Page 35 of Mean Moms

“I’m Art Chary and this is my wife, Morgan,” the man had said. He had a deep, smooth voice, a shiny smile, great eye contact. Art Chary, Paul knew, was a cofounder of Welly. Paul had committed the richest and most powerful of the Atherton parents to memory, and the Charys were high on the list.

“I’m going to go grab a drink, but I know Morgan would love to chat.

She’s very active on the PA, and I’m sure will have many questions for you!

Morgan knows everything and everyone.” He’d given Paul a firm handshake and walked off, leaving Paul with Morgan, who’d stepped very close to Paul in her husband’s absence.

“I feel like I know you,” she’d said in a voice so low that Paul could hardly hear her. He’d shaken his head, trying to act normally, but had felt a chill run up his spine.

“Either way,” she’d continued, her voice morphing into that of any overbearing mother, and Paul had met a million of them, “our daughter, Gertrude, is a shy one. She’s in Mrs. Victoria’s class, and I think there are some children who might be acting cruel to her.

” Paul had nodded with care, his signature move, and she’d gone on in that way.

Their interactions over the next few months had been more of the same.

There was PA business to discuss, and also Morgan’s regular emails regarding Gertrude.

Paul had spoken to Gertrude’s teachers about the situation, but nothing had ever come of it—Mrs. Victoria strenuously denied that anything was happening to Gertrude on her watch, and Paul had no choice but to believe her.

Then one day, last spring, everything between them changed.

It hadn’t been Paul’s fault. Well, it wasn’t like she’d forced him to do anything.

But still… Paul hadn’t been looking to have an affair with a mother.

Paul, with his impressive job and kind eyes and perfect hair, didn’t need to resort to that for sex.

Besides, Morgan wasn’t even Paul’s type.

Paul liked zaftig brunettes, with curves and meat on their bones and large eyes and soft hair, women more like Sofia Perez. Morgan was as taut as a guitar string.

He’d been sitting in his fourth-floor office at school, in between meetings, and heard a light knock on the door.

Alice had been out at an appointment—she was in her late sixties, close to retirement, and was recovering from knee replacement surgery.

Two times a week, she left for an hour in the middle of the day to go to physical therapy.

Anyone familiar with his schedule would have known that.

“Come in,” he’d said, thinking it was likely one of the teachers with a quick question.

Instead, Morgan Chary had entered, shutting the door behind her.

She’d smiled at him and then, before he’d had the chance to say anything, come around to his side of the desk.

She was wearing black leggings and a cropped sweatshirt, which was riding up to expose her flat, pale, nearly concave stomach.

“Uh, Mrs. Chary, what can I do for you?” Paul had said.

She’d kneeled next to his chair, her chin perched on its arm, as if expecting him to plop a dog treat into her mouth.

Had she lost her mind? Then she’d taken his hands in hers and placed them around her neck.

Paul, who’d been on the verge of calling the police to report a crazy mother, had immediately gotten hard.

Morgan had looked down at his pants with amusement.

“There you are, Mr. Squeezy,” she’d said teasingly.

Like everyone else at this school, Paul had a secret.

His was an uncontrollable penchant for erotic asphyxiation.

In simpler terms, he liked to choke women during sex.

It was something he’d discovered about himself gradually.

In his twenties, he had a girlfriend who’d been into rough foreplay.

She liked when he’d held her arms down, pulled her hair, bit her hard.

He’d found himself extremely turned on by these acts, thinking about them constantly.

He’d started to fantasize about doing… more.

But when he’d touched her neck while they were in the throes, she’d balked.

“What is wrong with you?” she’d said, sitting up in bed, naked and scared.

He’d been so ashamed that he’d buried the impulse for years, satisfying himself with standard lovemaking in real life and strangulation porn online.

He’d created a digital alter ego—Mr. Squeezy—to discuss the ins and outs of erotic choking on Reddit, plus as his log-on to OnlyFans, where he paid to watch women get choked by other men.

He didn’t know what it said about him that this murderous act was his ultimate turn-on.

He’d grown up in a pleasant, calm, intellectual household.

Nothing to give hints that the good-looking, bright son might suffer from some sort of deviant kink.

Over the past couple of years, he’d read the trend stories about choking during sex with interest. Women’s magazines were now saying it was “normal” and that “everyone was doing it.” Everyone who ?

Paul had often wondered. None of the women he fucked, that was for sure.

And somehow, Morgan had found out. He’d never figured out how. Morgan was into it. “Mr. Squeezy.”

They’d started seeing each other regularly, mostly at Paul’s apartment, and occasionally, thrillingly, in Paul’s office when Alice was out.

He’d installed a lock on the inside of his door, claiming his need for privacy, that he didn’t want teachers and parents bursting in when he was trying to focus.

Morgan would arrive when she wanted to, holding all the power in the relationship.

It was always the same. They’d lie parallel to each other, on the couch, on the bed, on the floor of his office, and Morgan would initiate foreplay.

When she was ready, he’d put his hands around her neck and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, until she pinched his thigh. Then he’d orgasm.

Afterward, if the mood struck her, which wasn’t that often, Morgan would hand him a small, egg-shaped vibrator that she kept in her bag.

It was a happy pink, the color of Easter candy and babies’ bows, and he’d turn it on and push it on her firmly, under her leggings and over her underwear, until she was warm, shaking, biting her lips, and done.

Then she’d leave, sending Paul into a panic that she’d decide to never come back.

The thought that she could take everything away made him itchy with anxiety.

Was he even attracted to Morgan? Not in the traditional sense, no. But he was obsessed with her, that was for sure. She’d given him something that no one else ever had, the license to be open about his darkest desires.

So, when she’d started occasionally for asking for things—Gertrude to be with a specific teacher the following year, his support on whatever PA initiative she was pushing—he’d obliged. It was never anything that was outrageous, particularly compared to the requests he got from other parents.

One day, toward the end of the school year, they were lying on the floor of his office after the act.

Paul was on his back, looking up at the ceiling, completely relaxed.

Morgan was next to him, massaging his hand with her own.

He’d never met anyone like her. He was bewitched.

He wondered if Art appreciated her as much as he did. They’d never discussed him.

“I have something else I need from you,” she’d purred.

“Anything.” He wondered if he could choke her one more time before she left. He had ten minutes until Alice returned and Morgan could sneak out before anyone noticed.

“There’s a mom I know who needs to get her children into Atherton. Messy divorce. She lives in Miami but is moving to New York. It’s a boy and a girl, nonentry grades, but they’re a lovely family and, well, you know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it.”

Paul continued to stare up instead of looking at her.

He didn’t answer for a moment. That would be breaking all the rules.

He didn’t even know if it was possible. His head of admissions at Atherton took her job very seriously, and spots in nonentry grades were extremely limited and generally went to enormous donors.

“I don’t know, Morgan…” said Paul slowly. He wanted to help her, he really did. But this was a big one. People would start asking questions.

“Do we have a few minutes? Do you want to have another round?” she’d asked sweetly, changing the topic. Paul silently vowed to do everything he could to get this woman from Miami’s children into Atherton. He couldn’t let Morgan down.

And he hadn’t. He’d contacted Sofia Perez out of the blue, telling her a friend had suggested he get in touch, that the best place for a family like hers was Atherton.

He could get her two spots, he said, not letting her interrupt or ask questions.

He knew she’d accept. They were the hottest school in Manhattan.

Then, soon after, Morgan had asked him to seduce Belle Redness.

She didn’t tell him why. Morgan never told him anything.

It was killing Paul that he’d been unable to get Belle to relent.

He knew she wanted him, but she refused to give in.

It was unexpectedly admirable, he supposed.

Maybe she just really loved her husband, who Paul had always thought was a bit of a twerp. Atherton was full of surprises.

Morgan was still rubbing his head. He stifled a cough; he’d been fighting something off these past few months, feeling tired and weak, though perhaps it was just stress. He stood up.

“Would you like a glass of wine? I opened a bottle from the Finlays’ vineyard.”

She shook her head. She didn’t drink, but he always offered her something anyway. She was a woman of few appetites. He’d have a glass alone after she left.

“I’ll make you a special tea,” she said to him. Morgan always carried expensive tea bags with her, and she’d often make him a calming cup after they’d finished. She went into his kitchen, and a few minutes later the kettle whistled.

“Listen, I know that everything is getting… complicated,” said Morgan as she came back to the living room, handing him an Atherton mug.

Paul pursed his lips, blowing on the hot liquid before taking a sip.

He’d thought many times over the past few months about untangling himself from Morgan.

If they were somehow discovered, it would mean the end of his career.

What if someone saw her walking out of his building?

What if Alice came back early from an appointment?

What a field day the New York Post would have the story— DR. brOKER IS A CHOKER: HEAD OF TONY ATHERTON ACADEMY CAUGHT GETTING KINKY WITH CLASS MOM.

Paul couldn’t let that happen. He had to get out of this. But he didn’t want to. He couldn’t.

“I know you’re doing your best with Belle, and I think we have enough, for now. You can also drop trying to get Sofia to do the Altruist ceremony. It’s almost over,” said Morgan, pulling her turtleneck sweater back on, concealing the imprints of Paul’s fingers. “I promise.”