I'm a pro writer, wrote the machina series, the Monkeyland series, among others. First love is porn because kink requires imagination. Viva l'maginación!
*****
"You and I need to have a little talk, young man."
Yeah, right, I thought.
Mom eyed me thoughtfully.
I was just 18, of a teenager's bent, rude, thoughtless, fuck the world.
I was immortal and I knew it.
What I didn't understand was that unless I treated everybody like human beings...I wouldn't be treated like a human being.
Mom came to a decision. She stood up, "Wait right here." She walked out the kitchen door and back up the driveway.
This was different. Usually it was a long lecture, blah, blah, blah...until I was so bored I acquiesced.
But, wait here?
So I did.
She was back in a minute.
"Put these on." She tossed a pair of handcuffs on the table. She was holding a switch in the other.
"What?"
Incredulous, that was the word that summed me up.
"I said, put those on."
"I'm not putting those on!"
Inside, I was getting pretty nervous. I mean, what the fuck was going on?
Mom said: "You put those on, behind your back, or I will use this switch to drive you from this house."
The glare in her eyes warned me that this was real.
So I put them on.
I was trembling, I had turned one way and the world turned the other, and I didn't know what else to do.
But she was my mom! Yes, I called her an old bitch, and lots of worse things, but she was my mother! She wouldn't do anything bad to me, right?
She came around behind me and made sure the cuffs were on tight.
Then she hoisted them upwards.
My arms bent upward in pain and I went on to tip toes.
"Hey!"
"Shut the fuck up you stupid, little shit."
Never, ever, had mom spoken to me like that. The words made my eyes grow bigger than the pain in my arms.
She pushed me towards the back door.
She opened the screen with my face and I tripped and almost fell on the drive.
"This way," she pushed me up the driveway.
I pranced in front of her, pain in my arm joints, my mind totally messed.
We approached the workshop.
I had never been in the workshop.
Well, when it was a garage I had, but dad had changed it into a workshop, kept the only key, and only he and mom had ever been in it.
They had been in it a lot. Sometimes they went back to the workshop and locked themselves in to have a long talk.
Sometimes they were angry at each other when they went back there. Sometimes they weren't. But whatever their moods, they came back from the workshop whistling.
Great, I thought I was going to be forced to sit and listen to a bunch of blah blah.
Mom lowered my arms long enough to fit key to lock, then I was pushed into the darkness.
Quickly, she locked the door.
We stood in darkness.
She didn't say anything.
Then I felt her hands guide me again. I was pushed against something. It was a weird shape. Being handcuffed and confused I couldn't make out what it was.
"Lean your face forward."
I did, and suddenly she pushed my head and something clamped across the back of my neck. My face was permanently pressed into what felt like a miniature toilet seat.
"Let me go!" I yelled.
The lights went on.
I couldn't look down, but I was standing, hands cuffed behind me, with my head clamped through a face-sized hole on some sort of weird-shaped table that was standing on end.
Mom came into view, faced me.
"This is the last time in your life that I will force you to do something. After this you will have to ask me."
"Ask you what? Let me go!"
She turned and went to the far wall and turned on a sound system.
She stared at the system for a second, then tossed over her shoulder: "Your father, when he was bad, always liked the Stones. 'I Can't Get No Satisfaction.' We should probably play something a bit more suitable for you, more in line with your temperament."
She pressed some buttons and Britney Spears started singing, 'Oops, I Did It Again.'
"Mom," I tried to speak with a reasonable tone. "You really need to let me go."
"I do, huh?"
She walked forward and stopped in front of me.
"Do you really know just how rude you've been to me?"
"Mom-"
"I try to keep us together since your father died. I work my finger to the bone, I keep the house, I do everything for you. And do you know how badly you treat me?"
"Mom-"
WHAP! She slapped me in the face. It was a hard slap, one that, had she made a fist, would have broken my nose. I mean, there was POWER in that slap.
I started to cry.
Mom stood there, watched me for a moment. I sensed that she softened, but not that I was going to get out of this stupid contraption.
"Hush now," she said softly.
In the background Britney went, 'Oops.'
I tried to stop crying, but it took me a few moments. It's not every day that a guy's mother gives him a world class slobber knocker.
Finally, I did, and that's when the world really started to come apart.
Mom went back to the rear wall, stood next to the sound system, and started undressing.
"Jeremy," she said, taking off her blouse, "I love you more than life itself."
She hung her blouse on a coat hanger, placed the hanger on a coat rack standing to one side. She was a small woman, but with large breasts.
And, seeing them in only a sheer, black bra, they were perfect breasts. Full, emphasized by her flat stomach, the nipples visible, the curve over the bra heaving very slightly with her deep breaths.
I had stopped talking and could only stare.
"More than your father, even. Your father understood this. Never was jealous, for he understood what a woman was, what drives the heart of a woman, what real love is."
She wiggled out of her pants, folded them over another hanger and placed that hanger on the tree.
"You, unfortunately, though you are of the same basic stripe, the same DNA, as your father, are totally idiotic. Calling your own mother, the mother whose womb stretched—to unbelievable lengths, I might add—that you might pop forth unto this world, a bitch, an asshole, and thinking, no doubt, that I was nothing but a stupid cunt."
"Mom..." my voice sounded like I was gargling.
"Shut, now, Jeremy dear."
She reached behind herself and unclasped her bra.
"And don't worry."
Her breasts fell into view. But they didn't fall much. They were in good shape, jutting forth with perky nips.
In spite of myself, my situation, my relationship to this woman...I felt the stirrings of a hard on.
"After tonight you won't be an idiot."
She slid off her panties.
"After tonight you will understand love. You will be like your father. You will have come to full potential."
"Mom-"
She turned up Britney, drowned me out, and sat down at a make up table.
I knew my mom was good looking. Heck, she turned heads like doorknobs when she walked down the street. But I had never seen her prepare herself for a man.
Slowly, enjoying herself, she applied make up. Gave her skin extra color. Highlighted her eyes with pencil, making them dark around the edges so that the fierce blue of them could truly shine forth. Finally, she put on red lipstick.
The kind of lipstick that made men think: BLOW JOB!
She stood up, turned to face me.
Bingo. I had a hard on.
She wasn't looking at me like a mother; she was looking at me like I was piece of meat.
She was cruel, proud, haughty, and ready for a meal. Ready to take a bite out of a man.
I instantly wondered how any man could be so foolish as to think that woman didn't own the world.
Hell, looking like she did, my mom owned the universe.
And I realized that she had looked this way to own my father.
And, a bit of fear within, she was looking this way to own me.
Oh, fuck. I began to struggle.
Mom turned the music down slightly, then bent at the waist. Her magnificent breasts leaned downward, and she slipped into a pair of high heels.
She stood up.
Oh...oh sweet mother of god.
She was beautiful.
Delicate curves showed her lustful nature.
Her body was a shining example of the perfection of woman.
"I am not a fan of high heels," she said. "But I know that men love them. Love the view of the ass, love the way the butt perks, which makes the woman counterbalance by thrusting the shoulders back, which emphasizes...the breasts.
"Or perhaps you would prefer me to refer to them as boobies? Titties? Something else?"
I didn't say anything. I knew I was redder than a beet driving a fire engine.
She sashayed towards me, every part of her body in a confident, sexy motion. She stopped in front of me.
Her eyes, so blue, swallowed me. Her lips, so red, made me so nervous I licked my own.
Her long, shoulder length, dark hair framed her perfect face.
Hard on, yes.
And, the unfortunate side effects of a hard on: I was incapable of coherent thought.
"Let me introduce you to your father's workshop.
She put her hands forward, gripped the sides of the contraption my face was stuck into, and began turning.
"The door, you have been through. It's sound proofed, as is the whole workshop."
And, if that wasn't enough, I knew that workshop was behind the house, far from the street, passersby, or even any nosy neighbors.
"There are the paddles. Your father didn't use them much, but I did, so he kept an extensive collection for me. 'Never a bruise, Alice,' he used to say to me. I was delighted to ignore him.
"This wall has our dildos, strap ons, butt plugs, and a few other odds and (she giggled) ends.
"Those doors there are to closets which hold costumes, things we needed to play good role games.
"And back to the front, or rear, the sound system, make up station, and so on."
