Next Morning

NINTEEEN 'Next Morning'

I wake, alone in our bed. Missing you. Missing your regular wake up routine. Stiff and dry. The sheets are tossed to the floor beside the bed. I stroke my cock absently while I listen for you showering, moving around in the bathroom.

Silence.

I wonder where you are. I notice the sun is up higher than it usually is when you wake me with your mouth. Last night was very satisfying. I stroke my cock absently, recalling.

My harshness with your mother. You waking me from my dream. Your massage with me deep and still inside you. Our energetic wrestling to ecstasy. Our sweaty relaxation into sleep.

My skin bunches over my head. I sigh.

I get up to go about my day. In the kitchen I put on coffee and pull the jug of her drink from the fridge. I pour some of the dun liquid into a shallow bowl, replace the jug into the fridge, and head downstairs.

I find you sitting halfway down the steps, watching your mother pinned to the wall, elbows at shoulder level, wrist higher and wide, heavy chain and padlock pendant holding her neck. She is sobbing. Short, thin streaks of dried blood traced over her shivering body. From behind, your form is hidden by the honey of your hair. No, not hidden, draped, set off, revealed in form. Even from this view, fully covered in honied silk, you are beautiful.

You hear me and turn, your face peeking out beside your veil. You have been crying, tear trails streak your face. Dried now. I wonder how long you've been sitting here.

"How long have you been sitting here?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"You didn't wake me."

You turn to look back at your mother.

"Scootch."

You slide over, pressing against the wall. I step past you, careful not to step on your hair, skipping a step. As I pass you reach behind me and brush the outside of my thigh with your hand.

I undo the padlock, open the door and set the bowl on the floor inside the door. Her head hangs down and she watches me, warily, suspiciously, eagerly. Wanting what she fears.

The weights on her nipples have pulled her tits nearly flat. The weights on her clit have stretched their hole through her sheath to the size of a dime.

I grab the chain hanging in the center of the enclosure and attach it to the back of her collar with its marine clip. I open the padlock holding the chain around her neck and pull the chain through the ring set into the wall. I like the way it looks hanging as a pendant, so drape the doubled chain around her neck and reset the padlock pendant.

I slap her tits several times - moderately hard - wake up strokes you might say. She slowly lifts her head. Eyes seeking mine. Without fire, nearly absent, weary. She is exhausted, having either stood or hanged from her arms all night.

I unlock her wrist and she slowly slumps to her knees. Her clit weights click on the concrete. She must be relieved, but shows no reaction. Very likely numb from the prolonged and constant pain. I reach down and lock her wrists behind her, resting at her waist. I press my foot against her back and push to force her to lean forward, her torso horizontal.

She shuffles over to the bowl, scraping her knees across the rough concrete. Her posture causes her to drag her nipple-weights on the floor. Sometimes they catch and hold, then release as they stutter beneath her. I am fascinated by the stretch and rebound. She doesn't seem to notice. You watch, fascinated, worried, intrigued, excited.

She kneels, ass high, face in bowl and laps and sucks up her fluid sustenance.

Her ass is high enough, her legs spread, that I notice the weights hanging from her cunt. I kick up into her crotch and her howl splashes her breakfast from the bowl. Her face and hair, as well as the floor, are smattered with the brown semi-liquid. I step around her and, shutting the door behind me, stroke my cock absently

I stand in front of you, on a lower step, my half-stiff cock at your mouth level. You look up at me, full of questions. Without averting your eyes, you lift a hand to hold my shaft. You cradle it gently. You glide your palm to my base. You draw back, lifting me slightly.

You look down at my cock and let it go, resting your hand in your lap.

"What's wrong, Sweet."

"I don't know. I just..."

I brush my fingers across your hair. I step up onto your step and sit on the step above you, swing one leg over your head to lay across your shoulder. My other foot rests on the step beneath the one you sit on.

I watch you. You watch your mother. I slowly, gently stroke the silken honey laying over your skull. And down your neck to your shoulders.

You turn your head up to look at me, your eyes full of questions. I know what those questions are. I know I can not answer them.

"She's lost weight."

"She has. And her muscles are weakened by lack of exercise."

"Why?"

"It's her choice. She knew it when she left, she knew when she came back. "It's her choice."

You look at your mother, licking the bottom of her bowl.

"Why?"

"I don't know. "Really, I don't know. It's what she is. Who she is. "No... it's what she is."

You look at her. You slowly shake your head. You look at me.

I shrug, "I don't know," I say, "I don't know but that's the thing she is." You shake your head clinging to my eyes. I shrug, "She came back knowing this was going to happen. She knew it when she left. She came back."

I stand and move to stand on the step beneath you, careful not to step on your hair. I offer my hand, you take it and I help you stand. I lead you up to the kitchen.

I sit at the end of the island, glad I'd changed the coverings on the stools to be comfortable to sit on ass-naked. I watch you open the fridge and bend slightly to take out eggs and butter. Your hair drapes over your shoulders, curtaining your tits. Your ass is a perfect curve rising from your trim waist and rounding over to smoothly meet your thighs which curve shallowly all the way to your knees.

You bend your knees to rise and straighten. Every move is a fluid dance. Most of your hair hangs down your back, flowing over your curves. A hank hangs in front of your shoulder, hiding your incurve, but framing the beautiful tanned globe of your tit which is thrust forward, your brown aerola lifting your gold nipple bars to flash off the refrigerator lights.

You lay the eggs and butter on the counter-top between the fridge and stove and squat to dig through the cabinet - Covered with golden silk except for your face and most of your legs - to about mid-thigh. Squatted, knees high, ass at ankles, back arched smoothly, you reach your slender arms to rest your hands on the counter top. You turn to look at me and flash that electric smile. I laugh, realizing there is no reason for you to go into that cabinet, you did it just so you could display yourself to me in this pose. Thank you. Damn, girl, you are gorgeous.

You stand and walk to the pantry, opening the door and stepping in, my view of your tenderly muscled body now blocked. You step back out with two bottles, olive oil and soya sauce. You drizzle a bit of oil in the pan and turn on the induction cooktop. You pull the cleaver from the wall and break a head of garlic from the rope hanging beside the stove. You roll a few cloves off and slit the skin with your nail. You strip off the skin and laying the cloves on the cutting board, smash them with the cleaver. Your firm tits jiggle delightfully with that impact and your hair dances around your shoulders and ripples down your back. You quickly chop the garlic fine and scrape it into the oil - which sputters a bit. You wince and jump back laughing, oil having sprayed lightly onto your exposed flesh.

"Come over here, Sweet."

You step to me and I lick the red dots where the hot oil has touched your skin. I take the cleaver from you. You look at me quizically.

"Turn, pull back your hair and hold it with both hands behind your neck. "Elbows back, far as you can."

Of course, you do and your perfect tits are thrust forward. Your nipples stiffen delightfully. I place the sharp edge of the cleaver under your tits at their base. I draw the edge up and out as if shaving. Your nipples fall as the blade passes them, and your breasts quickly bounce and settle to their proud firmness. I slap the near nipple with the flat of the cleaver, the bar tinging like a muted bell. You squeal and thrust your chest forward, anticipating.

"Check the garlic - it's scorching."

You laugh and quickly grab a spatula to stir the browning garlic. You crack eggs into a bowl and whisk briskly. Your tits sway beneath their honey curtain, nipples dragging through your hair, a few strands trapped by the bars. THIS would make a very popular cooking show.

You stir a glug of soy sauce into the eggs and pour the mix from the bowl into the pan. I watch you watch the progress and, when the time comes, fold the egg over.

You glide to the cabinets to get plates - choosing to get your mother's expensive china from the top shelf. You do that with the purpose of stretching your body for me. Thank you. Yes, I like that.

Just watching you move is fascinating. And stiffening. The cascade of honey-gold flowing over and around your graceful movements, concealing and exposing your lithe beauty is one of nature's gifts. As are you.

You pull silverware from the drawer and set a place for me on the island top. You set a place for yourself and sit on the stool beside me.

I stand and go to get the coffee, my half-erect cock swaying before me. You follow me with hungry eyes. Your tongue flicks along your lips as I pull our cups off their hooks and my dick bounces on the counter-top. I see that and press against the edge. You smile and look up to my eyes. You watch as I fill our cups. You watch me cross the few steps to set our cups beside our plates. You reach out and cradle my cock with your hand. You close your fingers around me and slowly jack me a few times. You lean down and kiss my head, lick my slit, then release me and look up smiling.

I sit and we begin to eat. In silence for a time.

"How long will you keep her?"

"How long will I keep her? WE are keeping her. Do you want to kick her out?"

"Kick her out? She's chained and locked in the basement."

"That is her choice. She came back."

"OK." You ponder, lifting a bite of egg on the end of your fork. "OK, how long will she stay?"

"Until she talks. Or fucks up. Or I tire of her. Or you do."

"Tire of her?"

"Whatever. I don't want to have to deal with her forever. That's why she left."

"Why did she leave?"

"Because I wouldn't treat her the way she wanted. "She threatened me with it. She said that if I didn't do as she wanted, she'd leave. "I booted her ass to the curb with nothing but a full-button day dress and a wide-brimmed hat. I told her if she ever came back, I'd do everything she wanted and more - without any concern for her. "She came back."

"What did she want you to do?"

"What I'm doing."

"What about me?"

"What about you?"

"What about what I want?"

"What do you want?"

"I don't know... but..."

"Is there something more you want me to do to you? With you? For you?"

"No, that's not what I mean. It's just... I don't know. What do I do to her?"

"What do you want to do to her?"

"I don't know... I'm..."

"Don't worry about it. If you want me to do anything, let me know. "If YOU want to do anything, let me know. "Mostly I just want you happy, Sweet. "More than happy, I want you beside yourself with pleasure, with joy."

You blush and look down. You raise your head and turn to look at me, brushing a stray strand of gold out of your face and parking it behind your ear. You smile. "Dad, I..."

I nod. You lean in and I join you in a kiss. I stroke the upper slope of your left breast with the palm of my hand. You rest your right hand on my stiffening cock. We rest and calmly watch each other's eyes. This is right. So very right.

"I do need to go down and tend to your mother." "OK"

I stand and as I pass her, she takes my wrist in her hand, so small compared to mine. She holds me for a beat.

"Should I come?" "Do you want to?" "I... I, um... I don't know. Do you want me to?" "I want you to do what you want to do. I want you to do what makes you happy." "What are you going to do. To do now?" "Well, there's the physical needs - shit, piss, clean... that's next." "Can I do that?" "If you want." "I do."

I twist my wrist in your hand, grab your wrist and, pulling you behind me, head to the basement.

Your mother lies curled up against the wall. Her collar chain hanging heavy on her soft breast, denting it. Most attractive.

I hand you the bungee mooring line. "Clip that to her collar, then undo the chain."

You step to her and her eyes open, she looks up at you sadly. You bend over and your hair covers her and your actions - and exposes your glorious butt and thighs. I resist the temptation to take you right there. I do give you a pounding swat that knocks you off balance and your shoulders hit the wall. You straighten up and turn to look at me, shaking your head with a smile.

"Lead her over to the drain." I point, then feel dumb - you know where the drain is.

She crawls behind you, obediently. I kind of wish she'd resist. But she doesn't.

"Lift the cover off the drain. Yes, good girl. OK, pull up on the line and hold her in a squat. Kick and push her to position her - her ass over the hole. Yeah, like that."

You attend to this duty very efficiently.

"Now, Cunt, you know what to do. It's time. Go or hold it till evening."

She moans, tears flowing. She lets loose a heavy stream of piss, nearly all making it cleanly into the hole. Her ankles get sprinkled a bit with the splash out.

You look at me. I smile. I notice your feet and the tips of your hair have been splashed as well. We'll deal with that in the rinse off.

I marvel at the similarities of your bodies. She is older, but still in good shape. Though she was never as beautiful as you are now. My cock rises a tick to see your standing over her as she squats. You are superior in every way. That is obvious in this image. You stand over her, dominant. As you should be. As you are.

"Are you done?" She looks at me embarrassed, angry, cowed. I wait.

"Are you done? You've been holding that a long time." Scared and shamed, she looks up at her daughter, standing over her, holding her leash.

She curls her back and, with effort, evacuates into the drainhole. It has been over a day and, with the embarrassment of exposure and the density of her deposit, it takes a long time. Her asshole is stretched, sweat beads on her forehead. Her breath held as she bears down. Finally, a plop echoes up from the pipe and resounds in the basement. She cries.

I pull the hose off it's reel and hand it to you.

"You know how the nozzle works. Twist it this way for wide spray, this way for tight jet."

"Which is best here?"

"You'll use all of it. You'll know once you get going."

I turn the valve and the hose stiffens in your hand. The nozzle is closed.

You look down at the nozzle and turn it. It sprays up into your face. You immediately turn it off, shrieking and laughing. I join you in your laugh. Cartoon comedy.

Your beautiful face drips and the hair around it shines damply. Your mother looks up to you, stifles her laugh and looks to me in trepidation. I glare at her and she looks down embarrassed. As she should be.

You hit me with a flash spray and laugh. "That's for laughing at me."

I'm laughing, brushing drops off my face. "Clean her off."

You aim at her and open the nozzle slowly, narrowing the cone to just cover her squatting body. She shivers. You walk to her side, dragging the hose along the floor. I step on the hose jerking you to a stop and cutting off the flow. You look at me.

"Tell her to lie on the floor." "Lie down, Mom." She uncurls and lies on the damp concrete. "Clean her." I step off the hose and you begin spraying her, head to foot.

"Roll her over." You nudge her ribs with your foot and she rolls over, now face down. You spray her again, top to bottom.

"Narrow the spray and concentrate on her shithole." You contract the cone to her butt. "Tighter, you gotta clean her ass off. Like a bidet."

You narrow it to about a inch wide and move up and down her butt crack. "Get her up on her knees."

"Knees, mom."

She lifts her ass and start to push up with her arms. I slam my foot between her shoulders, driving her down to the concrete. "Damn it, BITCH! Act like you haven't done this every day since you brought your sorry ass back here!!!" You look at me surprised at my sudden and swift action.

I grab the hose from you and kick her knees apart, scraping along the rough floor. I shoot the jet from clit to hole, circling both as I sweep back and forth in her slit. I narrow it down to a pencil and drub it directly into her sphincter, which first tenses, then relaxes. I hold steady; much of the stream entering her ass. I lower my aim a bit and her pussy quickly fills and water spills out onto the floor. I twist the nozzle nearly closed and set her clit throbbing with the tight insistent blast.

She screams and falls on her side. Water is leaking out of her cunt and ass. I widen the stream and simply keep the flow cascading over her hips and thighs, rinsing away all the mess.

I chase a bit of dirty water into the drain and twist the nozzle closed. You watch me cross to the reel, shut off the water and begin winding the hose back up. I stop.

"Open that up for me sweet," indicating the nozzle. You bend down to pick it up, bending your knees enough to be graceful, not enough to keep your ass from being prominent. Your hair slithers over your flesh and falls to the side, exposing your raised rump. I think of spanking those lovely globes but... nah, we'll save that for later.

You look down at the nozzle, twist it open and look up at me. "Drop it." You follow my instruction and the clank echoes off the concrete walls.

I turn the crank and wind the hose onto the reel, dribbling a line of water along the path it follows. You look back at your mother, still curled up and soaking in a shallow puddle on the cold floor.

"She's just been rinsed off. She still needs to be really cleaned, "Fill that bucket with water, mix in salt from that bag." I nod toward the bag leaning against the wall beside the water heater.

You do as asked - told. As you always do.

"Good. OK. Throw the saline over her where she lies." You empty the bucket in one splashing toss. She screams.

I toss you a scrub brush from the table, you catch it adroitly. "Use this to scrub her down. Dig deep, get all the scum off that filth of a whore."

You follow my instructions without hesitation. I like that. You obey me in everything. And enjoy doing that. Do you crave that? Is that who you are? Who you have been? Or are you learning as we move together along this road?

"You're being too gentle, Sweet. Really lay into her."

You get much rougher, stretching her skin beneath the boar bristles, reopening some of the tiny puncture wounds from last night as she screams and cries. You push her over, rolling her to give yourself more flesh to scrub - to abrade. You are getting into this. Fast. You are actually being cruel to her. As you should. I like this.

I carry a bottle of alcohol over, tap your shoulder and hand it to you. You look at it for a beat, before you realize what it is. Then, you unscrew the cap and pour the burning liquid in a line from her throat to her cunt. Her screams bounce, resounding, off the walls, filling the basement like a foam. She struggles to get away. You lean a knee into her gut and begin to smear the alcohol into the skin of her shoulders and tits with your hands. Her continuous screams tearing out of her throat. Adding to her pain.