A Slave's Story

I’m not ashamed to be writing this. Not that my feelings have any relevance. I do what I’m told, and I know my place.

Who am I? Call me Therese. I’m forty-one years old, divorced, a mother of one (a son, Kyle, eighteen years old). I’m told that I’m fairly attractive, but I can’t see it. My hair is shoulder-length, mousey-brown, nondescript, my figure is, at best, unremarkable, and about the only noticeable feature I can claim is my blue eyes. I’ve been told they are very pretty.

A little historical perspective will probably help you to understand what I’m telling you in this “confession”, and why I’m writing it in the first place. I married right out of high school, only to learn in due course that the man I’d fallen for was an abusive, controlling bastard. I’ve never been at all assertive, so my husband was basically able to completely dominate every aspect of my life.

I was never the least bit happy with my marriage; the only real joy I ever felt during that long ordeal was connected to the birth and upbringing of my beautiful son.

And even that was poisoned by his bastard of a father. Steven (my husband) never seemed to care all that much about Kyle, but he did enjoy abusing me and humiliating me in front of him. The worst of it happened about six or seven months before he finally deserted us for good: he actually moved his girlfriend into our home, into my bed! Steven made it clear that if I had any objection, I could leave.... without my son.

So of course I stayed, and spent my tear-filled nights on the living room couch. This was when Kyle was nine years old, clearly aware enough to know that his mother had been reduced in status in the house. Steven even forbade me to display any anger or unhappiness in “Shelley”’s presence; he forced me to wait on her with the same humility I demonstrated toward him.

To make a long story short, he eventually tired of the charade of our marriage, and he and Shelley rode off into the sunset together, never to be seen by us again. I was glad to see the back of him, even as I berated myself for failing completely at the simple function of being married.

And in some ways, it’s as though he never left....

Kyle is definitely his father’s son. Steven taught by example, and Kyle learned at his dad’s knee that I can be dominated. I think my son lost all respect for me back when Steven openly gave Shelley my status and my bed. From that time on, I could never control him. Not that he was a bad kid; he wasn’t cruel, never got into trouble, apparently had no interest in booze or drugs. But he always made it clear to me that he did what he wanted, when he wanted, and my feelings on the matter were irrelevant to him.

But that’s not to say we had a bad life. Kyle grew up like any other normal boy, and I made his well-being my reason for living. My absolute, unconditional love for him made that seem completely natural, and I was for several years content to let the days and weeks and months go by in this way forever.

It was not to be.

Three weeks ago, on the eve of his graduation from high school, Kyle informed me that he had changed his mind about going to college here in town, and instead was planning to accept a job offer at a steel mill more than seventy miles away. I was horrified, both at the prospect of him moving away, and at the notion of him discontinuing his education.

Looking back, I wonder if there ever really was any job offer. I think my son may have concocted that tale because he knew precisely what my reaction to it would be. I believe that he knew that I’d do anything, anything at all, to make him reconsider his “plans”. He certainly wasn’t hesitant or shy about acquainting me with the one thing I could do to convince him to stay at home and continue going to school....

We were in the living room that day, the scene of my past humiliation at the hands of his long-gone father. I was in tears, begging and pleading with my son not to leave. Kyle was utterly composed, apparently unaffected by my highly-charged emotional outburst, and clearly determined to do what he wanted to do.

“Please, Honey,” I wept. “Think about what you’re doing. This job might seem like a good idea right now, but there’s no future in it. You’ll be doing exactly the same thing twenty years from now, at almost the same pay. Without a college education, you won’t have any chance to better your situation, or to make a better life for yourself, or for a family.”

“You don’t know that,” he replied calmly, full of teenaged confidence. “And besides, that’s not what’s really bothering you, and we both know it. You don’t want me to move out of this house, and out of your life. Either admit the truth about that, or this conversation is over.”

I knew he was right; it really was the one aspect of this whole situation that filled me with suffocating terror. He was my life, my reason for existing. I couldn’t begin to imagine what I’d do, who I’d be, without him. What could it hurt for me to admit that to him, and to myself?

Trying to regain some measure of composure, I wiped my eyes and nodded. “Alright. I agree, that is probably the most important part of it for me. Is that so wrong? I’m your mother. I love you. I want to take care of you and look after your needs so that you can concentrate on making a future for yourself. I.... I can’t bear the thought of losing you, not yet, anyway....”

Kyle gave me a hard look. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that,” he said at last. “I’m a man now, and I’m tired of living in my mommy’s house, under my mommy’s wing. I need a place of my own. A place where I’m the boss. I want to live with a woman who’ll do what I say, when I say it.”

My tears started up again, largely because I knew, as cruel as his sentiments seemed to be, they were true. I didn’t know what else to say. “Please....” I begged, knowing my effort was wasted. “Isn’t there anything I can do to make you happy here with me?”

And then he smiled. It was a calculating expression, one that sent a chill of fear down my spine. I was afraid of what he’d say next, and it turned out that I wasn’t wrong to feel that way.

“Well,” he said through that smile. “There might be one thing you could do that would possibly –not definitely, you understand– but possibly make me change my mind. I won’t guarantee that I’ll stay even if you do it. I’ll only say that it would make staying with you and going to school a little more attractive a prospect.”

I recognized this ploy. Steven used to make me these kinds of “offers”. Either I gave him exactly what he wanted, in which case my situation got only marginally worse, or I denied him (never for long), and things got much worse indeed. As I stated earlier, Kyle was indeed his father’s son. And we both knew I was powerless to refuse him anything he really wanted.

I didn’t even bother to protest. What would’ve been the point?

“Please tell me,” I said through my continuing tears, steeling myself for whatever price my son would demand of me. “I’ll do anything you want.”

His smile grew larger as he got up from his chair, and came to sit beside me on the couch. He gently turned my face up to look into his own handsome features. “You love me, don’t you, Mom?” he asked softly.

“More than anything in the world,” I choked out.

“And you’ve always done your best to see to my needs, right?”

“Always.” I was afraid I might know where all this was leading, but what choice did I have but to follow wherever he might lead? “I’ve always tried to please you and make you happy.”

“I see,” he pretended to ponder this for a moment, then continued. “Well, there’s one need you’ve never taken care of, Momma. And if you want me to stay here with you, that’s going to have to change. In fact, everything around here is going to have to change pretty drastically if I’m going to keep living here.”

“W....what need?” I stammered, fearing the worst. “I already told you I’ll do whatever you want.”

Kyle’s smile widened even further, and he said “Let’s just test that statement, shall we?”

With that, he placed his hand on one of my breasts, and began to fondle it possessively.

I froze in shock and horror. This was what I’d feared the most. Suddenly I was unable to respond, unable to breathe or think. My own son was playing with my breast, as if it, and I, were his personal property --and I was helpless to stop him.

Taking my lack of protest as acquiescence, he leaned over to kiss me. That was what finally got my mind working again. Before his lips found mine, I managed to make a tiny plea: “Please don’t.... Please don’t make me do this. It’s so wrong....I’m your mother. It’s incest....”

Kyle instantly released my breast, and pulled his head back to look me in the eye again, more sternly this time.

“I’m not going to make you do anything, Mother,” he leered. “You know what your choice is. Unless you want me to get up and leave right this minute, you’ll offer me what I want of your own free will. It’s up to you to convince me to stay; I’m not asking you for anything. And I’m not promising you anything, either. All I’m doing is giving you a chance to get what you said you wanted –how did you put it?– ‘more than anything in the world’. Now it’s up to you.”

It wasn’t a nightmare. This was really happening, and I had a terrible decision to make: surrender myself to my son unconditionally, or lose him forever. And I knew that he, like his father before him, wasn’t kidding in the least. What choice did I really have?

Through an ever-increasing river of tears, I bowed my head submissively and said yet again “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

Kyle laughed, as unmoved by my shame and horror and sadness as ever. “Is that any way for a woman to offer herself to a man? You know better than that. You’re going to have to try harder, Momma. You’ve got to convince me that you want to serve me that way. You need to offer yourself to me as property. Show me that both incest and slavery are what you really, really want. And I’ll give you just one more chance to get it right.”

Although my heart was breaking, and humiliation inflamed every inch of my body and mind, neither of us doubted what my response would be. Sobbing quietly, I stood up and began to undress. Kyle watched with bright anticipation on his face as I exposed myself. His eyes drank in the sight of my bared breasts, and the furry mound of my pubic hair.

Completely naked, I knelt on both knees in front of my son. “Please let me serve you, Kyle,” I whimpered, nearly choking on the hateful, shameful words. “I want to please you in every way. I want to belong to you totally. I beg you to commit incest with me, and let me be your slave. I swear I’ll obey your every wish, fulfill your every fantasy, if you’ll let me. Please.”

My cheeks burning with shame, I again bowed my head submissively, hoping with every fiber of my being that I’d done a good enough job, that I’d succeeded in pleasing his need to completely dominate me, his own mother.

He laughed again, this time with obviously sincere delight. He’d won, and we both knew it.

He took me by the upper arm, and pulled me up to sit beside him again. “Lean back, Momma, and spread your legs,” he ordered. “I want to inspect my property.”

I did as I was told, and braced myself for the indignity I knew was coming. My son didn’t disappoint. He leaned over my naked body and placed his mouth upon mine. I wanted to fight, to push him away, but I knew better. Instead, I parted my own lips, and accepted his tongue into my mouth.

My son, it seems, is quite an accomplished kisser. If anyone else had kissed me that way, so lovingly, so gently, I probably would have had an orgasm right then and there. But it wasn’t anyone else. All I felt was degradation. But make no mistake: I kissed him back with all the manufactured passion I could muster. It seemed to please him; the kiss lasted for what seemed like many long minutes before he broke it and sat back, a satisfied smirk on his handsome face.

“That was very good, Momma,” he said condescendingly. “Keep up that much enthusiasm, and you’ll make it very hard for me to leave you.”

He didn’t seem to require a reply; he had other things on his mind. His hand again found my breast, and my nipples involuntarily stiffened as he resumed fondling me. It wasn’t long before he replaced his hand with his mouth, and started sucking my tit. Against my will, it had the intended effect: I could feel my vagina becoming hot and moist as my traitorous body responded to his obviously-well-practiced ministrations. My breathing grew heavier, less stable.

I was quite unwillingly aroused by the time he finished with my breasts, but my son was in no hurry. He made a very leisurely inspection of my vagina, stroking the folds of my labia, inserting first one, and then another finger up inside my body, and lightly brushing my clitoris with his thumb. My hot wetness belied my conscious lack of desire; I could not deny that, shame and disgust and humiliation aside, my body had no qualms about committing incest with my son. Physically, I was tortured by the need to have a penis inside me, no matter whose. Quite unwillingly, I heard myself begin to moan softly.

“Momma likes that, eh?” Kyle whispered with undisguised glee.

“Unnh....” I let out a shuddering breath. What use in denial? “Yes, baby. That feels....wonderful.”

“Good,” he said. “You’ll like this, too, because I’ll enjoy it so much.”

He withdrew his fingers from my pussy and raised them to my face. Horrified, I didn’t move as he drew them across my lips. But I knew what he wanted, and I knew it was useless to refuse. Bracing myself, I parted my lips and allowed him to put his fingers in my mouth. I tasted my own vagina as I sucked them clean of my juices.

“Very good, Momma,” he said with a smile. Then he stood up and motioned for me to resume my kneeling position. This put my face on a level with his crotch, and I knew he’d decided it was time to get down to more serious matters. I watched with trepidation and self-loathing for my own weakness as he took off his shirt, revealing his muscular, nearly-hairless torso. He was quite well-built, I had to admit. I found it a little surprising that a young man so fine looking would even give a woman my age the time of day. Of course, I doubted that many teenaged girls would surrender themselves to him the way we both knew I would, and already had.

Then came his jeans and briefs. When he finally stood naked before me, even my shame and reluctance couldn’t prevent me from admiring his straining, erect penis. Perhaps it didn’t belong in a porno movie, but it was at least seven or eight inches long, and of impressive girth, maybe an inch and a half thick.

“Tell me what you want, Momma,” he said.

Knowing that I had no choice, I told him what he obviously wanted to hear: “May I please take you in.... in my mouth?”

“You want to drink my come?”

“Yes,” I whispered, and at that moment I felt myself surrendering any last vestiges of resistance. From this point on, I decided to submit to my son willingly, no matter what he might demand of me. It was clearly the only way to keep him. “Please let me drink your come....I beg you.”

“Very good, Momma. That’s what I like to hear,” he smiled down at me, then reached out to take the back of my head in his hand. “Here’s your reward for being such a good slave.”

With that, he pulled my head forward. I parted my lips, and took his penis into my mouth, symbolically demonstrating my acknowledgment of his complete dominance. As I began to slowly piston my head on his erection, I closed my eyes and simply accepted my new status as my son’s slave and property. And, oddly enough, as my submissive act of fellatio continued, I found myself enjoying the simple pleasure of performing oral sex upon the man to whom I belonged. By the time he began to moan softly in preparation for his orgasm, I found myself anticipating it as well. When I felt his penis swell and tremble on my tongue, I eagerly swallowed the jets of his semen as they fired down my throat. I drank my son’s come as the reward for service that he had claimed it was. I looked at it as his gift, and my privilege.

How quickly things can change! In the space of a few short minutes, I had gone from being an independent, single mother to being a willing incestuous sexual slave, a role I was determined to fulfill to the best of my ability. I had always loved my son. But now my love was truly unconditional.

He allowed his penis to slip from between my lips, and, with an honest twinge of disappointment, I let it go. “That was great, Momma,” he breathed. “Did you like swallowing my come?”

I looked up into his eyes, so that he might see the truth of my response. “Yes, Master,” I smiled at him. “I enjoyed it very much. Thank you.”

I could see from the look on his face that he was both surprised and delighted at my response. He sat down on the couch , and leaned over to kiss me again. This time, my response was not feigned. I was kissing my lover and my master, and I reveled in the sensation of doing so. When his hand touched and then cupped my breast, I placed my own hand lovingly over it to show my approval and my gratitude.

At last, sadly, his sweet lips and tongue parted from mine. “Do you want to serve me some more, Momma?” he asked me, as if to test whether or not my commitment to being his slave was really sincere.

“Yes, Master,” I replied, still smiling. “I want to serve you in any way you want me to, more than anything in the world. I beg you to let me please you.”

“Very good,” he repeated, and then he stretched out on his belly and spread his legs. “From now on, this is something you get to do every day, to demonstrate to both of us that you know and willingly accept your place as my property. I want you to learn to love doing it, and to want it, and to beg me to let you do it at every opportunity.”

Unsure of what he meant, but determined to submit to anything, any degradation or humiliation he might require of me, I willingly agreed. “Whatever it is, Master,” I said, “I promise to do it, and to want it, and to beg for it as often as pleases you.”

He sighed happily, then said “Lick my asshole, Momma. Show me that you know your place.”

For just a second, I was mortified at the thought. But then I realized that he was right. What better way for a slave to demonstrate her complete submission to her master? My son owned me, I was his property, and this was a fine opportunity for me to show my appreciation of that fact.

“Yes, Master,” I replied. “Thank you, Master.”

Gently, I reached out to part the cheeks of his buttocks to expose the tight brown pucker of his anus. My son was very fastidious about his personal hygiene, thank goodness, so I knew the experience would at least not be sickeningly grotesque. And, as far as the humiliation of performing such an act was concerned, I was more than willing to accept, and even embrace that.

I lowered my face between the cheeks of his ass, and lightly kissed, then licked his asshole. I was surprised to find that I wasn’t at all revolted by either the taste or smell of him. It was musky, manly, and it made me even hornier. Soon I was performing my duty with eager lust, licking and probing my son’s anus with even more desire than I had shown toward his beautiful penis. I wasn’t going to have to convince myself to want this every day. I loved it! And every time I felt him tremble with satisfaction, my own pleasure increased. I actually thought I might have an orgasm myself! But I resisted it, fought against it. This was about my son and master’s pleasure, not mine. He would decide when and how and if I received that level of personal fulfillment.

After what seemed like far too little time, he told me that was enough. With great reluctance, I sat back into my previous kneeling posture to await his next command. To my surprise, he leaned over to kiss me again, apparently not minding the taste of his own ass on my lips and tongue. His hand slipped down my naked belly and between my parted legs, which I forced apart even further to accommodate his exploration. His fingers found my vagina sopping wet, and he stroked me gently, covering his fingers with my juices. When he broke our kiss, and withdrew his hand, I did not need to be told what to do. I eagerly accepted his fingers into my mouth, and greedily sucked and licked my own vaginal secretions from my son’s hand, like the good slave and loving mother I so wanted to be.