Mommy Training

He owns me! He forced me to say it to him, and to finally admit it to myself. "Yes, I belong to you. My body is yours. I am your slave and sex-toy."

It's degrading, humiliating and depraved. I lay here on the carpet; my dark hair disheveled, and falling sweaty and loose on my bare shoulders. What's left of my mascara and lipstick is a faded streaky mess smeared across my tear-stained face. My watery lashes distort the image of the man sitting above me like a king on his throne.

His commands to me come in deliberate, staccato bursts. I understand now that there will be no release and no going back. I still have on one slinky four-inch black pump. The mate to this beautiful heel is across the room, thrown-off in my last, desperate refusal to surrender. My sheer stockings are a ripped and saggy reminder of how sexy I appeared only a few short moments ago. And now this "look" is sexy only to him. The rest of my outfit; short skirt, tight blouse and satiny undies have been discarded. He used scissors to shred my bra and panties.

I'm spread open wide, on the floor below him, having been ordered to strum the fingers of my right hand through the curly, wiry hair of my vagina. Obediently, my slender fingers rub through the dark v-shaped patch of my trimmed mound and the heel of my hand abrades the swollen hood covering my clit. The pink polish on my nails glisten with the moisture oozing from my folds and the coarse, black hairs shine as the wetness spreads.

He has directed me to use my left hand to squeeze and tug at my large breasts. He has a special fascination with my c-cups. I have been told repeatedly that my boobs should be "available" to him at all times, and now after I was caught wearing a bra, I face today's discipline.

I was compelled to lick my long fingers and then pinch and twist my nipples, stretching and torturing them until tears came to my eyes. I then had to lift my breasts, one at a time, and suckle the aroused tips into my mouth, slobbering saliva on my creamy white globes. After kissing them and massaging the moisture all around my chest, I had to present them to him for inspection and declare my total subservience to his dominion over me. He instructs me to use crass, vulgar terms to describe sensual acts and calls me the most vile names imaginable. I have never liked hearing these lewd terms, and now I use them as casual conversation to detail my anatomy to him. My body reacts to this degradation with an extreme sexual response. I desire more of it.

"My big tits belong to you, Master. I want you to squeeze them and suck them. I've been bad today and I know you must punish me until I learn to behave." It has happened again. I laid on my back, naked. Totally exposed and entirely at his mercy, and I was the one apologizing and begging for his cruel punishments.

He was right. It must be true. He said they were my inner-most fantasies. I must have wanted this all along. It was a release to finally accept it. I needed someone aggressive to wholly dominate me. To permit me to become the sexual slave and servant that my body desires. My fantasies and late night masturbations were always strongest when I conjured a man forcing me to obey his crude, filthy demands.

"He commands me. He owns me. He fucks me whenever he desires, and...He's my son!"

How did all this start, you ask? I really don't know. It wasn't like one night he just chained me to a bed and said, "I'm going to make you my fuck-slave."

Now that I look back, I can see that it built-up slowly. Late-night talks, a back-rub, alcohol, dirty movies...I can't say if it was all a sinister plot. I don't know if he intended to seduce me or condition me for this. I have to admit that the feelings were all there inside of me but I swear, I never dreamed that they could bubble to the surface. Sex with my son. To be a slave, submissive to all his prurient demands.

Every woman has a rape fantasy, right? To be on your knees humiliated and defiled? Your hair pulled and clothes ripped from your body? And a big, strong, good-looking man to demand your obedience and force himself upon you. Being called a slut and a tramp.

And then your baby boy grows-up to be 6'3" with dark hair and smoky eyes. Two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle and charm. Then after his divorce he moves back home with his widowed mother. They get along like roommates and re-form a tight bond. He exercises shirtless, lounges late at night mixing cocktails and massaging my tired joints. We watch movies together, (sometimes dirty,) and discuss things that adults, naturally talk about. It was very intimate and disarming. I notice the smile, the wavy brown hair, that massive chest and large biceps. Any woman would be attracted. And sometimes I wonder...

His image began appearing to me in the night. Fantasies and dreams flow wherever they want. I never actually fantasized about him, but in the course of pleasuring my lust, his face would pop-up. I found myself wanting to be physically closer to him, hoping that he would notice me and more and more engaging him in sexual banter. I caught him stealing the occasional glimpse of my cleavage or my backside in tight outfits. It was a strange but addictive feeling.

I should probably never have leafed through the porn magazines that he left in the bathroom or on the coffee table. And maybe not watched the x-rated movies while drinking side-by-side. But I was lonely and alittle horny, too. A mother doesn't just cease to exist when she's 38 years old, widowed and alone. And I swear, I never saw it coming. Only odd hints along the way that a mom doesn't easily recognize of her son.

We watched a movie one night in which the women were exaggerated MILFy caricatures. Doing their housework in pearls and silk blouses. Perfect make-up and enormous yet perky boobs. Perfect families and stone mansions. Then the pool-boy, repairman and mailman gang-bang her until time for her to put supper on the table.

I smirked into my martini (how decadent), and my son wrapped a big beefy arm around my shoulders and kissed my cheek. "Mom, you're sexier than any of those chicks." I blushed abit and silently enjoyed the compliment. I should have let it drop there, but for whatever reason, I tiptoed down the rabbit-hole. "Don't tell me you prefer sweatpants, ponytails and these natural old boobs to those slinky centerfold-types." I would like to have believed it was the alcohol talking and a complete stranger answering ( better yet, ignoring me,) bot no.

He nonchalantly squeezed my breast over my flannel shirt, t-shirt and bra. "I'd rather have these tits any day." He gave them both a gentle pinch and headed off to his room.

Whoa! I was left with the movie credits, an empty drink and a head-full of confused innuendos. And a very suspicious tingle tickling my inner thighs. Confusion rained down on me.

A few nights after that, I was in the shower shampooing my full, black mane. Warm water and suds caressed my body as I lathered-up, and the stereo played soft jazz in the background. The door was closed but unlocked, (it was only my son and I in the house, afterall.) But for the first time ever, he walked right in and proceeded to the sink where he washed and prepared to shave. I was taken aback, peering through the frosted glass doors. He was wearing only gym shorts and his muscles rippled from a recent work-out. The hot water had slicked-back his hair and a light stream trickled down his toned abdomen and slowly darkened the waistband of his shorts outlining the shape of his obscenely large cock pressing against the porcelain. My eyes were drawn to that mountain in his pants. It looked like he was shoplifting an eggplant. My mind screamed, "stop this now!" I rinsed and realized that I had to undertake the delicate procedure of stepping naked from the shower or asking my son to bring me my robe. I shut off the water and held my breath for a second as a flood of embarrassing scenarios played out in my imagination. My body, warm and supple only minutes ago, now was tense, rippled with goose-bumps and beginning to sweat. I froze in place instantly as the shower door slid open in it's track. My son stood directly infront of me, blocking any escape route, and for the longest half-second of my life, he scanned every last inch of my exposed flesh.

I panicked, completely lacking for words and trying frantically to cover my tits, pussy and rear-end with only two hands and one washcloth. (It cannot be done!) When my eyes met his, I saw his little boy smile and his arms preparing to wrap a fluffy, white towel around me and my soft terry-cloth robe slung over his arm. As he bundled me up, I felt his big hands cup my breasts and when I stepped out of the stall I brushed against his firm erection, now clearly visible bulging in his shorts.

"Mom, I knew you had great tits! You should show them off more often." With one more squeeze, this time inside my robe, he kissed me sweetly again and then left. I was shocked. For a brief instant, I believed I wanted him to stay. I also think I may have allowed my robe to "accidently" slip to the floor.

I spent an extremely restless night in bed and used a long, thick dildo and a vibrating egg to smother the fire in my snatch and finally drift off to a torturous slumber. My dreams were filled with dark, incestuous musings. When I woke up, my pussy came awake, also. Before I could slip out of bed, with my damp, sex-scented nightgown tangled above my hips, my thoughts were already running to my son's forbidden cock. The image of it's hardness haunted me.

"Was it hard because he saw me in the shower? Or did he get hard knowing that he was going to open that door and catch me off-guard? Or was he just a normal guy with normal reactions in an embarrassing moment, complimenting his mother, and "am I losing my fuck'n mind?"

My vagina was warm and wet. And my legs were like jelly as I stumbled to the bathroom. I returned for my dildo and eased into a warm, sudsy bath. (This time being certain to lock the door.) My fingers worked my clit furiously as the firm, rubber plaything plowed into my aching cunt. Why was I having these erotic visions of my son taking me for his own? I'm lonely. I'm horny. And I'm starting to listen to the lusty cravings of my "inner slut."

A few days of uncomfortable exchanges followed. At least for me. I noticed that he wasn't making comments or offering compliments to me. Or was I only becoming more paranoid? I was thinking about him constantly. Was he thinking about me? Was that a quick glance I noticed? Is he disappointed that I'm not showing more skin? Am I going crazy!?

That evening after a long work day for us both, we settled in to watch some t.v. He mixed some drinks while I changed my clothes. I purposely wore a man's loose fitting shirt, but for some reason, I consciously chose to forego a bra. I had on baggy shorts with bare legs and he wore only sweats and a tank-top that emphasized his broad chest and powerful arms. We slumped together on the couch. My legs were stretched over his lap since he always rubbed the kinks from my sore thighs and calves. We clinked glasses and scanned the channels for entertainment. I was excited to have him close to me again.

Late night television being what it is, he soon suggested a porno. Is this a come-on? Should I say no? Am I too nervous to watch cheap, sleazy movies with a grown man, even if he is my son? Am I thinking way too much?

The flick started: another innocent housewife cornered in her home, then suddenly compliant and willing with a well-hung young stud. Again, my mind went into overdrive. I stole a few peeks at my son. He had a healthy laugh and smile. And he made the appropriate lewd comments during the raunchiest scenes.

I was being drawn into the movie also. And at certain points, oral scenes especially, the temperature in the room seemed to be rising. Then it occurred to me. His left hand had gradually snaked it's way up my legs and for about five minutes, he had been firmly kneading my upper thighs. His right hand was stuffed in his trousers obviously fondling his erection.

The screen action was a mom on her knees, getting pounded from behind by her son. His hands groped at her free swaying tits and he called her slut and whore. My own son was entranced. Both hands were working feverishly with who-knows-what going through his head. My thoughts were even more muddled.

I didn't say anything at that moment, I acknowledge now I should have stopped this right then. Instead I allowed my legs to spread wider giving him an open view and easy access to my steaming pussy. I felt excited by his touch and a little kinky for encouraging him. Then I caught his warm brown eyes ogling me. "You seem to be enjoying the movie, Mom. I'm glad to see you gave up on the bra, you should stop wearing them all together. Those tits are too nice to hide.

It was then that I could feel my stiff nipples straining at the material of my shirt. My labored breathing caught at my throat, "you...you looked like you were in to that scene too." Now I attempted to cross my legs, seeing that this had gone a little far, and I folded my arms across my chest. But he was way too quick and feeling quite bold. His one hand wedged itself at my "Y." The other hand yanked his huge, veiny cock from his pants and stroked it deliberately. I could feel his fingers playing at the curly, black hairs of my snatch. And he motioned towards my chest, "Mom, why don't you take off that shirt so I can see those big jugs again? You can't watch porn fully dressed."

I was stunned but also aroused. For a moment I just froze. I didn't know what I wanted and from that moment I'm afraid, I allowed my son to start making decisions for me. The transformation was taking fold. I made a slight movement to shift my weight, relaxing my legs. He pounced on the opportunity. Suddenly his big paw had a grip on my pussy. Those thick fingers toyed with my clit and lips. He released the hold on his cock, letting me see it in all it's engorged glory. He reached for the tail of my shirt and with one lightning motion, yanked at the front, scattering the buttons around the room and ripping the material to rags.

He saw through my façade and discovered that I wanted to be dominated. He sensed instinctively to take control and I would then cower at his feet. A sex slave pleading to be subdued.

I absently moved to cover-up and for the first time ever, he raised his voice at me in a stern, demanding tone. "Stop! Don't move. I want to taste those big tits, come here and feed them to me." Before I could react, he grabbed a handful of my mahogany locks, and pulled me onto his lap. My eyes grew wide but my voice remained mute, and my resistance for some reason, failed me. He kept two fingers toying at my clit and with the other hand holding me firm, he commanded, "squeeze those big tits and offer them to me, one at a time. Beg me to suck them."

I was in a panic. A sexual fog. My vagina was heating up. The juices beginning to smolder like a witch's cauldron. The sticky wetness started to ooze down his fingers and puddle between my thighs. I sat perched atop his rigid pole. "Do it now," he ordered. I dutifully obeyed. Taking both boobs in my hands, feeling dirty and on fire, I brought them up to his wet lips. I expected at any second to see his long, serpent's tongue slither out to ravage me. Instead, I got a sharp smack on the ass and a strict, concise lecture.

I said "offer them to me. Make it good and sexy or there will be more spankings." He then ripped the shorts from my hips leaving me totally naked and at his mercy. I was lost for guidance, hesitant and unsure. This strange blend of subservience and deviance danced in my mind. His gigantic cock, stiff and impossibly thick began storming into my soaked cunt.

"Incest," my brain screamed at me! My nipples were little bullets longing to be sucked, my pussy was making squishing noises, yearning to engulf his mammoth tool. "Gawd, can I possibly give-in to the desires and commands of my son? He is going to fuck me. My pussy is so hot it aches. How can this be happening? THWACK! He spanked me again. This time harder, leaving a large red mark on my butt-cheek. And he raised his arm back for another when I shouted, "Wait please." I cupped my boobs again, tweaking the nipples between my fingers and presenting them to his hungry eyes. "Please Master," I started, "Please suck my big tits and use me however you please. Fuck me, eat me, rub me. Maker me cum. I'm yours. I want you to teach me to be your slave. Show me what you like and I'll do it. I want only you. You own me.

What the hell came over me? I have no idea and only one explanation. The thrill was electric and the taboo was too exciting to ignore. The alarm bells failed to ring. He knew he had me. I called him Master, for heavens sake. My hips were thrusting up to greet his great phallic monster and I wanted all of it. I am his slut!

He sucked greedily at my tits and it wasn't long before I felt that tug on my hair again. This time I was placed on my knees between his thighs and told to beg for the privilege of taking his meaty cock in my mouth. I did it again. "Please Master, allow your slave to suck your giant cock. I want to taste your semen and feel you deep in my throat." I'll never understand what got into me (aside from his cock,) but I was turned-on by the submission and with each order, I felt sexier and sluttier. I was about to suck my son's cock and my pussy erupted.

"You're mine now, Mom. You belong to me. And you're gonna fuck me and suck me whenever I say. There will be no more bras and you'll war only heels. I want you to talk dirty and describe every thing you do for me." He was feeling exalted with his power and I was excited with the total absence of any morality or control.

My body convulsed and my orgasms mounted continually as I recognized my position here. On my knees with my son's cock ramming away at me and it's complete bliss. I slobbered on his cock trying to accustom myself to it's amazing girth and length. The training began in earnest as I hungrily devoured this incestuous cock. "You will be my little slut, now. Those sweet jugs belong to me. I'm going to bite them and pinch them as I please and you will always have them ready for me. I'll fuck you five or more times a day and on your periods, I'll fuck your ass. You will learn to give the perfect blowjob and never spill a drop of my cum unless I decide to splooge on your tits or face. Now let's go to your bedroom, I want to fuck you for the rest of the night. He knew exactly what he wanted and if he was just making it up, it didn't matter as I was agreeing to everything. I was delirious with relief. Just make me cum and I'm yours.

In total confusion, I rose as ordered. He called me a dirty slut and a filthy whore, and marched me towards the steps. I skipped excitedly upstairs chased by his big hands slapping and pinching my jiggling, rosy ass. My only thought was to keep this feeling alive in me and only my son could fulfill my desires. As we scrambled into the room, he pushed me forward onto the edge of the mattress and wasted no time driving his pre-lubed cock into the gaping entrance of my steaming hole. (I was alerted to refer to all my body parts by their crudest names.) He reached under me and grasped my tits, almost pulling them off my chest. He tugged my hair, arching my back and presenting a waiting target for that enormous cock. Then the slickened, helmeted prick began to bang away at my sodden cunt.

I could see that we were about to recreate the movie scene, my son raping his mother's starving pussy. He took firm control. He twisted my reddening nipples and clamped down firmly on my fleshy jugs. "I want these big firm tits," he repeated. "They belong to me. They're no longer yours. Tell me you understand. Tell me your mine, you dirty slut." With each sentence he pounded that mammoth rod inside me , aiming I guess for my cervix. He was jamming me into the box springs and calling me the nastiest names. "Tell me how much you need me to fuck you, you cheap whore! Only a slutty tramp would beg her son to fuck her, right whore? Take it deep and show me how you love my fat cock."