Mother Confesses

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

*

She knocked timidly on her son's bedroom door. She was especially respectful of his privacy ever since she'd walked in and caught him...well, boys need their privacy. "Boy?" She thought sadly; her baby was now a man... as she was forced to recall. And yet, a year after graduating high school and still with no plans for further school, training or employment, she wondered if he knew he was a man and would be expected to begin acting like one.

"Sweetie, can I come in? I, ah... I have something I have to tell you."

"Sure," her son replied distractedly.

She found him propped up on his bed, sketching more of the violent and -- to her mind at least -- risqué drawings in imitation of those he found in the adult-oriented graphic novels he horded. She shuddered at how he must view women, given the images of submissive, semi-nude and often bound females that filled those publications.

Her stomach seemed to do a flip and drop toward the floor when she realized his attitude would not be improved by what she had to tell him now.

There was an old stuffed chair in the corner, which she eyed with longing; her knees were weak and wobbly just thinking of what she was about to say. Although the chair looked so inviting, even covered as it was in layers of both clean and dirty laundry, she knew she needed to be standing for this odious task. She took a position a few feet to one side of the end of the bed, fidgeting nervously, trying to find her courage.

Taking note of his mother's agitation, the young man reluctantly set aside his pad and pencil.

"What's up, Mom?" he asked with a tinge of irritation.

"I have something important to tell you, but first, I'm going to ask you to take your phone and video me telling you...well, what I'm going to tell you, I need you to record. Please don't ask why right now. In fact, please, please don't ask me anything until I'm done, you'll...well, you'll understand more -- a lot more -- when I'm finished.

Puzzled, he reluctantly agreed and picked up his mobile and began recording when she told him to prop the phone on the nightstand.

"It needs to be a steady video throughout," she explained, "and some of the things I'm going to tell you might... well, you might get upset and you might jostle the phone. Besides, I'm afraid that this won't be very quick."

"Okay; shoot," he said once the device was in place, her image filling the screen from the knees up.

She took a deep breath as she tried to dry her damp palms by rubbing them on her thighs.

"As you know there, were some... 'entanglements'... surrounding your father's estate... some from his business, some from... other things... not to mention the insurance company dragging their feet with the death benefit right when we are going to need that money most. Remember I told you at one point it looked as if we might not get a dime? Well, Mr. Rand, the lawyer handling your father's estate, told me that he could make all the entanglements disappear, but I would have to trust him and do everything he said. And I will say, he was as good as his word; I'm happy to say we won't have to worry about any of that stuff any longer. Dad's Will should be though probate court this week and we should have the check from the insurance company this week as well."

She paused and bit her lower lip, "What I didn't tell you was that Mr. Rand and I...we've been seeing each other. Yes, I know; he's a bit young for me -- I mean, he just turned thirty. And I know it doesn't look right somehow, a lawyer dating his client, a very recent widow, especially in an inheritance situation -- which is one reason why Rick...I mean Mr. Rand...was so careful, having us meet at his office or at his apartment. Very discrete.

"I'll be honest; I didn't want to become involved with Mr. Rand. It didn't seem right, didn't seem decent. I mean, I'm almost old enough to be his mother. Besides, I was grieving my husband of 21 years, and worried sick about how I was going to take care of myself and my son."

She closed her eyes and took another deep, calming breath as she prepared to recite the lines she had rehearsed in the car driving home.

"Still," she said, "Mr. Reed showed me -- in no uncertain terms -- what a debt of gratitude we both owe him; how, without his help, we'd be ruined... well, when he showed me just what he intended to do for us, my heart just went out to him."

She found it easier than she thought to fabricate a smile. Her tolerance for humiliation must be rising. She silently prayed that trend would continue for the duration of this current ordeal.

"He asked me to trust him and do as he said, and he would take care of all my problems... our problems. I didn't see how I could refuse. All I could do was to say yes."

To her tremulous smile were now added tears.

"I told him I would obey, no matter what. Now he wants me to tell you, in some...ah, detail...what happened that first night...the night he made me...when we came to our 'understanding'. He says I need to record this so I can show him proof... proof I was...proof I was a good girl and did what Master told me. There's... there's another reason for the recording, but I'll get to that...at the end.

"We were in his apartment," she began, "He put on some music -- a collection of sultry rock ballads from the '80s. Told me to stand. Then told me to strip. Told me to take it slow and make it 'dirty'. I was terrified. I didn't know what to do. I'd never been to a strip club in my life, never even knew anyone who ever, you know, did that... sort of dancing. I've been a modest, decent, God-fearing woman my whole life. But I wanted to please him, I...I needed to please him.

"I tried to remember everything I knew about strippers from movies and TV and I just, well, I just started t-to move. The strong drink he'd given me helped. I tried to get into the spirit of the thing. Mr. Rand helped; calling out suggestions and encouragement. By the time I'd gotten down to my underwear, I thought I was getting the hang it. That's when I started to falter... started to think about what I was doing. By the time I'd clumsily removed my bra, I'd lost all my earlier grace and bravado. That's also when Master began training me.

"He told me that from that point on, I didn't have breasts; I had 'saggies'." She paused a moment while she overcame a debilitating wave of shame. "When speaking about the...m-m-meat bags hanging from my chest, I am to refer to them as 'my saggies' or 'my saggy tits'. Other women had 'tits' -- not 'breasts' or 'boobs', just simply 'tits'. I have saggies.

"I was also instructed never to wear a bra when I'm with him.

"When I had stumbled out of my plain white cotton panties, Master explained that I didn't have a vagina -- no woman has a vagina, Master Rand said; we all have cunts. He made me say it. Several times. Cunt. He also told me I wasn't to wear underpants when I was with him.

"Then he showed me how he would need to discipline me if I was naughty. He laid me across his knee and spanked my ass until it was raw. Later, on another one of our dates, he showed me the flogging whip he might use on me from time to time. He showed me a lot of things, things he called 'toys'. There was the cane... and the nipple clamps... clothespins... well, a lot of interesting items.

"After my spanking, he had me follow him into the bedroom. He walked; I crawled on all fours."

Up to this point she had purposely kept her eyes focused on her son's phone and not her son, but now, against her will, she found herself staring at her wide-eyed, open-mouthed child, hating herself and her weakness even more than before she'd walked into her son's bedroom... which she would have bet was impossible, earlier. Even so, she somehow found the strength to look away and continue her tale.

"I'm not going to recount minute by minute what happened next -- frankly, a lot of the details are all blurred in my mind. It was like I was watching it all happen to someone else, someone who looked like me. I know, I know... it sounds a little crazy. Maybe I am crazy. Mom may indeed be barking mad. When I think about all this too hard, I know something must be wrong with me and..."

She was silent for a moment, biting her lip as she struggled to find a way to complete her loathsome task.

"He, ah, he had me lie down on the bed and... and he..." She floundered a moment, trying to find a way to put her experience into words. Finally, she blurted out, "He hurt me... hurt me with his cock. It was so long, and so fat and he just shoved it in. I was already wet, God help me, but it didn't matter much. It hurt so much, I thought he would rip me up inside. Like a machine he kept pumping into me. He pinned my hands to the bed while he kept hammering away. I cried and begged, but he wouldn't stop. And the look on his face -- it was like he was trying to punish my cunt with his big fat cock. After a while, even though I still hurt and was terrified, I..."

She let a ragged sob escape with a fresh flow of tears, "Oh, God forgive me -- I didn't want him to stop. I didn't care if he killed me with his evil cock, I wanted him to go on and on... He made me cum, baby, he made me cum while he brutalized my poor cunt with his huge horse cock. Again and again, my whole body spasmed while I was impaled on that monster. Every last nerve was fried... but he kept fucking me and I kept cumming.

"I must have passed out at some point, but then I felt him pumping his hot semen deep inside me. I moaned when he pulled his cock out and I heard myself beg him to put it back, but it sounded like... it felt like someone else. Again, it didn't matter; he just rolled me over onto my belly. Next thing I knew, he was..."

More sobs wracked her whole body as she tried to continue.

"Oh, baby, I never, never in my life... I know you won't believe me, especially now, but in all my life, until Master Rand, I'd only had sex with one man -- your father -- and he never -- never, ever -- even suggested..."

Her son watched as his mother fought and won some savage internal battle to head-off her rising hysteria. An eerie calm possessed her, and some amalgam of anger and disgust suffused her features as she spoke again. When she resumed her account, her affect became flat as she relived the events as she related them.

"He applied some sort of lubricant to my asshole and plunged his big, brutish thumb into my tight little hole. Then two fingers. Then three. Soon he started to shove his big fact cock in me. I'll give it to him; he did take it slow. But then again, I don't think he could have gone any faster if he'd wanted to; my poor little hole couldn't have accommodated him any quicker. So he just held me down and relentlessly kept pressing that telephone pole into me.

"Of course, I screamed and begged him to stop. The pain was unimaginable. I was sure that if I survived at all, I'd be in the emergency room. I swore I'd do anything else he wanted -- anything... if only he'd stop. He didn't. Eventually, he'd sunk in all the way. 'Balls deep' as he put it.

"When he finally began fucking my ass, it was slow and methodical. As he did, he explained that he owned me now. I was his little bitch. I was his Fucktoy... his cum-slut... his whore. He had me repeat it back to him. Loudly. Many times. He told me to thank him for making me his whore. I did. Many times. He..."

She paused briefly, gripping tightly to the tenuous hold she had on her emotions.

"He knows a woman's body. At least he seemed to know mine. As he rhythmically thrusted in an out of my rectum, he tortured my saggies and my cunt."

As if of their own volition, her hands began to move across her body, one moved slowly toward her breast, the other slid down across her belly.

"He forced me to feel things no decent woman should have to feel. He broke me, baby. By the time he asked me to thank him for raping my ass, part of me actually meant it. He... he made me cum."

Barely aware of what she was doing, the woman began kneading her tit through the material of her dress, while her other hand pressed her dress into the apex of her legs.

"He made your mother cum while she was being brutally butt-fucked. He made your mother into his anal whore. That's what I am now. I knew it was true when I found myself begging him to dump his load of hot cum deep in my ass."

Without a word of preamble, the degraded matron unfastened the belt to her wrap-around dress and flung it wide open, letting it fall off her shoulders, stopping at the bend of her arms.

"What the fuck!" her son spat as he leaned forward to take in the view.

He had always thought his mother -- slim and well-proportioned with a pleasant face --, was beautiful. However, what he saw now was breathtaking. Her small breasts, only a little the worst for time, gravity and nursing, were bare. Her large, fat, erect nipples stood out almost an inch from their small, puffy areolas. As stunning as these were, what first grabbed his full attention were the steel rings that passed through the base of each nipple.

She immediately cupped her breasts and held them as if offering them to her son.

"He had my nipples pierced and ringed so I would never forget I belonged to him."

As her hands moved down her torso, her son's eyes raced ahead of them to focus on her smooth, hairless mons.

"At Master's command, I have my cunt waxed bald as a sign of my submission and to keep me feeling vulnerable at all times."

She widened she stance, parting her legs so that he could now detect the glint of steel from the crevice of her vulva. She spread her nether lips with her fingers, reveling two things. The first was that his mother's clitoris was large and prominent enough that he could see its turgid profile easily from where he sat. The second was that, like her nipples, her clit was pierced at the base and ringed.

"Master had my clit pierced to keep me perpetually aroused." She gave the ring a flick with her fingertip and then shuddered. "It works," she declared.

Next the woman sensuously fingered the lace at the tops of her thigh-high, stay-up stockings.

"Master forbids me from wearing pants or pantyhose -- anything that might interfere with his easy access to my lower holes. And, speaking of lower holes... I suppose I should show you this."

She straightened her arms and the loose sleeves of her dress slid down, over her hands, allowing the dress to fall to the floor. She then turned her firm, well-sculpted rear toward her son and bent over at the waist until her hands touched the floor. When she had done so, he could see, in the crease in her buttocks, a small black rectangle. She reached one of her hands up between her taut dancer's legs and tapped the object three times with the tips of her fingernails. Then, with skill born of practice, she slowly straightened from the waist up, and turned to face her son.

She lifted her chin, her jaw thrust defiantly forward in an expression she hoped would rebuff her child's unspoken condemnation. "After that first time," she offered, "Master has been training my asshole with a series of butt plugs of increasing girth. He promises me he'll be using my 'Mommy Hole' (as he calls it) very often and he thought it best for all concerned that I be prepared."

Not sure how to take the next step in her current journey of debasement, she paused a moment; her feet shoulder-width apart, shoulders back, head level and forward, her hands clasped together at the small of her back...just the way Master had taught her.

Sensing his mother had come to a stopping point in her narrative, the young man leaned back, crossed his arms.

"Soooo..." he said, "some control-freak perv has convinced you to be his sex slave and play Story of O games with him. I always knew you'd find some dominating man to take you in hand now that Dad's gone. Because I'll tell you, Mom, I always knew you were submissive little slut. But I have to admit, this..." he gestured at the whole image she now presented, "...This little show-and-tell was really unexpected. But, okay. Cool. Who am I to judge? Still, if you're taking questions from the audience now, I gotta ask; why? Why tell me all this shit?"

She lowered her head and sighed. Taking a second to glance heavenward, then despairing of guidance from that direction, she addressed her son saying, "Master doesn't want there to be any bad feelings between you and he because he has enslaved your mother. He doesn't want you to feel jealous or in any way excluded. While you need to send a copy of this video to him, no later than noon tomorrow, to an address I'll supply... the video itself is yours. You own it because it was shot on your phone. You may do with it... anything you like.

"However, I am to tell you that Master has dozens of pictures and video clips he's taken of me during our training sessions. He has very generously offered to ensure they are never seen by friends and relatives... and I show him my gratitude daily. You may, of course, share this current clip with others, knowing that will most certainly ruin me -- and by extension yourself. Or..."

She stepped forward until she was little more than an arms-length from her curious son. When she spoke, she tried to disguise the quivering in her voice and almost succeeded.

"Or you could offer me a similar guarantee of discretion. For which..."

That was as far as she got before her threadbare composure failed her completely. With trembling lips, falling tears and voice choking with emotion, she forced out the proposition she was instructed to make in the words she was commanded to use.

"F-f-for w-which I have been told, I will be equally grateful."

With that, she lowered herself to her knees, softly sobbing as she interlaced her fingers behind her head, pulling her shoulders back and her elbows wide, thus thrusting out her saggies invitingly. She forced herself to keep her eyes open, and on her son, as she opened her mouth wide.

The young man smiled cruelly as he said, "I see. Very interesting." He slid his legs off the bed next to his disgraced mother. As he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers he said, "Alright now, you've told me about your cunt's training...and your Mommy Hole training. Let's see how well-trained your Pie Hole is..."