow him outside. We walked out to the driveway. Mr. Cook glanced around, and picked up our garden hose.

“Turn on the water,” he said, taking out his flask.

I stepped barefoot through the bark-covered garden and turned on the water faucet.

“Over there,” Mr. Cook said, pointing at a spot on the driveway beneath the glow of a street light.

I walked to the spot as Mr. Cook drank from his flask. I turned to face him, and he squeezed the trigger to the hose's nozzle, spraying me with a stream of cold water. I gasped, raising my hands to block it.

“Arms down,” he snapped.

I kept my arms at my side, and Mr. Cook walked closer, soaking me with the hose. He cut the water off, and stood drinking and watching me shiver. When my shivering got less, he sprayed me again and repeated the act. After 10 or 15 minutes, I was shaking uncontrollably and also sneezing.

A pair of headlights approached, and a black Lincoln Navigator pulled into the driveway.

“Welcome back,” Mr. Cook smiled to his wife exiting the driver side.

“Thank you dear,” Mrs. Cook said, “Are you and the boy having fun?”

“A fabulous time,” he answered.

Father climbed out of the SUV and helped out my 300 lb Mother.

“H-how w-was your ev-vening?” I asked, shivering terribly as they walked by.

Father held Mother close to his side as they passed. Both were glistening and smelled heavily of alcohol and cigarettes. They barely glanced at me, and turned up the driveway without a word. I stood shivering and sneezing as they bid Mr. and Mrs. Cook goodnight. Father called me over to say goodbye too. I knelt on the hard driveway pavement and bent to kiss their shoes under the starry sky.

“Mrs. Cook will have your money when you visit her office on Monday,” Mr. Cook said as I kissed the top and sides of his imitation leather sandals.

We all waved as the Cooks drove off.

I followed Mother and Father inside. They sat on the couch and both pulled off their cowboy boots. I gathered up both pairs, along with Father's work shoes, and carried them to my bedroom for polishing.

I started by licking the surface of their shoes and boots clean. While I was doing this, Mother and Father came walking down the hallway.

“Good night, Mother,” I called out, rushing to kneel at my doorway.

They were walking arm-in-arm and stopped in front of my door. Mother ignored me, talking to Father as I bent to kiss her right foot through her damp sock. Father exhaled in disgust, and shoved a foot at me. I sat back cradling his heel in my hands, and kissed the ball of his foot respectfully.

“Good night, Father,” I said, “Thank you both so much for the wonderful evening. I love you both so much.”

“Quit sucking up you stupid little shit!” Mother said in a drunken slur.

Father jerked his foot out of my hands. He pulled Mother close and they shared a wet, sloppy French kiss. I got on all fours and bowed my head, waiting while they made out passionately over me.

When they finished, Father led Mother to their bedroom, closing the door behind them. Only then did I go back to licking the scuff marks from their shoes and boots in my room.