Under His Stiletto (crossdressing discipline M/M romance)

by K. A. Merikan

  The bald guy’s friend shot out of the car but did nothing, as if still considering his options. “Get lost, you fucking queer!”

  Mike frowned and pressed down, making the side mirror crack in its hinge. “Am I not speaking clearly?”

  “Fuck off,” the bald guy hissed and pushed Mike back through the window. His friend scowled but sat still, and the car rolled out of the parking spot before Mike could step back.

  The driver showed him the two-fingered salute, and yelled, “Freaks!” on their tire-squeaking getaway.

  Mike turned away and returned to Momma, who watched him even though she was pretending to be arranging her shopping in the trunk.

  “I’m sorry you had to witness this, Momma.”

  She shut the trunk and put her arms across her chest. “You didn’t have to do that. They’re a nuisance, but I don’t want them to target you.”

  Mike grinned. “I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

  “So full of yourself. I would have given you a cookie as reward, but I always make my own.”

  “I can think of a cookie I’d munch on.”

  Momma tapped her lips with her gloved fingers. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Michael. You’re not meant to be anything but my son.”

  Just hearing her call him by his full name jutted arousal straight to his cock. “Sorry for swearing in front of you, Momma, but they deserved it.”

  “Violence doesn’t solve everything. One should never be rude,” she said, but she didn’t sound angry either, watching him from beneath those lovely long eyelashes.

  “I know, Momma,” Mike lowered his voice. “You always say the smartest things.”

  She laughed, covering her lips with her fingers. “Such a charmer. I bet all the girls your age dream of falling into your arms, Michael.”

  “They can give me what I want, but not what I need…” Now they were getting somewhere. She was so flirting back.

  Momma leaned against the car, petting it slowly, and it only made Mike dream of how her touch would feel like on him. “I cannot believe you’re at this again. That’s no way to speak to your Momma.”

  Mike exhaled deeply. “I just can’t seem to be disciplined enough. Only my Momma knows how to put me in my place.”

  She was silent, watching him for the longest moment while he watched her back, and the energy sparking somewhere in between felt like physical touch. “You know my rules,” she said in a quiet voice, as if she feared someone would overhear them.

  "Oh, come on, Momma," he whined in his best bratty boy voice. “I’m just not ready to commit, but I’m a good lay. Everyone’s got an itch sometimes.”

  “We all need to control ourselves, Michael,” she said and walked up to the driver’s side, opening the car.

  He sighed and followed her but kept a respectful distance. He quickly pulled out his own business card for when he did plumbing on the side. “Yeah, but if you ever want me to come over have a look at that sink…”

  She stared at it, standing right in front of him, their feet just inches apart when she took the card and met Mike’s gaze. For a moment, neither of them spoke, put into place by the raging sexual energy sizzling between their bodies.

  “I will consider you, Michael. If there’s a plumbing issue to attend to,” she said in the end and put the card into her purse.

  Mike exhaled a bit too deeply. Like a horny bull ready to mount his mate. He smiled and stepped away from the car to give her space. The worst thing was that it kinda turned him on that she had rules, that she was strict, and dignified, yet didn’t talk down to him even when scolding. That mix of loving discipline was intoxicating already.

  As he watched her drive away, his mind dissolved into a puddle of filth.

  Chapter 4

  Two weeks on from the spanking, all the bruises and welts had gone from Mike’s ass, and the only thing left was a faint memory of the dream-like encounter with Momma. Had it really happened, or had he only imagined it?

  Even porn lost a bit of its appeal when he thought about what he could be getting instead.

  “Mike! Watch it!” Dave tugged on his arm, and only seconds later he realized he’d almost walked into a bucket full of wet cement. The work at the restaurant was weeks away from being completed. He needed to pull his head out of the clouds.

  The scent of dust and drying concrete brought him back to reality. He was in no way ready to take on the responsibility of a relationship if he wasn’t able to keep his feet out of buckets. He’d already slammed his finger with a hammer the other day, and it was still purple.

  “What’s up with you, mate?” Dave asked, frowning at Mike from above the cup of tea he was drinking. “You’ve been so empty-headed recently. Everything alright?”

  “I’ve just got a lot of shit to think about. Nothing a good Jägerbomb won’t soothe.” Such a lie. He could only be soothed by a homemade sea salt and caramel cookie, with a side of paddle.

  “Yeah? What’s the trouble?” Roger asked, barging into the conversation with an open packet of Jaffa Cakes. No wonder he was getting rounder.

  “Must be woman trouble,” Dave teased, taking one of the little cakes.

  “Okay, okay, there’s a…lady I’m pursuing. No biggie.” Mike grabbed the cake to shut himself up.

  “Really? Who is she?” Roger snapped his fingers. “Wait, is it that cutie receptionist? With the little music notes tattoo? She’s fit.”

  “Must be her. She was making eyes at him from day one,” Dave decided, even though in Mike’s opinion the receptionist was just being polite.

  “Are you guys interested in my sex life ‘cause you got girlfriends?” Mike groaned, desperate to change the topic.

  Roger and Dave immediately denied everything.

  “Lauren gets crazy whenever I’m away, so once we’re off for the weekend, I’m up for a sex fest,” he said in a lowered voice. “I’m only interested in it as a colleague. Don’t want you killing yourself at work.”

  Mike chewed on the Jaffa cake, swallowing when his phone beeped. He pulled it out without much enthusiasm, but once he saw the message, his face got so hot he could barely finish the next bite.

  [Come here now. Come through back door. Momma] was all it said.

  “I… Can I go? Will you guys cover for me if Big Tom comes round?” Mike had tunnel vision already, and goosebumps made the hairs on his arms bristle.

  Dave laughed and gave Mike a gentle punch in the chest. “Booty call, huh? Go on then. Without getting that girl off your chest you’re gonna lose a leg before the week’s out.”

  “It’s basically a health and safety break,” Roger tuned in.

  Mike grinned at them. “Life savers.” He only did a quick stop at the sink to wash his hands, but then darted for his car as if he’d left the oven on.

  He might have broken a few traffic laws on the way, driving far too fast down the winding country roads, but who could have blamed him when Momma had requested his presence? By the time he parked across the road from the cottage, his dick was getting hard from the images running through his head. Maybe Momma would tie him up with a washing line this time? Tug on his ears as she fucked him hard for any transgressions he’d committed this previous week?

  Following the sound of swing music, he initially walked down the path to the front door but then remembered the message and walked along the side of the building where the Ford Anglia and a modern Vauxhall were parked.

  She had a guest? Oh, fuck. Would they have company? He’d not oppose to that if the company was at least half as stunning as Momma.

  For a second he hesitated in front of the back door, considering whether he should take off his work boots, but then decided that in the worst case scenario, Momma would tell him off for bringing dirt inside. He wouldn’t mind being chastised by her at all.

  The door creaking when he pushed it open sent a shiver down his spine. He was Hansel led into the gingerbread house, and he couldn’t wait to find out what awaited inside.
r />   The music became louder as he quietly let himself into Momma’s kitchen. He was surprised to see a mess on the counters, as if she’d stopped preparing dinner mid-way and left. He swallowed hard when he heard the shadow of a lower, masculine voice. Would there also be a Daddy this time? Would Mike be punished for messing something up with Momma holding him in her lap and Daddy delivering blows with his belt? Just thinking of all the possible scenarios had him growing hot.

  The light was on in the front room, and he walked through the shadows, not wanting to disturb the serenity of Momma’s home.

  But as he stood in the doorway and knocked to mark his arrival, he wasn’t sure anymore what was going on. “Momma?”

  The man who looked back at him did have a bit of a silver fox thing going on, but he was dressed in a perfectly ordinary blue suit that clashed with all the flowery patterns in the room.

  Momma rose from the sofa and reached out to Mike. “There you are, Michael, my boy. That man was just leaving.”

  The guy sucked in a gulp of air, his chest expanding under the suit as he grabbed her wrist. “What the fuck is this? What are you doing in this house?” he growled at Mike.

  “I was invited. Who is this, Momma?” Mike noticed her tension and squeezed her other hand, ready to tug her his way if necessary.

  Her lips thinned. “Just someone I used to know.”

  The man let go of Momma and shook his head. “Jeremy, why are you doing this to me? The whole office knows about this obsession you have!”

  The name clashed with everything Momma represented and made Mike cringe. Had Momma called him because she felt unsafe? Her message had been so curt.

  “Is he a problem, Momma? Would you like him to leave?”

  The man growled and raised his arms in frustration. “I was going anyway, but you”--he pointed at Momma--“should get a grip and think about what you’re doing with your life. This is madness. We could have had a perfectly nice relationship!”

  “Good day, Richard,” Momma said in a tight voice, squeezing Mike’s hand almost too hard.

  Richard huffed, shaking his head as his gaze swept over Mike next. “You’ve got no idea what you’re getting yourself into. He’s not right in the head,” he said before storming off to grab a suitcase off the floor.

  Mike wanted to follow the bastard and smack some sense into him, but feeling the tremble in Momma’s arm, he pulled her into a hug, suddenly wishing to protect her from the whole world. She was this precious creature who might as well have been made of porcelain.

  Momma hid her face in his arm, pushing gently without a word. It took her several moments to compose herself. She took out a white cotton handkerchief and discreetly tapped it under her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  The slamming of the front door made it obvious the fucker had in fact left.

  “No, don’t be. It’s okay. Who was that? Should I call the police on his arse?”

  Momma exhaled and slowly dropped to the sofa, again wiping her eyes with the handkerchief. She seemed so defenseless and sweet in her frilly apron and with her narrow wrists. Mike sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. Again, she didn’t resist.

  “He’s…my ex. We broke up months ago, but he won’t give it a rest.”

  “Was he your…boy?”

  She folded the kerchief nervously and looked up at Mike, in the end resting her head on his shoulder. “No. He was my submissive. You see, when he met me I still dressed as a man most of the time. He can’t stand me like this. He keeps saying I’m doing it to spite him and make him a laughingstock. And this has nothing to do with him. It’s for me.”

  Mike nodded, putting his arm around her narrow shoulders. “He has no right to make demands. You’re…perfect the way you are. And if I ever made you feel like I’m demanding shit, tell me off.”

  Momma smiled, slowly raising her finger and rubbing it along Mike’s lips. “No, Mike. You are a good boy. For the most part.” She looked as if she were hesitating but then kissed his cheek hard enough he knew there would be a lipstick stain left on him. And he loved it.

  “Only a little naughty.” Mike grinned. “Seriously though. Even if you’re not into me, you can call me about shit like this anytime.”

  Momma frowned and shook her head, briefly covering Mike’s mouth with her hand. “Oh, I should wash your mouth with soap for using such language in my presence. But today, you’re excused,” she said and stood, flattening out the wrinkles at the front of her apron. “What do you want to eat? Momma will make you the dinner of your dreams, sweetie pie.”

  “Now you made me think of pie, Momma! Is it okay to have pie before dinner?” Mike relaxed into the sofa, stealing a peek at her polka dot stockings. They even had the seam at the back, leading straight to her ass somewhere under all those layers of fabric.

  She laughed and called him with a gesture of her hand. “Such a cheeky boy. But only this once, because you helped your Momma feel safe.”

  The words filled him with warmth as if he were eating cake fresh out of the oven already. All he wanted was to be a good boy. Well, maybe not all the time.

  “Always. If there’s any chores you need done, garden work, sink repairs, I’d never deny you, Momma.” And it was true. At this point just being around her would be a reward for his trouble.

  She looked back, a sweet smile quirking her lips. “You can start by handing me the nice plates from the highest shelf in the corner cupboard. I can never reach them unless I stand on a chair,” she said, grabbing a covered cake stand from the windowsill.

  Mike couldn’t have felt any more giddy. A pleaser by nature, his excitement only intensified at the idea of being Momma’s little helper. “I can always do that for you, Momma. It’s not safe for you to do that in your high heels,” he said, settling into the familiar dynamic as easily as the cake would into his mouth. He reached the right plates, a polka-dot set that matched the pattern on Momma’s stockings.

  “Momma’s little helper, are you?” She laughed, but Mike could sense she was still somewhat tense after Richard’s visit, and he was dying to give her a relaxing foot rub.

  Momma took off the porcelain cover, revealing a pie decorated by beautifully layered patterns of crust. She cut two large pieces. “Would you like to stay the night?”

  Mike’s mouth went dry, and the scent of apricot pie mixed with her words and her perfume made his brain go a little fuzzy. “S-sure…”

  She gasped and covered her mouth. “I meant…in your own room. I’m so sorry. It’s just that I have this feeling that he might be back later.”

  “Oh.” Now Mike definitely needed the pie to sweeten the bitter pill. “Sure, I get it. I’ll stay, no worries. Is it close to yours, Momma? Just in case? I’m a big boy, but sometimes I still need my Momma.”

  She blinked, and stomped her foot. “Michael. How dare you suggest such things to your Momma! Come here this instant!”

  “But Momma, I meant nothing by it!” Mike had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from grinning, and he stepped closer, giving the pie a longing look.

  Momma opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a small yellow sponge. “I wanted to let you off the hook for the foul language, but you’re leaving me no choice,” she said, soaking it in fresh water. She then took a chunk of white soap and swiped it against the sponge, creating a thick foam.

  “Sit down.”

  Mike whined, sensing that he knew exactly where that sponge was going, and he both loved and hated it at the same time.

  He sat down by the table, giving her his best puppy eyes. “Please, Momma. I’ll be good, no need for this.”

  ”Open up,” she said sharply and dug her fingers into his jaw, so pretty in her anger.

  Mike took a deep breath, but fighting her touch would have been as useless as fighting arousal. He opened his mouth, dreading the bitter soapy taste already. She was incredibly gentle as she put the sponge into his mouth and made him close it with a t
ap on the chin. The explosion of detergent in Mike’s mouth made him scowl, but he stayed still even when his eyes watered. Momma smiled and petted his cheek with the back of her hand.

  “Good boy. Stay like this and think about what you’ve done. Three minutes.” She pointed to the cat-shaped clock on the wall and went off, slowly preparing the pie for serving.

  Mike breathed through his nose, more miserable by the second, but he only had to wait 180 more. 170 maybe, if he was lucky. And all the while, Momma smiled at him as she swirled through the kitchen.

  She pulled a plastic container out of the freezer. “There will be ice cream for my good boy, too.”

  Staying here would be heaven and hell all at once.

  Chapter 5

  Mike weirdly enjoyed his room at Momma’s. With its blue walls and posters of old racing cars, it was the perfect place for a boy to sleep, straight from one of those old, polite movies that pretended no teenager would have girls in bikinis plastered over his walls. This room had plastic dinosaurs, a football, and even some trophies, yet there was no girl in sight. Mike smiled, secretly thinking Momma would be too jealous to allow for any competition.

  His single-night stay stretched into a week, and eight days in Mike dared to customize the space by adding a poster of a Range Rover making its way down a muddy road in a rainforest. Momma had seen it when she’d brought him breakfast. It made her pause, but she hadn’t told him off for the addition.

  And yeah, she’d brought him breakfast. Every day, Mike got a ‘big boy’s’ breakfast (a full English with extra sausage and egg), a mug of coffee, and a kiss on the cheek.

  And then there were the extensive packed lunches, and the lovely tea, and dessert, and homemade biscuits ‘for the boys’. Mike didn’t remember his own mother caring for him like this. Granted, unlike Momma she’d worked away from home, but it was still nice to have someone to pamper him, constantly lavishing Mike with attention whenever he was around.

  Even after a whole day of work, being around Momma motivated him to try harder and make her proud. So he fixed the sink, and then the bird house in the garden, then the fence. And then he made Momma a toastie, because he couldn’t stand not reciprocating her kindness.