Taboo: A Memoir Ch. 10

Mom and I made dinner together. She cooked corn-on-the-cob and a Spanish omelet. I made a weed salad and cut up the watermelon for dessert. For once, mine turned out better than hers. She didn't realize how hot the salsa was and put too much in the omelet. To cool our mouths we had to take a big bite of watermelon after each little bite of omelet. Our eyes were watering and our noses running. Actually it was fun.

But when she apologized, it gave me an idea. "That's all right," I said gravely. "But of course you will have to be punished."

"Punished? How?" She was shocked but intrigued.

I tried to sound like a British judge. "I should think whipping would be appropriate."

She was appalled but a blush showed she was also excited. "Whipping is unconstitutional. Cruel and unusual punishment."

"It would only be cruel if I used the bullwhip."

"What are you going to use?"

"The gun belt."

"Oh...that sounds very kind," she said. "Why are you being so merciful?"

"Because we don't have a bullwhip."

"Oh. I guess I should be grateful. But it's still unconstitutional because it's unusual. You can't deny it's unusual for a boy to whip his mother."

"It would only be unusual if you were hanging from your heels."

"Oh. Where will I be hanging from?"

"Your wrists...the usual way."

"Oh. It's still pretty severe...just for too much salsa."

"Maybe you need a Public Defender."

"Maybe you need to do the cooking!"

"I made the salad. Did you burn your mouth on it?"

"No, but...the salsa was an accident."

"Did the bottle break and the salsa just spill in?"

"No." She was pouting now.

"You poured it in...but you poured in too much. Right?" I tried to cross-examine her as compassionately as justice would allow.

She dipped her chin in a curt nod.

Now that I had this admission, I pressed the prosecution. "That's not an accident, that's an error. And errors must be punished."

"Why?" she asked defiantly.

"Because it's the law," I intoned. "And without law we would have anarchy...chaos...the whole social order would break down. Then who knows what might happen. Sons might even pull down their mothers' pants...and whip their bottoms."

"No! We can't have that." She shook her head, finally convinced by my stern logic. "That would be the worst thing that could ever happen. Well...if it's a choice between those two things...I guess...I'll have to take my punishment." She raised her chin bravely, then bowed her head in submission to the court's judgment.

"First you have to wear the prisoner's uniform," I told her.

"What's that?"

"Not much." I went to the closet, brought back the western duds to the table, and held up the fringed leather vest. "Just this."

Diana stood with downcast eyes while I stripped her. My heart leaped up as ever to see her nude. She raised her arms and let me slip the vest on her; I was relieved that it didn't conceal much at all, barely covering the sides of her breasts, with the fringe hanging to her hips, swaying as she moved. Nipples, ass, and pussy were all freely available. Feeling magnanimous, I told her, "You can put your boots back on."

She stepped into them and asked, "What does the executioner wear?"

I showed her the chaps—leather leg coverings usually worn over pants. "Just these." I stripped myself and put them on. Held up by thongs around the waist, the chaps left my cock and butt bare. They were rough, stiff, and smelly, perfect for dirty work. I strapped on the gun belt (unfortunately without a six-shooter) and stepped back into my boots.

I looked both of us over—something was missing. I picked up her Stetson and set it on her head. "Good. You can leave your hat on."

"Thank you," she said dryly.

"You'll need to be tied up, of course."

"Why? Will it be so horrible?"

"It's really just for your own protection. If you tried to escape, I'd have to increase your sentence...and we don't want that to happen."

"Oh no, I'm sure we don't. Are you going to gag me...so no one can hear my screams?"

"No one can hear them anyway."

Mom looked forlorn as I tied her wrists in front of her with the lariat. "I thought prisoners had their hands tied behind their backs," she said.

"That would cover up your behind. And that needs to be free."

"Oh. I see."

I led her into the bedroom and turned her around facing the door. I tossed the rope over the door, looped it around the knob on the other side, ran it back up over the top of the door, then raised her wrists and cinched them high above her head with the rope. Stretching her up like this against the door also raised her tits and flattened her tummy. She looked incredibly good, buck naked except for her boots, vest, and hat. My member strived out towards her with all his might. He wanted to spare her the beating, grant her a full pardon, and enjoy her right now, but I had to overrule him for the sake of justice.

"First you have to be branded as my prisoner," I told her.

"That's against the Geneva Convention," she protested.

"So much the better." I went to the fireplace and took the branding iron from the andiron rack and a spur from the mantel. We'd been too busy lighting our own fires to have actually built one in the fireplace, plus it was summer and hot, but I pretended to heat the iron to glowing red in an imaginary blaze.

When Diana saw it, her face cringed and her bottom quavered. "No!"

"Yes!" I pressed it against her rump and made a sizzling sound.

"Ow!" she yelped.

It left a sooty brand on her butt that could be a Rocking M or an upside down Lazy W, depending on how you looked at it. Either way, she was marked as mine.

"Now the skin has to be prepared."

She glared at me defiantly. "You sound like a butcher."

"A little rump steak." I patted her tail, then showed her the spur. "First we have to tenderize it...with this torture tool."

"Don't touch me with that!"

I ran the pronged metal wheel of the spur over her gluteus maximus, leaving little dimples like cellulite, of which she had a bit anyway. Both luscious white hemispheres tensed, and she bit her lip. I took off the gun belt and flexed the thick leather. She cowered as far away as the rope would allow, but her butt stuck out deliciously. "Don't beat me."

I raised the belt and she flinched. "I beg you!" mom whimpered.

"Just remember," I said, "this hurts me more than it does you."

"Bullshit!" she spat out, switching from meek to militant.

I brought the belt down smartly across her backside, about as hard as fluffing a pillow. I expected her to scream out in agony, but she stood with mouth grimly closed, then opened it in a sneer. "You brute, I won't give you the satisfaction of hearing me cry." As she clamped her jaw, her chin quivered with the effort of restraining her wails.

Again I struck her mercilessly, increasing the force to hand-clap strength. A faint pink blush rose on her epidermis.

"Monster!" Diana screamed. With two mighty yanks she pulled her hands out of her bonds. She clenched her fists and shook them at me. "Ha! Freedom Now! Revolution! Power to the People! Off the Pig! Revenge!"

I was startled. I thought I'd tied her pretty well. She picked up the rope, grabbed both my hands, and dragged me over to the bed. She pushed me backwards down across the mattress, and before I could escape (not that I tried very hard) she tied my two legs and one arm to the bed posts. She dropped the rope, though, and that let me land a good spank on her bottom with my free hand. It made a lovely smack, but that enraged her to a frenzy. Lying on my free arm and holding it down, she grabbed the lariat, looped it around my wrist, drew it tight, and bound it to the bed post. Now I was splayed out supine, helpless, unable to stop her vengeance.

Brown eyes flashing a savage determination, Diana picked up the gun belt and slapped it a few times against her palm. "Boys can get tied up and tortured too, not just girls." She wrapped the wide leather strap around my penis and chaffed it back and forth. "That feels hard and mean, doesn't it?" When I didn't answer, she scraped it like a file. "Doesn't it?"

"Yes," I admitted, vulnerable and subdued.

She cackled with wild glee. "Now you're going to see just how hard and mean I can be." She brushed the silver tip of the belt over the tip of my organ. "It could hurt."

Mom whipped the belt over the chaps on the middle of my leg, making a loud smack and stinging even through the leather. She moved the belt up to my chap-covered thigh and whaled me again. The wind of the belt tickled my testicles; I flinched away, shuddering at the force of her blow. I was scared. "Getting closer," she said with a malicious grin. The top of the chaps came within an inch of my balls. She measured carefully to the edge of the leather, raised the belt, and struck again. I closed my eyes in fear, but this time the blow was light. "You're lucky," she said with a scowl and gripped my penis. "I'll spare this for now. I've got plans for it. It may be useful to me."

Mom tossed the belt aside, grabbed the loose end of the lariat, and straddled me. She held the rope up to my exposed gonads. The end of the hemp frayed out into hundreds of bristles, which she flicked over my flesh. "You're in big trouble." My organ, which had wilted under the belt, was swelling again. "And it looks like it's getting bigger." She brushed the prickly fibers against my prick. "A boy could even get raped...by his mother."

"Oh please," I pleaded, "not that."

"Ha! Now you beg. But it's too late. Take your punishment." She prodded the end of the rope at my scrotum, which contracted and wrinkled like a walnut shell. She looped the rope around the shaft and abraded it back and forth, causing shivers of delicious mild pain. My penis stood at rigid attention like a soldier being disciplined. Her thighs moved up to the top of my chaps, and the leather fringe of her vest brushed my wet tip. "Now I'm going to violate you...use you like a piece of meat. You're just going to have to lie there and take it...like a slave. Whatever I do to you, you deserve." She seized my cock in an eager hand. "I'm going to sit on this. You may not ever get it back." Diana raised herself—pussy wide, red, and wet—above my rod, came down on it, and rubbed it against her clit until she was panting deep in her throat. She inserted it between the lips and, wincing, jostled up and down on the tip to spread herself and make room.

Rather than sending me to hell, that put me right into heaven. But this was only the first heaven. There was one for each inch, and as she gradually sank down, I moved up the scale of blessedness, feeling more and more divine until she'd fully absorbed it all and I entered seventh heaven.

I gazed up at mom as she towered above me. Her thighs were wrapped tight around my hips, and our middles were joined by an intermingled bush of pubic hair, all that could be seen of our fused genitals. She swiveled her groin around my plug, breasts joggling, nipples taut. The fringe of her vest swayed with her movements. From this angle I could see the skin under her chin was beginning to sag from thirty-six years of gravity. She breathed through her mouth in fast shallow pants, lips curled into a sneer of mock fury, eyes enfolding me with love. "Now, Mister Thomas, you're going to see what it's like to get fucked." She thrust her hips into mine, hard and insistent. "To have somebody really put it to you." She butted her pelvis into me. "Not care about you...just take you." Her hands groped my chest demandingly. "Someone who just grabs what she wants from you." Her fingers kneaded my nipples. "Who might even slap you around." She leaned down and slapped my face with her tits. When I reached for them with my lips, she drew back with a teasing, haughty look. She held my head down on the bed and swung the heavy pendulums right above my mouth, tantalizing me with their lushness. "Do you want them?" she asked coyly.

I nodded.

"You can't have them...because you were bad...a very bad boy. You spanked your mommy. And now you're being punished." Diana moved back and forth and side to side until she had my prong placed just right to please her, then she began pounding up and down, faster and faster, grunting with excitement.

I felt helpless and yielding, at her mercy, as if I had the pussy and she had the cock and was driving it into me. I was a girl being ravaged, but with total love. I lay back in passive delight, absorbing her power.

I was so turned on by our game that I could've come instantly, but I knew it would take mom a bit longer to peak since I wasn't directly touching her clit, so I tried to relax and make it last longer. I stared up at her thrashing beauty working me over and fell in love all over again.

She shifted until she was crouching above me on her knees and elbows, tits dangling on my chest. I got one in my mouth finally and gave it full suction. She liked what I was doing to it, moaning through her clenched teeth, tendons standing out on her neck as she pumped up and down on my shaft.

It won't be long now, I thought.

Then mom screamed—in pain or fright, not in orgasm. I thought I'd hurt her until I saw her staring with horror at the window. She gasped and sobbed and covered her breasts. I tried to see what had scared her but couldn't. "It's Jacquot," she cried. "He's outside!"

That swine! I thought. The door was locked...but what if he tried to break in? What could I use as a weapon to defend us?

She collapsed against me and I clutched her, our lust destroyed. With a sob she rolled off of me and covered herself with the quilted bedspread.

I grabbed my pants back on and picked up the branding iron.

"He had a camera," she spluttered through her tears. "He was taking pictures."

I dashed around making sure all the windows were locked, closed the drapes, and hooked the chain on the door. I found a steak knife, but Diana cried louder and said, "No, put that away."

Trembling, we got dressed and held each other, passion smashed, minds in turmoil. How did he get here? He must have been hanging out around our apartment building, then seen us leaving and followed us. I hadn't noticed a cycle, but I'd been too wrapped up with grooving on mom's legs and driving to even think about anyone behind us. The slimy bastard. How much had he seen? Had he been there at the beaver pond? I was in a helpless rage. He'd totally invaded and violated us. He could've forced his way in and raped her while I was out hiking. I really wanted to kill him.

After about twenty minutes we heard the unmufflered brap of Jacquot's Triumph approaching the cabin down the gravel road. Diana chewed on the knuckle of her thumb. I stood guard by the door but wanted to hold her and smooth her corrugated forehead and pinched eyes. He stopped at the locked gate, revved the bike to the max to taunt us, then roared it all the way back to the main road as if yelling, "Gotcha!"