A Slave's Story

Kyle waited, watching with approval, until I had cleaned every last bit from his skin, then he gently pushed me backward onto the floor. Now it was my turn to tremble with excitement. It had been so long since a man had taken me! I spread my legs eagerly, exposing my most private parts for his inspection and use.

Again, my son did not disappoint. He lay down on me, his again-erect penis touching the opening in my vagina. And there he stopped.

“Mother,” he said seriously, looking deep into my eyes, into my very soul, it seemed. “Do you offer yourself to me as mother, wife, slave, and property? Renouncing all your rights, freedoms, and dignities, and swearing to obey and serve me for the rest of your life? Will you accept that this in no way means that I have any similar obligation to you, and that I am still free to do whatever I want, with whoever I want?”

My son was offering to marry me, right here and now!

“Yes, Master, I do,” I whispered gratefully.

“Then I now pronounce you my mother, wife, slave, and property,” he said. “You belong to me completely now.”

And with that, he thrust himself into my body with one stroke, hurting me and fulfilling me and marking me as his own. I screamed with pleasure and pain, forcing my legs open even wider, and pulling myself down onto his impaling shaft. Over and over again, he drilled his penis into me, pounding the soft flesh of my tender vagina without regard for my pleasure, little knowing how much I needed this very disregard. Until that moment, I’d never realized just how much I desired and deserved this kind of treatment. I was born to be a slave, it seemed to me, and I could think of no man to whom I would rather have belonged than my sweet son. I had found my place.

In the mindless throes of mutual lust, I barely registered the buildup of a coming orgasm. And while that release seemed to be the most natural thing in the world, I realized that it was not what I wanted. It was a distraction from what was really important: my son and husband’s pleasure. And so again I fought against it, concentrating on suppressing my own fulfillment, so that I could give all my effort and consideration to his. In a few moments, the feeling subsided (for the most part), and I was able to concentrate on bringing my son to his orgasm.

And that didn’t take long; he was, after all, still only eighteen. In a handful of moments, his back arched, his beautiful body strained, tense as wire, and I felt his dick swell inside me and begin to pump my womb full of his precious semen. He groaned with the pleasure of it, and my heart nearly burst with love and pride and happiness. My son was coming inside me! My master was filling me with his seed. I clamped the muscles of my vagina down as hard as I could, attempting to draw every single drop of his gift into my body.

At last he collapsed down on top of me, spent, and I wrapped my arms around his trembling body. I couldn’t prevent tiny tears of joy and gratitude from filling my eyes, and I whispered “Thank you, Master. Thank you so much. Thank you for letting me serve you, and for giving me the gift of your sweet come in my body,” into his ear.

He raised his head and kissed me, and for that moment, I was in a world of complete and utter bliss. I knew then that I didn’t just love my son, my husband, my owner– I was in love with him. I knew that there was nothing I would not do to please him and serve him.

His lips parted from mine, and he smiled at me. “Did you come, Momma?”

Proud of my self-control, I admitted “Almost. But I managed to stop it before it happened.”

“What?” he seemed surprised. “Why did you stop it?”

“I didn’t want to be distracted from giving you pleasure,” I explained, suddenly afraid he might be angry with me. “I assumed you’d tell me when I could have an orgasm. I didn’t feel that I had the right to think about my pleasure, when what was important was making sure you had a good time.”

I needn’t have worried. Wonder seemed to be his main emotion. He briefly kissed me again, then said “You’re a wonderful slave, Momma. But in the future, unless I tell you otherwise, you can come when I’m in your pussy. It would make any son happy to make his mother come. And I trust you to not let it distract you from doing your duty to me.”

“Thank you, Master,” I whispered yet again.

“And from now on, there’s something I want you to do every time I’m through being inside you like this,” he said. “Every time my dick leaves your pussy, you need to clean me up. With your mouth.”

“I’d love to do that,” I assured him. “I’ll be glad to take you in my mouth any time you’ll let me.”

“Good girl,” he responded, and with that, I felt him slide out of me, leaving him free to roll off of me, and onto his back.

As directed, I immediately sat up and leaned over him, taking his softening penis into my mouth, relishing the hot scent and flavor of our mingled fluids. I knew that at least some of the mixture was composed of his sperm, and that made my efforts to suck and lick up every bit of it even more obsessive. He let me go on for some minutes before pulling me back onto the floor with him. His arm encircled my shoulders, and curled my body up next to his. What a feeling! Lying naked on the floor in the arms of my son and husband. I had never felt so perfectly at peace.

I had almost drifted off to sleep when Kyle said “That was good, Momma. But I’ve been thinking about what you said, about not wanting to be distracted from pleasing me when we’re having sex. And I’ve thought of a way to make that easier for you. Would you like to try it?”

“Oh yes,” I said. I didn’t care what he had in mind. It wasn’t my place, after all to decide how or when he used me. “Please.”

“OK,” he replied. “Wait right here.”

He got up, leaving me curled on the floor, and I watched with no small amount of admiration and lust as his naked body moved toward the kitchen. He rummaged around in there for a minute or so, then returned holding a bottle of canola oil that I used for cooking.

He sat down beside me, cross-legged, and I could see that his penis was twitching, starting to re-stiffen. Ah, youth! I felt my own excitement begin to bubble anew, not that it had ever subsided very much.

“What we just did was pretty normal sex,” he explained. “And that’s good. We’ll probably do that at least once or twice a day. But I’m about to tell you about your new favorite way to do it. This way, you’ll have less trouble keeping your mind on pleasing me.”

I nodded. “Please tell me more, Master. I’m dying to know how to serve you better.”

“Naaah,” he shook his head. “I’ll just show you. Lick my asshole.”

He lay down on his belly again, and I obeyed his command gladly, licking and kissing the tight knot of his anus with renewed enthusiasm. Already, this was becoming perhaps my favorite part of foreplay, because it demonstrated my complete submission so effectively. I felt that every moan that escaped his lips, every tremble of his muscles, was confirmation of my success as his slave.

After a time he said “That’s good,” and I reluctantly ceased my ministrations. Then he put his hand on the back of my neck, and guided my face to the floor. He moved behind me, and parted my legs. I was on my knees, face to the floor, ass in the air. Then I realized what he intended to do.

Back during my first marriage, to Kyle’s father, I always hated anal sex. Steven was rough, and I did not give him my ass willingly. Of course, he took it anyway, which probably accounts for the fact that I was now personally rather unenthused about having my son and new husband take me this way. But it was not my place to object, and further, I would do anything, no matter how unpleasant, to serve his needs, even his whims.

So I obediently parted my legs, without waiting to be told, and knelt patiently while he applied the canola oil to his penis. Once that was done, he moved up behind me, and I felt his hard dick pressing against my tight sphincter. I took a deep breath, trying to relax, then winced as he began to penetrate me. But, unlike his father, Kyle was gentle and slow. The process of sliding his dick into my anus was a revelation to me: I never knew it could be at all pleasant, but it actually was. He filled me without hurrying, allowing me to experience the entire sensation of anal surrender, and I actually found myself enjoying it. I let out my pent-up breath in a rush as his pubic mound pressed up against my buttocks. He was all the way inside me, and it really felt good! So full! So hard and strong. Once again, my master and husband was sharing something priceless with me, allowing me to serve his needs without the distraction of vaginal stimulation. Again, I had the realization of being where I belonged, face down on the floor, with my son’s dick in my ass. It was wonderful.

Then he began to fuck me slowly, carefully, and I was more able to concentrate on responding to his gentle thrusts, pressing back against him, then holding firm as he retreated. It was a long, slow, sweet process, and I reveled in it, enjoying the sensations, and, yes, the degradation of being ass-fucked by my own son. When at last he finally came with a grunt, I actually regretted the end of this sweet interlude. He had taught me yet another lesson in humility and servitude, and it was one I would cherish.

I gasped unhappily as he pulled out of me, leaving me a little sore, and very empty. But I still kept my priorities straight. “Oh, thank you, Master. That was wonderful.”

But we weren’t finished. “Come on, Momma,” he commanded, getting to his feet, and heading for the bathroom. I got shakily to my feet, and followed obediently.

In the bathroom, Kyle was standing before the sink, a washcloth in hand under the faucet, which ran with warm water. Once the rag was soaked, he rubbed it with a bar of soap, and handed it to me. “Clean me up,” he said.

I complied, gently washing his dick and balls, then rinsing the cloth and wiping him free of soap. While I dropped the used hand towel into the dirty clothes hamper, he was pulling back the shower curtain.

“Get in,” he directed me. “On your knees.”

I did as I was told, and then he was standing in front of me, his limp penis in his hand.

“Close your eyes, Momma, and open your mouth.”

Again I followed his instructions without question. No sooner had I complied than I felt a stream of warm liquid splashing on my breasts and belly, moving up toward my face. As the stream entered my mouth, I tasted the salty flavor of my son’s urine. He was pissing on me! A part of me wanted to rebel, but then my natural submissiveness kicked in, and I accepted this as his right. I was, after all, his property. He could use me as he wished. As his pee covered my face, then moved back down my body to spray my pubis, I found myself becoming grateful. My son and husband and master was marking me as his own, creating for me a kind of liquid wedding dress. Once I thought of it this way, I began to enjoy the experience. The warm flow of his urine felt quite good, really, and the meaning behind it made the humiliation even sweeter. I felt a twinge of disappointment as the stream dwindled and died out.

I opened my eyes to find Kyle standing close to me, his fingers pinching the shaft of his penis, which was inches from my face.

“I saved the last few drops for you, Momma,” he said. “Do you want them?”

“Oh, yes,” I replied. “Please.”

He smiled and moved closer, and I opened my mouth to accept his soft dick. As soon as my lips closed around it, he released a last squirt of urine, which I gratefully swallowed, savoring the tangy salt flavor. Taking just a tiny bit of liberty, I sucked his dick a little before he pulled it from my lips.

“No dick for you just now, Momma,” he chided me gently, turning his back to me. “It’s all about ass for right now.”

I understood. This way of having sex was what he intended to be my favorite version, a wish I intended to honor. I didn’t think it would be too difficult, as I’d enjoyed every minute of it. First, I had licked his asshole. Then, he’d fucked mine. After that, he’d pissed all over me, and now, finally, we had come full circle. I leaned forward, parted his buttocks, and, with his urine still glistening all over my body, I proceeded to lick his asshole yet again, savoring every degrading moment of it.

Afterward, he had me shower. When I was done, he took my place. Later, I made his favorite meal, and we dined, naked, at the dining room table. A mother and her son, a wife and her husband, a slave, serving her master. I finally felt that my life was complete.

And there you have it. Most people would say I should be ashamed, that I’m the most horrible mother imaginable. But I’m not ashamed. And, whatever kind of mother I am, I am also an excellent slave. My master tells me so often. And he loves his mother very much. We’re both very happy.

And isn’t that what really matters?