Crimes & Punishments

Beware: Contains BDSM and incest.

This is not the new story I referred to in my previous one, Bad Mother. Instead, here's a short three-parter until I finish the longer piece.

She was the hottest girlfriend I'd ever had – by far. She was also the prettiest. She exuded sensuality, she reeked of carnality, but not in a predatory way. Medium height, 5' 6", with very short, straight, glossy black hair in a pixie or tomboy cut, great legs, luscious 34C tits, dark aureola and huge, very dark nipples, by far the longest and largest I'd ever seen. A clean-shaved pussy, with a similarly fat clit and dusky, thick and long labia.

Her actual head was surprisingly small, but with beautiful hazel eyes, a cute nose, and a wide mouth with extremely thick natural lips. The mouth and lips seemed all the larger because of her small head. Which was her best feature? The combination of huge, dark gray nipples, aureola, labia and anal ring was significant. But so were the big lips, broad mouth, pixie-cut straight black hair, big tits, protuberant clit and satin smooth, perfect olive skin. Her best aspect? Impossible to say.

And yes, Janice was a born cocksucker. She loved cock – and cum. She craved humiliation and discipline for her errant behavior. She was insatiable for any and all sex, but not with a desperate, hysterical, nympho kind of energy. For her, it was all about submission and suffering to atone for her incorrigibly bad behavior and reprehensible, chronic character defects. She was the perfect package for me. My type, the whole deal. Hot and acquiescent.

Janice lived 90 minutes from me, a workable distance. We saw each other on two weekends a month. She lived with Matthew, her 18-year-old son, who was cute and sexy, like his 34-year-old mother. Mother and son lived in a modest but comfortable apartment. Between her husband's child support (he was an architect) and her teaching (music), they managed. Matt had bronzed curly hair, a great smile, and tight abs. He played on his school's soccer team. We had a great relationship. There was never any antagonism, jealousy or resentment from him.

They were both in great shape. Yes, she gave birth at 16. The new father had quickly left her, remarried and lived about an hour away in a neighboring state. Matt went to his father's home once a month, which gave his mother and me some welcome privacy and the opportunity for her to be subservient, nude and punished.

Janice was a highly sexed, hardcore submissive. Almost immediately after our relationship started, she became perversely rude, willful and taunting, always provoking me. She'd leave my phone messages unanswered, pick me up from the train station a half-hour late, bring me back to a messy apartment, act argumentatively, etc. She was, in effect, a bad girlfriend. But that factor went along with being a bad mother.

She made sure that it didn't take long for me to find her stashes of high quality, expensive bondage gear and sex toys in her walk-in closet, with its chest of drawers at the rear. To put it mildly, she was a longtime sub slut who craved subjugation and humiliation, with an incredibly high tolerance for pain. Jackpot.

According to her, she needed to be punished because she was such a bad mother, just as she was a bad girlfriend. And both were so true. Irresponsible, unthinking, forgetful, unreliable, unorganized, unmanageable. Flaky. She'd forget to pick Matt up after soccer practice, forget his birthday, forget to have cash for his allowance, forget to go shopping for dinner, etc. She was riddled with guilt by years of neglect and incompetence. She loved her son and was proud of Matt and wanted to be a perfect mother, but was anything but.

At first, Matt was frustrated, and embarrassed in front of his friends. Then, when he reached the age where he realized that his mom was the hottest of all his classmates' mothers, when he understood that she was

the

MILF, when he perceived that all the guys wanted to fuck her, he had a breakthrough.

He began looking at her in an entirely new way: kneeling in the garden, wearing short shorts and perspiring through her tight halter tops; languorously wrapping her big lips around a ripe juicy peach; slowly bending over to make his bed, legs widespread while wearing cutoff jean shorts, frayed ripped and fill of holes; sensually rubbing his shoulders, back, chest and thighs after a soccer match; standing in the kitchen on a weekend morning, bed-headed and yawning, cooking him a special breakfast of pancakes and veggie bacon while wearing a sheer baby doll; hugging him goodbye tightly, but not adjusting her posture when his groin would press against her thigh or groin. Soon enough, he wanted to fuck her as much as—no, more than—any of his friends.

But he still wanted to punish her for her egregiously bad behavior. Over the years, he'd tried all kinds of techniques to make her a better mother: a whiteboard on the kitchen wall, talks with guidance counselors, writing appointments and events in a daily calendar he bought for her, etc. But she'd forget to take the calendar with her, or if she carried it, she'd forget to check it. So the only solution was to discipline her. And she knew it. She'd been making allusions to punishment for a couple of months, telling him stories of how her father had been a strict enforcer. She described the scenes in detail: how, from a young age, she'd strip down to her underwear in front of her father and get on the floor on hands and knees. How he'd almost immediately switched from a hairbrush to his leather belt. How he'd admired her high tolerance for pain.

Janice brazenly taunted Matt, trying to provoke him, indulging in even more outrageous examples of bad parenting. "Who's going to stop me?" "If only there were a man around the house." "I'll do as I please." So Matt knew he'd have to discipline his mother, which made him hard.

Janice and I had been seeing each other for a couple of months, during which Matt became eighteen. I soon realized that one guy, one Master, would never be enough for her. I'd begun to notice increasingly seductive moves on her part toward her good-looking son. Janice knew he didn't have a girlfriend, although there were plenty of girls who wanted him. I didn't have a problem with her lusting for her son; I didn't have any issues or judgments about keeping her next Dom in the family. I liked Matt a lot, and our lives would be easier with him as her other Master, rather than vetting a stranger or a series of them.

At first, she'd leave the bathroom door ajar when showering when Matt was at home, or she would serve breakfast to us wearing a thin nightgown without a robe. She would lean over to serve Matt at the table, showing off her phenomenal tits in a low-cut blouse. She'd wear those cut-off jeans, so scandalously low that they barely covered her mons. And see-through or ridiculously tight tops. She'd play with her food, sucking in a baby carrot or licking a penne pasta tube, teasing him with an air of innocence. Phallic-shaped bottles of lotions littered her bathroom counter.

One Saturday, she opened her laundry hamper and noticed an aroma. She rooted around and found a pair of her tiny satin panties, weighted with a huge load of her son's thick, creamy cum. The discovery thrilled her. Every couple of days, she'd find a different pair heavily loaded with Matt's spunk.

One night I went to bed before her, but woke up an hour later and walked barefoot to the dimly lit kitchen, where I saw her standing nude at the table in profile to my vantage point, her smooth dark skin glistening from the hot, humid summer night, leaning over with her legs spread wide, her hands clasped behind her back as if bound at the wrists, like a bondage cum slut, lapping up Matt's cold cum from her slutty panties, her long agile tongue slurping it up, savoring the taste and swishing it around her big mouth before swallowing, her nose and cheeks blotched with the thick spunge. Once she's slurped it all up, she straightened up and heavy gobs of jism dripped off her nose and chin to splatter over her tits. It was a disgustingly lurid, depraved sight. And it got me hard.

She moved her hands from behind her back, circled one hand around the base of a tit and squeezed outward, pushing the cum toward her nipple till the white goo fell off and dropped into her other hand, cupped and waiting beneath her breast. Then she'd raise that hand to her mouth, greedily lick up the residue and repeat the motions on her other breast, leaving both tits and nipples completely coated with a sheen of cum. All this in plain view in the middle of the kitchen, where her son could silently walk in, barefoot, to see the shameless spectacle. Only then did it occur to me that she might be hoping to be discovered by Matt, followed by an immediate and strict chastisement. She imagined that after her discipline, he would tit fuck her, since her mounds were already greased with his spunk, and shoot a fresh load of hut cream onto her face and chest.

Several days later, her sordid cum-slut craving became even more outrageous. Around midnight, the beep of the kitchen microwave woke me. I padded silently to the dim kitchen, peering from behind a doorframe. No more cold cum for the slut mother. She took a steaming bowl out of the microwave, sat at the table, and lifted a pair of panties from the bowl and up above her head, sucking her son's hot cum as it slid down the fabric, dipping three fingers into the sodden underwear and shoving all three fingers into her mouth, slurping and sucking shamelessly, uncaring about how the thick jism dripped off her lips and chin onto her bare tits and thighs.

Or, Janice would wish Matt goodnight in his bedroom, wearing a thin baby doll that was two sizes too small, tight in the bust and short in the thigh, her dark wide aureoles and fat nipples plainly visible. She'd sewn the fabric so the top ended at her toned midriff, leaving the panties exposed, so tight in the front that her shaved mons and cameltoe was clearly defined, so brief in the rear that part of her tight ass cheeks was bare.

She'd bend down and pick up the clothes, empty bags of chips, books and magazines around his bed, commenting on the men's magazines she found. This gave her the opportunity to sit on his bed and have explicit discussions about what girls liked and disliked, how a boy should act firmly, decisively and commandingly, how girls liked to tease, provoke and test the limits with boys. She included plenty of vernacular in these talks – like "tits," "hand job," "blowjob" "pussy-licking," "cockteasing" and "cuming," which naturally aroused Matt till he was aching for his mother to leave so he could jack off, fantasizing about her.

She asked, "Why don't you have a girlfriend, or several?"

Boldly, he answered, "There isn't any girl as remotely hot as you, Mom. You're my perfect type, the sexiest mother of anyone I know. I can talk to you about anything." He admitted that he fantasized about her. Through this confession, he could see her clearly growing hot and bothered. She pressed him about the details of his fantasy, but he wouldn't say. Abruptly, she left his room, hiding the grin on her face, eager to hurt and pleasure herself in her bedroom.

Any teenage boy would respond to her increasingly sluttish behavior, especially since it was summer in a hot, humid climate. During the week, when I wasn't there, Matt began to walk around the apartment bare-chested, showing off his bronze skin and trim physique. He'd casually enter the bathroom while she was showering, pretending to need toothpaste or floss. The shower wall was neither pebbled nor glazed, so the only thing which prevented him from seeing her completely was steam and condensation on the glass partition. She never objected. He became bolder, patting her ass, forcefully pulling him to her when arriving or departing and kissing her on her big lips, not her cheeks.

One Saturday night, before she and I went out, she'd left a folder on her bed, filled with erotic photos she'd asked me to take of her, wearing sexy lingerie and posed in lewd and submissive ways. Matt beat off to the images all week long.

Exactly one week after leaving the first tame folder of photos for Matt to find, she left another folder on her make-up table, much more wanton and exciting, where she'd gone the next step, exposing her tits and ass, spreading her lips around a vanilla creamsicle, her sweat-covered face aroused in ecstasy, a glistening dildo lying on the bed next to her. Using the new photo set, Matt again jerked off daily.

That week, while sunbathing at the pool, she'd lie in a corner where the neighbors couldn't see and ask Matt to slather her with sunblock, which was either thick oil or white cream, never spray. Soon she took the cockteasing to a new level. On a Friday evening, she left a drawer in her dresser open by a few inches. Inside was a stack of bondage photos of her, by me. Upon our return that night, we had proof of Matt's snooping. Although he had attempted to return the photos in the identical order, a number were out of the sequence we'd carefully arranged.

She told me that a few days later, during the week, she'd been straightening up his bedroom after he'd left for school when she'd seen several bondage magazines under his bed. All the covers featured mature brunettes like her and were splattered with the residue of his cum. The scent was intoxicating to her. Fascinated, she sat on his bed and tried to open the magazine with the cover submissive who most resembled her. But the pages were so sticky that she had to force it open, ripping several pages in her haste. She knew that Matt would know she'd been snooping and found his stash.

Inside was a pictorial with a sultry, busty, short-haired brunette MILF, her features resembling Janice, her big tits bound and marked, her fat nipples clamped by a much younger man. Unable to resist, she looked through the entire article, which ended with the woman kneeling, her dark hair, sweat-drenched face and whipped tits coated with streaks of thick white gunk. She was shocked – and highly excited. Sitting on Matt's bed, she started getting herself off by slapping her tits, graduated to smacking her pussy, and finished by pumping three fingers into her cunt while wringing her nipples.

That evening, a Tuesday, Matt arrived home unusually late. Janice had already changed into one of her slutty, inappropriate baby dolls. As soon as he entered, she asked him to come upstairs to his room. She sat down on his bed and he walked in, standing in front of her, his groin at her eye level. "Where did you get these?" she demanded, brandishing the BDSM magazine.

"From friends," he said, delighted that his scheme had worked. "I know all about it now. I assume that you studied each and every page in every issue, right?"

She swooned with arousal, avoiding his eyes in shame. "You shouldn't know about this," she said weakly – and hypocritically.

"Why not? Last Saturday night, I came home quietly. I saw you kneeling in your bedroom, your tits all roped and marked, nipple chains hanging, sucking his dick. You loved it." Now Matt understood she might have left her bedroom door open on purpose.

But Janice lost it. Without thinking, she reached up and slapped Matt's left cheek with her right hand. When Matt saw her move to slap his other cheek with her other hand, he tried to grab her wrists and they tussled. The neckline of her taut baby doll ripped. He yanked her up to her feet, pushed her against the railing at the foot of her bed and forced her arms behind it, grabbing the belt from his bathrobe, joining her wrists and tying them together behind the railing. Her big tits were tilted up and her toned legs had extended out, spread wide. The ripped baby doll had slid down several inches, the tops of her heaving tits thrust out at him. She was crazed with excitement and lust.

"How dare you slap me?" he said, and slapped one of her heavy tits and then the other. "Obviously, bondage runs in the family. So if you got off on being a slut to your father, you'll love doing it again with your son. I guess I'm just like Grandfather."

"Who do you think you are? Let me go." She continued her protestations, squirming and putting on a show. Matt grabbed the belt from another bathrobe and bound it around her tits, remembering the path from the magazine photos he'd studied. Once the belt was secured, he grabbed the chiffon-like fabric and ripped it off her tits, ogling the bulging, heaving mounds and the incredible nipples.

He needed something to clamp and weight those obscenely thick long nubs. Ignorant of her BDSM toy drawers, he ran to the kitchen, where he yanked open a drawer and removed several implements. Rushing back to his bedroom, he held up two plastic clamps, used to seal bags, and let the strong springs close over his mother's massive nipples. Janice screamed and came so hard that some of Matt's cum from the panties dribbled out between her lips, falling to her tits and sliding down to the tormenting clamps before dripping onto her taut abs.

But there was still more to add to recreate Janice's lurid scene as a teen on her knees, servicing her father. Matt attached a large, heavy metal carabiner to each of the clamps. Janice groaned in pain at the heavy weights, which bent and pulled her nipples. She was astounded at how much Matt was doing to her, and how fast. He was a natural Dom, just like the other men in her family. But she didn't anticipate his next punishment.

He'd remembered last Halloween, when she'd dressed as a jockey, and now he held up the jockey's leather crop that she'd used. The debased mother mewled in alarm. Matt slashed the crop into her tits, setting the carabiners to swinging wildly, the heavy tit flesh yielding inward to the force of the leather, the breasts wobbling from the impact, the two mounds swaying against each other or in unison, depending on how he struck them. After a half dozen strokes to each tit mound, her globes were well marked and she orgasmed again.

Matt had acted naturally, without even thinking. He derived immense pleasure from controlling her, from impressing upon her that years of bad motherhood were no longer acceptable, that there had to be an accounting, that the consequences would be ongoing, that from now forward she would be obedient to his every wish and subservient to his cock.

Without giving her time to recover, Matt yanked down his pajamas, knelt on a chair for height, and placed his dick on her lips and pushed. Her meaty lips instantly parted. Although a typical 6 inches, his shaft was unusually thick, but that was no problem for his mother, the experienced cocksucker. He face-fucked her for a couple of minutes and then exploded into her mouth, spurting the biggest load she'd ever taken, even bigger than her father's.

Matt's thick cock shot so long and so many times that, despite her avid swallowing, there was no way she could take it all. Clumps fell out of her mouth and splattered heavily all over her cropped tits. Finally he pulled out, leaving several long tendrils of cum and spit hanging from her lips before they splattered on her inflamed tits. Mother and son were both gasping, stunned at the ferocity and rapidity of both their first bondage together, first cropping and clamping, and first cocksucking.

"You know that you have to be punished for not swallowing all of my cum, right?" She nodded mutely, her saturated cunt aching for his handsome cock, which was already hardening again. "I'll take care of that punishment tomorrow," he promised.

Temporarily untying the ropes, he roughly swung her around until she was lying on the bed, her front facing up, pulled her legs till her torso lay flat on the bed and retied her wrists above her head to the railing. He pulled two long black leather shoelaces from a pair of his boots, tied the ends to the carabiners, and fastened the other ends tight to the railing at the head of the bed, lifting her heavy tits off her ribcage and stretching the tortured nipples till they were an obscene 1 1/2 inches in length.