A New Domination

All characters in this story are aged 18 or over at the time of the action. This story contains elements of BDSM, fetish and incest; and if you don't like these ideas, please read no further. To be perfectly honest, I couldn't decide which of those categories to submit the story, but as it is almost entirely about submission, BDSM seemed the logical place.

I would like to thank MiriamL whose initial idea sparked my interest and provided a central theme, and who provided support, encouragement and enthusiasm during the writing. And I must again thank Hatsuda for his eagle-eyed editing and encouragement. To them should go the applause, while I take the criticism!

*

"Simon, if you're not doing anything too important, can you please give me a hand?" I heard my mother calling. As I didn't regard reading the paper as 'too important' I headed upstairs towards the sound of her voice. Mum was dressed in a tee shirt, jeans and sneakers, unusual for her, as she always sought to be well dressed.

"Time for a spring-clean, honey," she commented. "Will you help me to get all the junk out of this cupboard, please?"

This being the location for all unwanted family debris, I realised the size of the task, but agreed and made a start. There was plenty of material to dispose of, and mum left me to get it all together for a final inspection.

I'm around 6'2" and even then, the top shelf was a bit of a stretch. Running my hands along the shelf to ensure it was all clear, my hand hit on some form of paperwork. Pulling it down, I discovered a yellow envelope; opening it, I discovered a quantity of photos, and my jaw almost hit the floor when I saw what they were.

The first photo I saw showed a woman, wholly naked but for a long string of pearls and high (very high) heels facing a sort of altar, the centrepiece of which was a large glass phallus. Her hands were behind her back but the truly startling thing was that the woman was my mother. This photo was taken from behind the altar; her face was quite unmistakeable, confirmed by the small red birthmark on the front of her right shoulder. A second photo showed her with her back and hips towards the camera as she knelt in submission, her hands bound behind her back with a silk scarf,

I was finding it hard to breathe with the huge significance of this discovery, and I dashed to my room and threw the envelope under the bed. Further investigation would be essential.

Perhaps it might be appropriate to provide a few details of my family at this stage. My father was an accountant with his own business, a self-made man with a tendency to worship his maker. His business and golf were about the extent of his interests.

My mother, Sally, then aged forty two was the sort of woman you might see in a suburban shopping centre and not give a second glance. She was medium height with brown hair down past her shoulders, wide set brown eyes, a slightly narrow and rather long nose and full lips; she was inclined to say that they made her look too "pouty". Mum was about five feet six inches tall and weighed around 130 lbs. Breasts around 34C, with a small amount of sag, but with a curvy, heart shaped butt.

For most of my childhood and adolescence, Mum had been warm, gentle and loving towards me. She was quiet and tended to keep in the background, but this had changed somewhat over recent years. She started to place a lot of importance on respectability and became quite open about the need for decency and good behaviour.

Mum wore clothes that were conservative and never revealing, blouses buttoned to the neck and skirts and dresses below the knee. And black rimmed spectacles. She frowned at even slightly smutty jokes and comments, and attended church regularly every Sunday—wearing a hat, of course. I was encouraged to accompany her, although it became less frequent as my views on religion changed. Dad played golf.

I realised early on that my parents' marriage was somewhat strained. I came to understand that it had been largely a marriage of convenience—Dad had wanted a housekeeper who would be available for occasional vanilla sex, and Mum wanted to get away from a family life where she felt unloved. They were married when Mum was just twenty and I was born nine months later, in 1988. At the time these events unfolded, I was 22 and moving towards qualifying as a psychologist.

Returning to the spring cleaning, I finished up, and Mum thanked me, then told me she had some shopping to do and would be out for a couple of hours. This was ideal, and I returned to my room and fished out the envelope. It contained a range of photos of a nature that rapidly gave me an erection, regardless of the fact that this was my mother. The photography was almost professional in quality with fine details.

Some caught my eye immediately. One showed her on her knees with her mouth engulfing a glass phallus, obviously deep throating it. Mum's skin was silky smooth and glowing almost as if she was generating a light within herself. Another showed her with the phallus buried to the hilt in her arse as she leaned over a bench with her bottom in the air. A similar picture of the same situation from a different perspective showed her with a look of extreme excitement and stimulation.

There were many others, although one made me gasp in astonishment. It was one of a series, starting with my mother dressed in the usual way, but with a wedding veil covering her eyes. A second picture showed her kneeling in a sort of cradle that supported her shoulders. The veil had been lifted, but now she had a man's cock deep in her throat, with the glass version again buried in her arse. From the position of her right hand, she had to have been masturbating.

Two other photos puzzled me. They were a great deal older, in black and white and the quality was nowhere near as good. They showed a tall dark haired woman, bare footed and wearing nothing but a string of pearls. In one, she was standing with her head down in a submissive posture; in the other, her hands were bound behind her head, causing her breasts to stand out. I remembered that there was a photo of my mother in a similar position.

All of this was too much for me, and I headed to the bathroom to relieve myself with a highly satisfying orgasm. I also realised that I was definitely going to discuss this matter with Mum, which set my mind running in some highly erotic and quite dark directions.

This had been a Wednesday and Dad was heading off next Monday for an interstate conference, supplemented by the inevitable games of golf. Good—this would give me an opportunity for some uninterrupted, in-depth conversations with my mother. First, though, I needed to visit some rather specialised stores in the less reputable parts of town to buy one or two specific objects—including a large sized glass phallus.

The rest of the week dragged more slowly than any time I had ever known, but eventually, Dad left on the Monday morning "red eye" leaving me with his usual injunction to, "look after your mother". Never had this had such significance, and I intended to make a thorough job of it.

Mum sighed as he left and turned to me. "Some breakfast, I think, Simon, then I'm going to take it easy for the rest of the day. What are your plans?"

I couldn't have had a better opening, and I looked closely at my mother. "Well, Mum, I'd rather like to have a chat with you about some photographs that I found during the spring clean."

"Photos?" she replied, puzzled. "What photos are you ..." and then the light dawned. She gave a faint scream and her hands went to her mouth, her eyes open and staring.

I held my ground and said nothing.

"You can't possibly mean those photos of me ... But you do, don't you?" she whispered.

"Right, Mum, and I think we need to talk. It's not something we can just let go and pretend never happened."

"Simon, I guess you do deserve an explanation, but this is going to be so difficult for me. I need to get this whole episode out into the open and confess to someone I trust. I need to deal with the memories so that I can exorcise them and they will no longer trouble me. Simon, would you please be a darling and give me an hour or two to collect my thoughts, then I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

"Okay, Mum. It's a miserable day out there, so let's get comfortable in the lounge this afternoon. How does three o'clock sound to you?"

"Thank you, Simon," she responded, and after breakfast we went our separate ways.

At three o'clock, I returned to the lounge. The curtains were drawn against cold wet weather, a fire was burning in the hearth and the room was lit by candles. Mum was curled on the couch with her legs tucked under her, dressed in a pastel blue blouse, buttoned down the front and cream coloured linen slacks. She had obviously brushed her hair until it shone, and wore discreet but well applied makeup. Even so, she looked uncomfortable and apprehensive.

"Okay, Mum, how do you want to play this? By the way, in addition to a lot of photos of you, there are two much older black and white pictures of another woman who I can't quite ..."

Mum was off the lounge and dashed to my side. "Please, Simon, please let me see them."

I pulled out the two photos in question and Mum's voice trembled, near to tears. "Oh Simon, thank you, thank you so much. These are pictures of my grandmother, and I thought I'd lost them years ago. They are so important to me; they're really the only pictures I had of her." And she kissed my cheek lightly.

"Mum, this just makes the story even more puzzling; why is she in these poses and what does that have to do with your activities?"

"I understand your curiosity, Simon; perhaps I should start right at the beginning."

The saga that now exposed a completely new picture of my mother, her family and where she now found herself.

"As you know, Simon," she began, "I was born in 1968, the second of three children. My elder brother was academically brilliant and my younger sister was physically beautiful, but I had neither my brother's brains nor my sister's looks. I became increasingly isolated and introverted, which just put me even further at odds with the rest of my family." Mum looked despondent, and I realised that she was returning to those lonely years.

"I was about thirteen when my grandfather died," my mother continued, "and after that, grandmother sort of took me under her wing. She was lonely and so was I. She was smart, warm, funny, beautiful—and something that just wasn't talked about in those days, she was submissive.

She and grandfather had been passionately in love with each other, and he was her Dom, giving her what she needed. We had long talks; grandmother was very open about sex, and I eventually discovered that I had submissive tendencies as well. I had no real way to realise these tendencies, but grandmother understood, and after I turned eighteen, she became my first Dom."

My mother now seemed to have returned to the 1980s. "Oh god, it was wonderful. She taught me so much about my body. She spanked me, flogged me and humiliated me in ways that still make me tingle just thinking about it. I licked her vagina and her bottom, even into her anus, and made her orgasm." Mother's voice became ragged and her breathing irregular as she was transported back to her early experiences as a sub.

"Then early in 1987, grandmother had a stroke; she never recovered and died a few weeks later. To my astonishment, and the resentment of the rest of my family, I inherited the bulk of her estate, including her beautiful pearl necklace. Her will was rock solid, but it alienated me from the rest of my family. I had known your father for a few years before we married early in 1988. In a sense, it was an arranged marriage and afterwards I felt that I'd had little say in the matter, but both families were strongly in favour."

I could sense that Mum was again starting to feel rather sad, but she continued, "I had hoped that your father could fill my need to be dominated. He was a very self possessed man with strong opinions, but he didn't have any interest in my needs. I came to realise that he needed to be married to anyone who could enhance his status as an accountant, especially as I had my own money. Even so, I was never so naïve as to allow him to make all the decisions about how I invested it, and that has been a source of friction between us over the years."

"Then I had you," Mum continued with a warm smile, "and you took up all my time, which I thoroughly enjoyed. In a very odd way, you came to dominate me—not in any sexual sense, of course, but I found myself needing to accede to your wishes. Looking back on those days, I suppose it might have made you unbearably spoilt, but that never happened."

"No, Mum," I replied gently, "I could always tell how much you loved me, and even when I was very young, I realised how important it was for you to know that I loved you and would do anything for you."

"Thank you, honey," Mum continued. "You took up a lot of my time, and I needed to work part-time, at first while your father was establishing his practice, then to give me an interest outside the home. About ten years ago, I started to feel a big gap in my life, and that grew with time."

Now my mother looked hesitant and uncertain. "I know I shouldn't say this, but as it's confession time, I won't hold back. Your father and I ... well, our sex life almost ceased. Not only wouldn't he help me with my submissive needs, but any physical contact shrunk to nearly nothing.

Then around seven years ago, a friend of mine introduced me to a man named Blake Sheldon. I found out later that that was a false name, but that doesn't really matter. He told me that he was the grand master of a sexual fetish cult and he promised to meet my needs to be submissive in ways that would lead me through my erotic fantasies towards fulfilment."

"Sheldon told me that he had eight "masters' who were part of the cult, and they would control every aspect of my sexuality. I could be spanked, paddled, flogged or whipped and humiliated in any ways that they decided. While in their presence I would obey without question any and all orders I might be given. I would be their plaything. I could be bound, and could have sex with one or more of the group, vaginal, anal or oral.

Sheldon did make it clear that I would experience pain, but my skin would not be broken and I would suffer no internal injury. I was to have a safe word that I could use if the experience became unbearable, but if I did, I would be interrogated in depth for my reasons for doing so. If I used it a second time, I could be expelled from the cult."

"Sheldon was very persuasive and he had a beautiful deep voice that he could use to make you believe almost anything. It was warm and resonant, rather like yours, honey", Mum smiled as she looked at me. I was conceited enough to agree with her, although not foolish enough to verbalise this. A former girlfriend had told me that it was like "listening to chocolate."

Mum continued, "I was also told that a series of photographs would be taken of me during the rituals, and one of the female "attendants" was a skilled photographer. The photos you found are evidence of my involvement with the cult, and my commitment to its goals."

My mother was now even more uncertain, but I made my position clear. "Mum, you clearly need to confess, but we can't leave it here. For you to do the job properly, you will need to find your way back to these experiences through the photographs and cauterise your memory of what happened and how you felt."

She blushed, but then continued, "I guess you're right, honey, but this isn't easy. Well, the first night I found my way to an old house in the hills, and I was greeted by two people in long robes with hoods; rather like monks' habits. I had a sense that they were women, but I couldn't tell for sure. I was ordered to strip naked, wearing only five inch patent leather pumps and a string of pearls, my grandmother's pearls, round my neck. I was blindfolded and led into a large room or chamber. The blindfold was removed, and I could see that I was standing facing a semi-circle of figures. When he spoke, I knew the central figure was Blake Sheldon; flanking him were four figures on either side, making a total of nine people, all men, I soon discovered.

I was told to stand with my feet together but with my hands behind my head with my fingers interlaced. This had the effect of thrusting my breasts up and out. Then I was told to revolve, slowly so that everyone could see the whole of my body. The cult members commented on my body, sometimes adding ideas about what they would like to do to me, often in quite graphic terms."

"Such as?" I enquired.

Mum blushed and stammered, "Th ... that ... they'd li ... like to 'fuck its ... its arse and ... and make it scream. That they'd like to ... to ... to 'fuck those tits and cum in its mouth'. That they'd 'cum on its tits.' And more like that. They always referred to me in the third person neutral, which was so degrading, but added to the strange sense of excitement. As well as this, it was decided that I should have a new name. Sheldon told me that, within the cult I was to be known as 'Slut' and that any reference to 'Sally Benson' would result in punishment"

"Oh god, Mum, how were you able to put up with that?" I asked with shock in my voice but, even so, starting to feel aroused by these revelations.

"That was part of the deal, honey; I was desperate to find an outlet, any outlet, for my submissive needs. Allowing myself to be subjected to this humiliation helped me to deal with those needs."

"After I had turned completely and the commentary stopped," Mum continued, "I again faced Sheldon. In front of him was a large glass phallus, looking quite lifelike. I was ordered to get on my knees, lean forward and take the phallus into my mouth, coat it with saliva and treat it as if I was sucking a man's ..." Mum hesitated but fell back on the less controversial term, " ... a man's penis. I had to take it as far down my throat as possible. The first time I gagged and had to move away. It was permitted this first time, but he told me that if this did not improve in future, I would be punished."

"Punished how, Mum?" I enquired again.

"I would be spanked with a stiff leather paddle, ten times on each cheek. On the second week, I again failed to take the whole thing down my throat, and I was paddled. It hurt and I squealed with the pain, but it also created a warm glow in my ... in my vagina."

Mum blushed again, and I laughed gently. "Look, Mum, it's quite alright to use the common language; you won't embarrass me—I've heard it all before. It created a warm glow in your pussy or in your cunt, okay?"

Mum sighed. "Okay, I guess, although this all feels so dangerous to me. Like walking a tightrope without a safety net."

"Mum," I replied, "Don't be too scared—I can be your safety net."

She rewarded me with a sweet smile and then continued her story. "After I'd lubricated the phallus, Sheldon removed it from its mounting and had me spread my legs and bend over to touch my toes. Spread this way, my anus was open and completely visible, and he inserted the phallus into my rect ... into my arse. To be fair, he was very gentle at first, easing it in slowly, but when my sphincter muscle spasmed he slapped my arse hard. That distracted me, and he was able to get it past the opening. He gradually thrust it up inside me and moved it around; at first it was dreadful and I cried out in pain, but I gradually adjusted to this thing inside my anu ... my arse.

It took several weeks for me to become fully accustomed to this, but when I did, the feeling of fullness was so stimulating and erotic that it almost brought me to orgasm. I would have done if they'd allowed me to play with my pussy," here Mum grinned at me, "but that was not permitted."