[FMK] Her Reluctant Slave: Chapter 6 (Patreon)

When I went downstairs, my mother was there, holding up the nightie. It had been through the wash; no longer covered in my cum. I could feel myself turning pale; my legs wanted to give out on me. I stared into her narrowed eyes and then I thought about running away from home and never coming back.

“Explain, Andrew,” she said. She rarely called me Andrew—it was a once-a-year occurrence.

I opened my mouth, unable to muster up any words. What could I say? Was this my chance to tell her the truth: that the neighbor had been using me like a sex slave, forcing me to do uncomfortable things after trapping me with inappropriate photos that she took without my permission? That was probably what I should have done, but how could I embarrass myself like that? How could I tell my mother that I’d been fucking the neighbor, who was her own age?

“Just say it, Andrew,” she said, deepening her voice. Her eyes were flaming.

“I—I…” I couldn’t say anything. The humiliation was just too intense.

“Just say it, Andrew,” she said again. “You had a girl over last night. I thought I heard something. She snuck in and then she snuck out again!”

I just stood there, horrified but relieved that she came to a more flattering conclusion. I stared into her eyes for a moment, seeing that she was quite serious about her theory. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“You know the rules in this house,” she said. “If you want to do that, you can move out and get your own place. As long as you live here, you’re abstinent. In this household, we don’t believe in sex before marriage.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. I wanted to jump up and down with joy.

And now, my mom was blushing as she looked away from me. “You could at least invite the girl over for dinner, instead of sneaking around behind our backs. Maybe we’d like to meet your girlfriend.”

I just stood there, waiting for her to dismiss me. I needed to be more careful moving forward, but now, I had a great excuse to lean on if she found anything else that didn’t belong in my bedroom. Maybe I would get a slap on the wrist; maybe she would take my computer away for a few days—but that was a hell of a lot better than her thinking that I was dressing up like a girl and fucking myself with a dildo.

“What’s her name?” she asked.

I remained silent.

She groaned. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’m not trying to put you on the spot. I just—I don’t want any funny business happening under this roof!”

I went back to my room and made sure that dildo was where I hid it, and it was. I decided to find a better hiding place for it, in a bag inside of a bag in the back corner of my closet, under a stack of old jeans.

I was going to need to look into legitimately asking a girl out at school, so that I would have some sort of coverup to go along with my mom’s theory. I got a bit excited as I thought about doing it; since I was fourteen, I’d tried to build up the confidence to ask a girl out, but could never go through with it. I’d had my share of crushes, but always chickened out at the last minute. I’d never had an actual girlfriend before, but now I had that extra fire lit under my ass; I had motivation beyond just my own romantic interests.

I thought about a number of different girls—and I will admit that I even thought about Bee. She was a cute girl: spunky, innocent, but I was trying to distance myself from her mother. Then there was that girl in the eleventh grade: Trixie. Trixie was a cute little thing, with a button nose and red cheeks. She was definitely more my type.

I had the rest of the weekend to think about it. I had all of Sunday to think more about what I wanted my future to look like. Kate hadn’t gotten in contact with me yet—though I didn’t exactly give her any opportunities. I hid out in my house, avoiding my bedroom because I knew she could see into it from her window. I stayed in the basement, unloading boxes into our storage room and the new media room. I was safe down there. Kate didn’t have my phone number and all of my social media accounts were set to private.

But that didn’t stop her from finding me.

“Hey, Andy,” my mom called out.

“Yeah?” I called back.

“Are you down there?”

“Yeah. I’m almost done setting this TV up,” I said.

Then, my mom didn’t reply. There was a long silence, and then I looked back to see Kate, standing with that trademark grin on her face. That familiar coldness clenched at my heart. “W—What are you doing down here?”

“Your mom just let me in,” she smiled. “Nice lady. We’re going to have coffee this week.”

“What did you tell her?” I said softly, feeling my jaw beginning to tremble.

“I told her that I was having some phone issues, and she told me that you’re quite a whiz with technology. And look at you, setting up that fancy TV system; she wasn’t kidding.”

She was holding her phone. I knew that the walls in the house were thin. When my parents were fighting that flood the day we moved in, I could hear them fighting the entire time from upstairs.

“What do you need?” I asked.

She walked towards me and handed me her phone. “Start by putting your number in for me,” she said. She already had the rest filled out. I thought about putting in a fake number, but I knew it wouldn’t save me—maybe it would buy me a bit of time, and I could pretend like it was a mistake—but it would probably just get me into trouble.

I took her phone and reluctantly put in my number.

“You’re wearing the panties, right?” she asked.

“Not today,” I said. “I—I didn’t know that I was supposed to today.” I looked over at the stairwell. Kate was speaking far too loud for my liking.

“It’s fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But from now on, wear them every day. I brought you more options. They’re out back, in a green dollar store bag next to my garbage bin. Get them before some homeless person takes them. There are other things in the bag, from my daughter’s room. You have some homework.”

“What’s that?” I asked, feeling like I was on the verge of fainting.

“I want pictures.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” she said. “I’ll message you so that you’ll have my number. I want pictures before dinnertime.”

“Everything okay?” my mother called out, suddenly poking her head down the stairs. I must have looked sick, standing like a pale statue in front of Kate.

Kate turned to my mom. “Your son is so sweet,” she said with a smile in her voice. “He fixed my phone like it was nothing.”

“It’s his generation. Those phones are like parts of their bodies,” my mom replied, rolling her eyes.

Kate looked back at me, winked, and then she took off. “See you later, Andy!”

It was fifteen minutes later when I snuck outside, while my mom was upstairs having a shower. I went out into the alley and located that green dollar store bag. It was right next to her bin, looking inconspicuous. I looked around, snatched it, and then rushed it to my room. It was heavier than I was expecting, because it was stuffed full. There were makeup supplies, a wig, high heels, and four different outfits. I’m not sure how Kate managed to fold and arrange it all to fit in that relatively small fabric bag—and I wasn’t sure how I was going to hide the haul. It was enough to fill a whole dresser drawer.

My phone buzzed. “I eat supper at six,” the message said, and I knew it was Kate. I eyed the clock. Now, it was four. Did she really want photos in the next two hours? I looked out the window and saw that my dad was almost done mowing the grass. That faint feeling returned. How was I going to pull this off?

I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it, but I didn’t have time to figure it out. I pushed my dresser in front of my door with a grunt. Maybe my mom would be angry and confused if she tried to come in and found that my door was blocked, but it was better than her seeing me all dolled up. She could come up with all sorts of ideas in her head, but none of them would be worse than the reality.

I set to work with trembling hands. I rubbed foundation on my face, coated my skin with concealer, and then I started to brush on some eyeshadow. I had no real idea what I was doing, but it didn’t seem too tricky. Maybe I was more of a natural than I realized—or maybe it wasn’t nearly as hard as girls make it seem… But it wasn’t a fast process. There were just so many little products to use, and each had their own little brush. Rolling mascara onto my eyelashes was the fastest, and even that took almost five whole minutes, getting the mascara even and on every lash.

I would have spent longer getting the details right had it not been for the ticking clock—and the sound of my mom going up and down the hallway. She was doing some cleaning, and it seemed like a matter of time before she reached my room to collect some laundry or some dirty dishes or the vacuum… I just had to be quick.

A bit of blush, a bit of lip gloss, and a quick couple lines of eyeliner—and that seemed like enough. I looked girly enough to satisfy my ‘master’. I just wanted to be done with this.

I wriggled the blonde wig onto my head. I brushed around the bangs until it looked reasonably realistic. Then I fumbled into the stockings. I pulled the panties up fast, giving myself an uncomfortable wedgie for a moment before adjusting them and moving on. I decided to start with something easy, since I was running out of time. Now, it was 5:20 PM and I still had to take the photos and send them. Sure, forty minutes seems like a lot of time, but I wasn’t just going to send any random photos. I had to make sure that I was unrecognizable in each photo that I sent to her, so that she wouldn’t have even more humiliating evidence to use against me. So that meant giving myself time to make tweaks: time to mess around with the wig, time to put on more eye shadow or more eyeliner, if necessary. And then I needed time to pose, time to get the angles just right.

And hell—I needed time to put that dress on properly; it wasn’t easy. It’s not like putting on a t-shirt. There was a small zipper on the back, and then there was a little clasp on the back of the collar: a tiny little metal hoop that was supposed to go around a tiny little metal hook. It probably took five minutes just to get that clasp together. It was tight, choking me a little bit, but at least it hid the bump of my Adam’s apple. It made my face seem more defined—and thus, less recognizable.

It was 5:45 PM when I took the first photo. By 5:50 PM, I had about thirty shots. I stared at them until 5:58 PM, trying to figure out if it looked like me in the photos. I picked out the best shot. If my mom saw that shot, would she know? Of course she would—my bedroom was in the background! Maybe I didn’t look totally like me, but it was enough. I looked at the clock.

I didn’t have time to try out more. I had to send the photo. I sat down on the edge of my bed and crossed my legs, letting my heeled foot dangle in the air while I waited for the photo to send.

Then, I saw her typing a message. My heart fluttered around in my stomach with the butterflies. I took a deep breath. Then I got her message.

“I said photos, not photo.”

So I got to work quickly, not wanting to give her any reason to make my life miserable.

There was a knock at my door as I was almost finished wriggling into that black pleated skirt. I froze, turning to the door, waiting for it to push into my dresser, waiting for my mom to push her head into my room.

Then, I heard her voice. “Almost ready for dinner, Andy?”

I remained frozen for a long moment. Then, I managed to pull myself out of my paralysis. “Just finishing up some homework,” I called back. “I’ll be done in, like, three minutes.”

“I’ll get the potatoes boiling,” she called back, and then she moved away from my door.

I wanted to curl up into a ball to catch my breath, but there was no time for that; I had to keep going: a few more pictures to make Kate happy.

I snapped off two dozen shots and sent Kate the best one. Then I went onto the next outfit, and then the next. I was working fast—but I certainly wasn’t done fast. “Are you coming down or what?” my mom shouted.

I scrambled to get those final shots, and then I rushed over to the bag of wet wipes and started scrubbing my face, using my other hand to pull off my wig and wriggle out from my dress. I must have sounded like a lunatic, bumping into walls and dressers and knocking over lamps. I pushed that dresser away from the door and then I bent over to grab my boxers.

I was pulling up those boxers up when the door suddenly opened. I quickly kicked the pile of women’s clothing to the side, looking up at my mom.

She froze for a moment. “What on Earth is going on in here?”

“I’m just changing!” I said. “What?”

“You’re making so much noise! Why is your room all messed up?”

“I tried moving some things around?” I tried stepping in front of that pile of dresses and skirts and stockings and heels.

But my mom noticed them. She stared at the pile, leaning over to see it, and then she looked into my eyes and growled. “She snuck out the window, didn’t she?” she hissed. “Young man—you’re grounded!” She spun around and stormed out of the room before I could have a chance to explain myself.

But her assumption was much better than anything I could come up with. If she wanted to think that I was fooling around with some girl, then great. It was so much better than the reality.

I smiled and sat down on my bed, taking another deep breath. Then my phone buzzed. “Cutie,” she said. “I think you’re ready to make a movie.”

“A movie?” I said.

I thought she just wanted me to film myself, but really, she wanted so, so much more than that.