Spoilt Brat

Spoilt Brat

I was dreading opening the door as I walked up the stairs to my flat.
Let me explain; my 15 year old son was staying with me after having yet another argument with his father who he actually lived with. Freddie had become a real spoilt brat and it was our fault. From being a toddler we had given in to his every need and want. Unbelievably he had got even worse in the last six months since I walked out on his dad after years of mental abuse.

Whenever my son stayed with me he had to sleep on the sofa as my flat only has one bedroom. This arrangement caused as many arguments as any other scenario in our crazy lives; as he had virtually stopped going to school in the February, he wouldn’t wake up until after 10 and the living-room was always an absolute mess. If I ever had the audacity to accidentally wake him up when I was getting ready to go to work there would be Hell to pay later in the day from my foul-tempered son. Plus, his clothes would be scattered everywhere and most days he would leave half eaten food, , empty beer cans, dirty magazines and used tissues for me to find next to the sofa. Just like his smoking; I had given up trying to get him to stop or be discreet as it would cause yet another fierce row and he would storm out to go to live with his dad. He would openly laugh in my face when I did pick the soiled tissues up and put them in the bin.

The split was costing me a fortune and I hardly had two pennies to rub together but my darling son never stopped demanding new trainers, video games and cd’s; all of the things we couldn’t really afford but if I didn’t buy them he would go running back to daddy. So…obviously I always gave in. Not that buying his love actually worked as he would still be as obnoxious as ever and would treat me with next to no respect whatsoever.

As I opened the door I was met with the unmistakeable waft of marijuana and the sound of a woman groaning with pleasure.

My heart sank as I rushed into the living room.

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing?” I screamed at him.
Freddie drowsily looked up from the TV and sarcastically told me, “What’s it look like? I’m having a wank!”

He’d really crossed the line now and I wanted to kill him. He was only wearing a Basketball vest and a baseball cap as he lay on the sofa tugging on his young dick with one hand and holding a joint in the other. Three empty lager cans were scattered among a dozen or so soiled Kleenex tissues on the carpet. A young white girl was now screaming as she was getting a right royal seeing to from a big black guy on the porno DVD that he was watching.

“Oh Jesus, Freddie, Have you got to do that?” I sighed, “Come on…this is my home and…STOP IT!” Even though I was standing only four feet away from him he was making no attempt to cover his stiff dick or even stop playing with himself.

He took a long draw off his spliff and slowly exhaled the large plume of blue smoke in my direction.

“I don’t want to,” he grinned as he waggled his penis, “I like having a wank when I’m bored…just like you do!”

“What?” I asked incredulously, “What do you mean by that?”

“Ooh Robbie, ooh Robbie, harder…harder, YES, YES…ooh Robbie fuck me…FUCK ME!” He giggled as he mimicked my voice. Shocked that he had heard me fanaticising about the singer Robbie Williams, I held my hand to my mouth.
“You know…when you’re drunk and think I’m asleep?” He continued, “Ooh Robbie…deeper, deeper…fuck me harder Robbie!”

I was now finding it difficult not to stare at his erect cock as we argued. Just like his loathsome attitude and violent temper it looked like he had inherited a large penis from my bastard of an Ex too. Simon is quite well built so his thick 6 inches is probably in keeping with the rest of his physique; but our son…Jesus! He was as skinny as a rake and about 5 feet 9 inches tall; so his…thing…looked totally wrong…out of all proportion…it was huge…definitely bigger than his dad’s and he knew it.

“You can’t take your eyes off it? Can you?” He smiled ‘that’ smile. Freddie had a smile that wasn’t a happy smile; it was a devious smile. I knew that it had fooled a few young girls into letting him ‘have his way’ with them. But it never lasted, he always moved onto another gullible young sexual plaything.

“Don’t flatter yourself!” I snorted, “Now put it away.”
“You want to touch it, don’t you?” Freddie pulled his foreskin right back exposing a dazzling red plum, “Go on, ask me nicely and I’ll let you!” His smile needed slapping right off his face.

God…it was tempting! I hadn’t touched or seen a man’s cock in seven months. Not since I’d left home to live on my own. The first few months had been so bad, mentally, sex had been the last thing on my mind, but recently I’d become more relaxed (probably because I was drinking too much) and as my son so politely put it had begun playing with my vibrater again. Plus I had been reading some of his dirty magazines. The British ones had some exciting erotic stories in them the others were, what I guessed, hardcore porn – loads of pictures of women being fucked in every which way, usually ending up with them getting covered in slimy spunk. I tried to be disgusted by them but found myself drawn back to them time and time again; fantasising about the sex life that I’d given up when I had left my husband.


“Come on mam; sit down next to me.” Freddie smiled that smile and patted the cushion next to him.
As if in a trance I did as I was told. I was beginning to regret the two glasses of wine that I’d drank after work.
“If you’re not gonna rub it for me show me your tits and I’ll do it myself.” My son even sounded just like his dad, “My balls feel like they’re gonna… explode!”
“Don’t you think you’ve …you know…done it enough for one day?” I motioned to the used tissues and then I noticed a dirty pair of my yellow panties with a fresh damp patch lying underneath a lager can. “Oh Freddie How could you?” I sighed.

“They always feel nice and soft when I’m having a wank!” My son’s fingers were now stroking my knee and thigh beneath the hem of my short denim skirt.
“What?” I gasped as I kicked them out of sight, “Please don’t tell me that you…use my knickers when…you…do THAT!”
His cock was even stiffer now as I sat next to him and even though I was fighting my emotions, my eyes and hands were being drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

“Come on mam” he mockingly pleaded, “get your tits out and I’ll get a pizza when I’ve finished!”
“No!” I tried to sound as sincere as possible, “You know I can’t…it’s wrong.”
But the desire to touch his magnificent cock was proving inescapable.
“Come on mam,” he persevered, “I’ve wanted to look at them ever since you had them done.”

My new boobs had been a belated 40th birthday present from my husband. I’d have preferred a gold chain but he insisted! My 34C’s were beginning to sag so he had them ‘pumped up’ to a nice firm D cup. They look even bigger as I’m only 5 feet 1 inch and a size 10. Although my Ex had probably had his money’s worth from them; they were the only present that he ever bought me that I actually liked!

“N0!