MY new story – another milf humiliation story story is now available on AMAZON. ‘Interrogating Mummy’ is the title.
‘Lillian Richards’ home is invaded early one morning. She is told that her son is a hostage, and that the only thing that can cause him harm is her non-cooperation. The invader is a young man who seems to know a lot about her, and who subjects her to an intimate and humiliating interrogation about her sex life and attitudes. He is ruthless and aggressive as he twists and turns her answers in ways that she could never imagine. Twists them, perhaps into the truth?
So begins her descent into a hell of sexual degradation and revelation. Although submitting to him fully, in ‘buying’ her son’s freedom with money and sex, when the ordeal is over she finally realises that it is only just beginning…
A story as cold and chilling as it is hot and sexy. Another humiliation masterpiece from That-Woman!’
EXTRACT:
Her son’s words hit her like a speeding bullet hits a watermelon.
‘Mother…mum… just do as they say, just do it…plea—–‘
The dead line tone replaced the desperate, frightened voice. She knew she would always remember the instant as the moment her life shattered. When nothing would ever be the same again.
She looked at the man standing on her doorstep, the one who had just handed her the phone. His eyes were burning into her. Challenging her. ‘We have your son, Jordan. You are going to co-operate yes?’ It wasn’t a question that needed an answer.
Her mind felt frozen, paralysed. All she could see in front of her was a mouth moving, saying things her mind would not let her understand; a mouth moving faster; more urgently; a mouth twisted with threat. A face contorted with animosity.
All she could hear was Jordan’s voice. Just do as they say. She couldn’t find any words, her mouth seemed to open and close without sound. There was no sound apart from the sound in her head. The shouting, the screaming inside…
Mother…mum…
‘We will go indoors’, he said grabbing her wrist and pushing past her, pulling her along with him, and closing the door behind them. He stared straight into her face as he clicked the lock; trapping her in her own home. Shutting out the world; enforcing a barrier. Making her a prisoner.
Who was he? This man who was now in her home? Lillian stood there unable to move, unable to speak. Unable to think. Helpless.
She swallowed hard, her mind trying desperately to fathom the situation. ’Wha…’, she was trying to speak. Trying to say something; trying to break out of the bubble of her silence. She was looking at him, directly into his face. But she couldn’t see him.
All she saw was her son. It was as if her eyes had reversed and all she could see was inside her own head. The image of Jordan, somewhere at the mercy of…of…something…
‘Go into the living room Mrs. Richards’, he said, ushering her along. His voice seemed very even, his manner polite. Only his appearance made him seem less than respectable. He was perhaps mid-twenties with long straggly dark hair and an advanced state of lighter stubble. His clothes were old but clean, threadbare knees in the denims and a very faded cotton shirt.
He motioned for her to sit, and as if hypnotized she did so in her usual chair. He sat down opposite on the sofa. The thing that stuck her were his eyes, they were unreadable dark stones, emanating something she couldn’t decipher. And when he looked at her he didn’t blink.
She stared back at him and waited for him to speak. The silence seemed to occupy the room. She needed it to end; she needed to know what this was all about.
She tried to say something…anything…but her voice was not available to her. It seemed suspended like the rest of her. Disabled. Deserted. AWOL.
‘Well Mrs. Richards, it is important that you listen very carefully to what I have to say now…very carefully indeed. I am expecting you to cooperate with me. Cooperate fully. I am not here to harm you, or to harm your son. But it is all in your hands. Do you understand me so far? The only person who can cause harm to come to him is you.’
She nodded. She managed to find a voice. ‘What do you want? Wh-who are you?’
‘Your name is Lillian isn’t it?’ It was obviously a rhetorical question. He seemed confident in his words; his knowledge. ‘Forty-two years old, divorced, just the one son. You work at home illustrating children’s books. Correct?’
Gathering herself she managed to say, ‘Yes.’ Later she would wonder where his information came from. Later still she would know…
***
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