A New Domination

Mum moved on to another photo. "Sheldon fastened a collar round my neck, and I was led on all fours round the room, stopping in front of each cult member. They had taken their ... cocks out and rubbed or slapped them into my face. The sensation of a rigid cock being stroked against my face was unbelievable," Mum seemed to have gone into something like a trance, reverting to her experience of more than five years ago.

"Each week, one of the members was allowed to cum over my face, and I can remember that so vividly, especially the aroma of fresh warm cum—I found that so enormously arousing. On guy in particular had a huge black cock, and when he came, he almost covered my face with his spend. And I loved it—you can see it in this picture. I hoped he would cum on me every week, but it seemed to be on some sort of a roster."

"At the end of each meeting, there were two auctions. In the first, the "masters" made bids to determine who would have sex with me. It could be in any position, but could not be anal, for reasons that will be obvious in a minute. It could be oral or vaginal, and I know the winner was encouraged to make it as humiliating as possible. During the performance, the rest of the group made more humiliating comments."

I didn't have to ask this time. "Things like 'take it all, slut', 'ride it as hard as you can and make it beg for release' or 'pinch its tits and make it scream' and more comments like that.

At the same time, my bottom was put up for auction, and this included anal sex. The highest bidder could do whatever he wanted to my backside, so long as he didn't draw blood or cause any internal injuries. Some of them liked to spank, paddle or flog me, one or two liked to bugger me and a couple liked to bite me, leaving bite marks that stayed for several days."

The harder spankings or floggings left marks as well, but they were all so erotically wicked that I came to depend on this demonstration of my submission to give me the sexual satisfaction I craved. I carried them around at home, secretly while I was being a wife and mother, but still with the evidence of my degradation hidden under my panties. There was something intensely arousing in knowing that my bottom was marked while I was later dressed demurely, handing around the mashed potatoes, washing up—or sitting in church."

This confession was having a marked effect on my mother and it seemed as if it was essential for her to admit to her actions as a means of exorcising those memories. However, it didn't seem to be working, as the confession was creating some kind of submissive high in itself. She was falling into a sort of submissive trance, returning to and reliving her experiences of five years ago. At the same time, she was pressing her legs together in an attempt to achieve some degree of stimulation, and her breathing became shallow and ragged.

"Mother," I said, "If you need to touch yourself, please just do it and don't worry about me." She looked at me with half-closed, hazy eyes and then reached down and undid the snap on her slacks and slid her right hand down to her sex. Very quickly, I could see her gently stroking herself along her pussy.

One more photograph fascinated me; the picture of my mother being led forward with a wedding veil over her face. She looked at me with a very intense expression, and said, "Simon, honey, I won't be a minute," and left the room. She returned shortly after carrying a DVD case. "This bizarre 'ceremony' was videotaped and this is a copy converted to DVD."

"As the final stage of my initiation, I was 'married' to the phallus in a grotesque parody of the wedding service, and this is how it happened." My mother was led forward by one of the female acolytes and presented formally to Sheldon who asked, "Slut, the woman formerly known as Sally Benson, do you know of any impediment why you should not be bound to the phallus as the representative of the male procreative organ?" She answered, "No."

"Do you give yourself freely without any duress, coercion or compulsion to the service of the phallus?" Her reply was, "I do."

Then, "Slut, will you pledge your undying loyalty to the service of the phallus as it here represents the male procreative organ, and serve the male organ whenever and wherever you are required to do so?" To this she answered, "I will."

She was then instructed to place both hands on the phallus and repeat the following words after Sheldon; "I take this phallus as the true representative of the male procreative organ, to have and to hold from this day forth, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in heath, to love, cherish, honour and obey until the time of my death." My mother repeated those words as required by Sheldon.

Sheldon then produced a ring in the form of a twisted golden cord and placed it on the third finger of my mother's right hand. She repeated at Sheldon's instruction, the words, "With this ring, I pledge my obedience to the phallus and shall worship it with the full extent of my body."

He then raised the veil from over her eyes and said, "Now, Slut, you must kiss the phallus and take it all into your mouth, demonstrating your submission to the sacred member." My mother did so, deep throating the glass object. She was then collared and led around to each member of the cult, sitting back on her heels and kissing, licking and sucking their cocks, bringing each one to orgasm but not permitted to take any cum in her mouth. Each finished by spraying over her body.

Finally, she was placed in the cradle and Sheldon forced the phallus into her upturned arse, this time with little preparation, causing her to scream with the initial pain. Then she took Sheldon's cock into her mouth, and in his case she again brought him almost to a climax. Sheldon then moved until he was lying on his back, and Mum was required to straddle him with the phallus still buried in her arse, and ride him to orgasm. She was told specifically that under no circumstances was she allowed to cum before he did; if she was able to do so after him that was a bonus for her.

During this whole bizarre performance, my mother watched intently, continuing to rub her pussy and almost reach a climax, but the end of the DVD caused her to stop. She looked around, embarrassed and quickly removed her hand, although I could see that it was glistening with her juices.

"How often do you watch that DVD, mother?" I asked, "Every day?"

"Oh no, Simon, nothing like that," she replied, a little too quickly.

"Every week, then?"

Mum blushed. "Well, I suppose ... perhaps every few days."

"Hmm, I see. This is obviously a very powerful reminder of your submission to the cult. You told me that you wanted to confess to me all your activities within the cult in an attempt to cauterise these memories, but clearly it isn't working. You are still intensely bound up with your experiences as a submissive slut."

I knew I was taking a risk referring to her as a slut, but this seemed to make no difference. She was miles away, seemingly in some sort of sensual overload, where confession of her actions had caused her to submit to her memories.

"Oh my god, Simon, what am I going to do?" she cried, suddenly breaking free from her fantasy.

"What do you want to do, mother?" I replied, deliberately avoiding any direct answer.

"I ... I so need to be able to submit myself to someone I can really trust. I need to be able to lose myself in the experience of submission, but know that I can be understood, supported and satisfied. I desperately need someone that I can establish an intimate emotional bond with and really be able to rely on so that I can surrender myself completely to them. I can give that person complete control over me, and let go of all the responsibilities in my emotional life. They can do anything they want to me or with me, Simon, but it's all about complete and absolute trust, like the trust I had with my grandmother. Then I can release all my inhibitions and be who I want to be."

I stayed silent, knowing that there was more to come.

"Oh, Simon, I feel so lost. I just don't know what to do. I sort of trusted Sheldon, but the cult was so wicked, so decadent that I became addicted to it and its activities. At a deeper level, though, I still felt incomplete. There was no real personal bond, no individual that I could completely relate to and trust to give me what I so needed. After the cult dissolved, I tried to hide behind this disguise of propriety, religion and respectability, but it hasn't worked."

"Okay, Mum, but why did you leave the cult, then?"

"I had no choice, Simon. One evening I arrived at the house to find it was a smouldering ruin. I'd heard about a fire in that general area, but I hadn't connected it with the cult. Apparently, Sheldon had been killed in the fire; the police believed it was arson, but they never located the culprit. I wouldn't be surprised if it was an irate husband who discovered that his wife had been a participant, and took his revenge in a pretty spectacular way. Of course, that meant that the cult had collapsed, and I returned to my conventional suburban lifestyle."

Mum hesitated for a while, looking uncertain and rather desperate.

"I thought that leaving the cult behind and returning to being a traditional homemaker would allow my submissive element to fade away. I was foolish enough to keep watching the DVD, and that stirred something dark, dissolute and lustful deep inside me that wouldn't be denied. Now you've found the photographs, Simon, and I thought that reliving my experiences and confessing to you would exorcise the demons. But it hasn't; it's made my desires more powerful, more demanding that I do something about them."

Here, Mum burst into tears. "Oh god, Simon, what am I to do?"

"One quick question, Mum, and please be honest with me. Did you leave those photos there knowing or even hoping that someone would find them? How would you have reacted if it had been Dad?"

Mum looked at me and I could see a flood of emotions crossing her face. "I guess I did want this dirty secret exposed so that I could confess. I don't know how your father would have reacted; underneath it all, I suppose I hoped that he would realise that I needed help and been prepared to take a more active interest in my sex life.

When I realised that you had found them, at first I wanted to run and hide. But then I started to feel excited and so naughty that I was confessing all this erotic stuff to the son I loved so much.

Confessing to you plunged me back into submission. The very act of telling the stories behind the photos took me back powerfully to the experiences themselves, and I became so aroused at the memories and the raw sexuality of what happened. Now it's over, I just don't know where to go or what to do."

"What do you most want to do, Mum? Would you like psychological or psychiatric treatment to rid yourself of these desires?"

"No, Simon, it's part of who I am, and I'm not ashamed of how I feel. It's just that I can't find anyone who will take me seriously and who I can trust."

"Okay, Mum, how about Dad? Could you make a confession to him and beg that he will treat you as you need so much?"

"Simon, I have tried that or something like it. He thought that I was just depraved and I needed to cleanse myself of this unhealthy obsession. He wanted me to talk to our minister and seek God's help. I sidestepped this and never brought the subject up again, and I don't intend to suffer that type of humiliation again."

"I see—maybe you'd have had more success if you'd stuck a couple of golf balls up your arse!"

Mum tried to look stern and said, "Simon, how could you think such a thing," but she betrayed herself by laughing.

"Um, maybe not, Mum, but have you thought of trying to find a professional Dom, someone a bit like Sheldon, perhaps, but maybe not quite so extreme?"

"That did occur to me, honey, and I have made one or two tentative enquiries, but the trust issue just gets in the way. I guess I'm just condemned to a lifetime of vanilla sex with a man I hardly know, maintaining a respectable façade but dying inside," and she again burst into tears.

I moved over to my mother and took her in my arms as she trembled and shook against me. I knew the answer, but the problem was to sell it to her so that she would be able to accept it.

"Mum, there is an answer, but it will depend on your willingness to engage in something both illegal and immoral."

She looked at me, puzzled and intrigued but worried about the implications.

"Okay, here goes nothing," I thought to myself. "Mum, how much do you trust me?"

She smiled. "To the ends of the earth, honey, and beyond. Why do you ask?"

"Then I will be your Dom and you can submit to me."

She gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. "Simon, no, I couldn't possibly do that. You're my son and I love you like a son, but I couldn't allow you to have a sexual relationship with me."

"Why not, Mum—give me one compelling reason why it shouldn't happen?"

"It's illegal for a start, it's totally immoral, I'm twenty years older than you and what about your father? There, that's four reasons!"

"None of which is compelling, mother. Yes, it's illegal, but, as Bob Dylan once said, 'In Jersey anything's legal, as long as you don't get caught'. That's the point; we would have to be very careful, but that needn't prevent us enjoying each other. The same comment applies about Dad. In addition, he's hardly ever here, and he's so self-involved that he probably wouldn't even be aware of anything going on.

As to immorality, well, maybe, but that's more a question of us being willing to square our own consciences. From my point of view, if two people truly love each other as I love you, Mum, and I think you love me, then morality is irrelevant. We should be able to do anything we both enjoy. Finally, Mum, age really doesn't matter. You're a sweet and gorgeous but needy woman and I'm convinced that I can help you to meet that need."

"Simon, I ... I just can't get my mind round this. You've really stirred a hornet's nest in my head and I need time to think this through."

"Fair enough, Mum—anyway, it's getting late and I'm hungry. Why don't we sleep on this and talk again tomorrow?"

She was very hesitant, but agreed with a great deal of uncertainty. I knew then that she would become my sub and be able to refuse me nothing. I had to masturbate that night, and my orgasm was volcanic; one of the best ever.

I was up before Mum next day, but I soon realised that she was doing her best to avoid me. Eventually, I found her in the lounge; she looked pale and drawn and she told me she hadn't slept well.

"I understand, Mum; I guess this whole Dom business has been on your mind."

"Simon, I feel so confused, so uncertain, so scared so ..."

"Excited?" I added quickly.

She blushed a deep red and just nodded her head in agreement.

"You can't really escape from all this can you? You've tried, but I suspect that you don't really want to, even if the implications are a bit out of control."

She nodded her silent agreement again.

"Okay, Mum, here's what's going to happen. We are going to resolve this issue once and for all, as well as explore whether you can face being my sub. I promise I won't hurt you, but you must be prepared to trust me completely and do everything I say. Are you okay with that?"

This time, she spoke her agreement, very hesitantly and sounding quite scared.

"We need to re-enact some of the scenes shown in the photographs," I told her. "You will remove all your clothes, then return here wearing only your five inch heels and your pearl necklace. And your makeup will be the same as in the photos—slutty."

I sat and read while I waited for mum to return. Later, I heard the unmistakeable click of high heels on a hard floor, a sound that I always found remarkably erotic. Mum returned dressed as I had instructed. She had applied her makeup skilfully with understated eye shadow but overstated glistening lip gloss and gleaming, blood red nails. Her hair was carefully styled in the same way that she always wore it for church. The contrast between this and her nakedness was unexpected but surprisingly exciting.

Mum's body looked delicious. Her skin was silky smooth, and a little pale. Her breasts were full and sagged only slightly, and although the room was warm, her nipples stood out hard against wrinkled areolas. I saw that she had trimmed her bush to a neat brown patch of what looked like soft, unusually fine hair.

"Excellent, mother, now lock your hands behind your head—I want to see those beautiful tits to their best advantage.

She blushed furiously as she did so but was clearly uneasy. "Simon, I ... I don't know ... I don't think I can ... Isn't there some other way?"

"No, mother, and in any case, what are you afraid of? If it's about losing control, you will have to trust me; even in the cult you had a safe word, so we will use that."

"Yes, Simon, with Sheldon it was always 'wombat'."

"Good. Now mother, tell me exactly how your hands were bound behind you."

"Sheldon made me knee in front of him with my body upright. Then he took both my hands and pulled them behind me, tying them with a silk scarf."

"Like this one, mother?" I asked, producing a scarf I'd bought for the purpose.

She gasped and answered weakly, "Yes, just like that; Simon, what are you going to ...?" but I silenced her by putting my finger against her lips.

I moved behind her, and taking her hands in mine, pulled her arms behind her back and tied her wrists with the scarf. "Just like that, mother?''

"Yes"

As she answered, I opened the zip on my pants and with some difficulty, took out my rigid, straining cock, starting to stroke it in front of her face.

Her eyes went wide and there was a look of astonishment on her face. "Oh my god, Simon, what are you doing?"

"Tell me mother," I demanded, "what am I doing?"

"Simon, no, please, this is so wrong, you must stop."

"Stop what, mother?"

"What you're doing to ... to your ... to your penis."

"Wrong, mother," I said and walked closer to her, slapping her across the face with my rigid cock.

"This is my cock, mother, now, what is it?"

"Oh god," she moaned, "it's your cock," in a whisper so low I could hardly hear her.

"Louder, mother, what is it?"

"Your cock, it's your cock," this time she was almost shouting.

"Much better, mother, now what am I doing with it?" I demanded again, stroking it so that pre cum started gathering on the head.

She seemed almost mesmerised, gazing intently at my cock, pulsing and growing in front of her eyes.

"Uh, you're ... you're stroking it ... stroking it to a climax."

"That's right mother. Guys love to stroke their cocks. Tell me, mother, do you think it's appropriate for a son to stroke off in front of his decent, respectable, polite, church-going mother? Don't hesitate, mother, tell me?

"No."

"You're telling me that it isn't appropriate for me to jerk off in front of my mother, but the truth is that there's a part of you that LIKES it, that likes to watch, that gets excited watching me get close to orgasm—isn't there?"

"No." In spite of her denial, I could hear the desperation in her voice. She needed to let go. "Simon, how could you do this to me, your own mother; how could you degrade me by asking me these questions and masturbating in front of me?"

I walked slowly around her kneeling form, taking my time and occasionally stroking her smooth, slick skin. She was trembling and shuddered as I touched her.

"Wait there, mother, I shall be gone for less than a minute," I said and left the room briefly, returning with two framed photographs. One was a portrait photo of my mother, dressed very primly in her "Sunday-go-to church" outfit, looking thoroughly decent, but with a smile that barely touched her eyes. The other was a still, taken from the "wedding" DVD, showing mum with the veil pushed back and about to deep throat the glass phallus. The look on her face was of someone totally consumed by lust.