Bitch Mother's Karma

Bitch Mother.

As the name suggests, my mother is a fucking bitch.

Everything she ever did or said to me was to put me down, criticize, castigate, humiliate.

Nothing was ever good enough for her. Nothing could dare attain her imprimatur.

She was like that to everyone. Everywhere. Always complaining, always angry, frowning, inimical...

I don't think I ever saw her smile or laugh about anything.

It's probably why my father came to his senses and ditched her, when I was a teenager and able to fend for myself somewhat.

And I didn't blame him for leaving. He'd always been a solid provider, hardworking, and while he wasn't around much, being a high-ranking corporate type, he did the best he could, gave us a big house, plenty of everything and took generous care of Bitch Mother in the divorce settlement.

Not like it appeared they were in love, my mom and dad, so it was no surprise when they split...

Since I can remember they'd looked miserable and distant. Our sporadic family gatherings a painful theater of cold shoulders and silent dinners.

But I could see why she married him, with his cash, and he, her, with her looks.

For as much of a fucking harridan cunt as my mother is, nature did bless her aesthetically.

With the sleek Russian features of her lineage, Bitch Mother was a true Siberian beauty...

5'10, long legs, a perky ass, creamy white skin, perfectly symmetrical oval face and big round crystal blue eyes, golden blond hair flowing to her picture-perfect hourglass waist; her figure basically flawless, especially her firm C-cup tits and taut belly.

Bitch Mother maintained it, too, into her middle age, becoming a fitness fanatic, in the gym every day, eating kale, fruits, veg, the California diet. Never drank or smoked, which might be why she was such a cunt. Not sure if in her 48 years she'd once touched a bottle...

I didn't really know much of her past, aside from her being a former professional swimsuit, runway, underwear model.

After marrying and having me, she went back to the modeling industry as a consultant for lingerie companies.

My introduction to the work of art that is the female body was seeing portfolios laying around in her office, sometimes our kitchen table, of models in skimpy lingerie, their slim bodies sparkling in stockings, garter belts, push-up, gossamer bras, thongs...

As a little kid I didn't understand it sexually, but knew I liked the images, their curves, shapes.

Coming of age, into puberty, I began to appreciate the female form in a deeper, more profound way, sometimes stealing and wacking off to the glossy glamour shots of leggy Euro 19 year-old exotic lovelies, imagining myself thrusting into them, nestled between their impossibly long satiny legs, their legs on my shoulders...

Bitch Mother once caught me in my bathroom, jerking off to a lingerie shot I'd stolen, and she slapped me across the face and kicked me in the gut...

It was the first of many times she would hit me, slap me, throw things at me, demonstrate her feral rage.

As a youngster I took it and obeyed, but part of me knew and awaited the fateful day I would have my ultimate revenge...

The beatings left me awkward around the opposite sex. They left the subconscious impression in me that gazing at and admiring the female form, femininity was wrong, immoral.

And while I continued to beat off, the internet and its plethora of flesh shots serving my budding needs, I found myself unable to talk with girls, being shy, nervous, intimidated around them, perhaps afraid on some subconscious level they'd lash out at me like Bitch Mother.

Not that I was a bad-looking guy, though. I'd grown to 6'2, with sapphire eyes, wavy brown hair, got cut, physically fit, and played sports, eventually overcoming my shyness around women, but I only fucked the sluttiest, easiest, nastiest ratchets. I had little patience for games or courtship.

I also found a calling to voyeurism. Voyeur porn being my favorite genre of smut.

I enjoyed upskirt shots, hidden cams, for a time I planted a spy cam in my college's female locker room and would beat off to the beaming images, think about the young pretties undressing while I bitch-fucked whatever current floozie.

In addition to voyeur, I also took a liking to incest porn, fetish. Mother/Son in particular.

And not the romantic, but aggressive, angry, often non-consensual. This undoubtedly attributable to, since my earliest sexual awakenings, my carnal lust for Bitch Mother, wanting to hate-fuck her, do all sorts of horrible perverted things to her.

I'd read many stories on the net of sons fucking their mothers, watch roleplay videos, even found and spanked off to underwear, swimsuit shots of my own, younger, Bitch Mother that I'd discovered online...

Never did I think I'd actually one day be playing out my definitive fantasy...

Oh, how things change...

I'd graduated college with a degree in Computer Science (unusual for a jock, I know, but I was somewhat of a nerd inside, and many of my college bros were also nerds), and shortly after graduation my bro and I sold an app we'd developed for college students and it made us rich.

I wasn't crazy stupid Facebook rich but was well-off and able to work part-time consulting gigs, buy a big high-rise luxury condo in South Beach and live an insanely chill life.

Bitch Mother, on the other hand, wasn't faring too well.

I'd heard through the grapevine that her consulting gigs had dried up, and she'd squandered most of the divorce settlement on antiques, shopping sprees, and poor investments.

Virtually broke, she was forced to sell the house in Coral Gables and was dismayed to discover that her equity in the property had shifted to me according to the inner-workings of the divorce agreement, which she'd obviously been too stupid or lazy to read thoroughly, and I was delighted to find a most hefty sum of cash transferred to my bank account after the sale.

The following day, while sipping a mojito, chilling on my balcony, watching the Atlantic Ocean sparkle in the hot noon sun, listening to "Girls" by Lil Peep, I received a most panicked phone call...

It was from Bitch Mother.

"Hello?"

"How fucking dare you?!" An accusatory voice shrieked, my headset's audio distorting...

"How dare I what?"

"You know what you did! You stole all my money!"

"I didn't steal anything. Like I needed to steal your money?"

For the first time in my life, I felt emboldened to stand up to her, and not prevaricate, back down...

It's not like she'd done anything for me in years. I'd not taken a cent from her or my father since I finished high school and went to Miami U on a full scholarship.

Hell, I'd not even spoken with Bitch Mother since I left for college. She'd never returned my holiday phone calls or anything since freshman year, and I'd instead spent holidays, vacations with my dad and his new family or my bros, their families.

"I've not even talked to you in years, mom. Now you call me all pissed off..."

"Give it back! You don't need it. I do."

"Nope. I don't think so. It'll be a nice buffer; the capital gains, I'll have to work out, but my accountant is pretty crafty, so I'm not worried..."

"Give it back! I'm your mother! You want me to live on the street?"

"Don't you have a friend or boyfriend or somewhere to go?"

"No... No, I don't..."

"You never had a boyfriend after dad left?"

"No, no I didn't..."

"No friends?"

"No, none. Modeling is a competitive business. Models don't have a lot of friends..."

"So what are you planning to do, mom?"

"Get a lawyer and sue you and your father!"

"How are you going to pay for that, exactly? Max out the credit cards you probably don't have anymore? You know dad and I have the best lawyers money can buy. You don't stand a chance in court."

The line went silent. She was breathing heavily, though, and whimpering.

It was the first time I'd heard her cry. And I must admit, after the beatings, criticism and malice towards me growing up, it felt good to hear her suffer, to see any emotion from her, really.

"I... I... I don't know what to do or where to go. I'm too old to work. I'll be out on the street. Please... help me..."

"I'm not a charity."

"Just send me something, so I can get on my feet..."

"And do what?"

"I don't know..."

A sudden flash of evil flitted in my mind. I'd never really hurt anyone, save for a few lame fistfights when I was a kid, but, now in a position of power, I began to feel dastardly, and the mouth of karma opened far and wide...

"Alright, I'll give you a job. You can work for me."

"Work for you? Doing what?"

"Anything I tell you. You'll be my servant. Mostly you'll wash my clothes, cook, clean my condo. You do that, for a year, and after the year is over, I give you back the money from the house, and, maybe, something extra, depending on how you perform..."

"You... You... You fucking piece of SHIT!" Bitch Mother screamed, her voice cracking...

Bitch Mother's fury was apparent. I highly doubted she'd anticipated such a turn of events.

"Okay, well I can just hang up then. Good luck to you, there, mom. Maybe you can come by or I'll visit you in the homeless shelter next Christmas. See ya!"

"No... WAIT! Don't hang up!!!"

I heard her sigh and then take a deep breath.

"Fine. But don't expect me to like it. And don't expect me to be able to cook or clean well. I've not cooked or cleaned ever. You know I always hired people for that..."

"There's YouTube videos for everything. You'll learn. And you'll do it well. If you want the money."

"Okay, but I want it in writing. A contract, signed, with a non-partisan lawyer present."

"That can be arranged. I can draw it up right now, and we sign it this afternoon. Come on over..."

Adrenaline rushed and my dick hardened with nothing but nasty, diabolical thoughts running through my head...

Bitch Mother arrived shortly after our phone call ended. She only had one off-white Chanel suitcase and matching handbag. I'm guessing she'd auctioned off everything else...

Upon meeting her at the doorway, she was obviously impressed by my high-rise condo's luxurious splendor.

She panned her gorgeous head around at the vaulted ceilings, minimalist furniture, marble floors, floor to wall panoramic windows and far-reaching views of the cerulean Atlantic sea.

I, in turn, marveled at her figure, which, in her late 40s, was as impeccable as ever. Her low-cut black blouse, long legs in dark sheer pantyhose and her tight-fitting thigh high beige leather skirt, her glorious round ass demanding my utmost attention.

"You've done well for yourself," she muttered, possibly the first compliment she'd paid me. Ever.

"I have. And you look great." I said, seductively, looking her over, shamelessly.

"Don't talk to me or look at me like that. I'm your mother! Don't be disgusting!" She snapped back in her usual Bitch Mother tone.

It was time to put an end to any abuse on her part. Once and for all. The mouth of karma had opened. It would not close.

I cocked back my right arm, and with a swift, fluid motion, smacked my mother upside the head.

Not very hard, not enough to cause immense physical pain, but enough to demonstrate my alpha, my dominance, and to let her know who was in charge. Who the boss and man of the house will be (and, of course, to avenge the lashings, slaps she'd administered to me growing up).

"Ahh!" she clutched her head and took a couple steps back, dropped her suitcase.

"I'll call the fucking police! You creep! What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

"Shut the fuck up, you bitch! You're my servant now! My fucking slave! I own you! You behave, you do what I tell you, and you don't get hit. You do what I say, you get treated well. I make the rules. I tell YOU what to do. Is that understood?"

"I'll... Fucking call the cops!" she was crying and hyperventilating. I don't think she'd been hit before by anyone, so it must have been quite the shock, her son doing it.

"The cops? You know I make charitable contributions every year to the Police Benevolent Association. Been to several of their fundraising dinners. I was hired to help construct the Miami Beach PD's homepage. I'm on a first name basis with the chief. Let's see how far you get with 'calling the cops'..."

"You monster!"

"Shut the fuck up! It's your last warning, bitch! Now, let's put all this behind us, be nice, sign the contract, and then you'll have an afternoon snack. You know you have no choice..."

She pursed her lips, probably again realizing her limited bargaining position. Taking a deep breath, her tone dramatically changed...

"Just... Don't hit me again... Please..."

It was fun to hear her beg. Her pleading a pleasant melody, music to soothe, mollify my inner demons.

"Come in and put your stuff in the bedroom. Then we'll go to the lawyer's office."

"The bedroom? You mean my bedroom..."

"No, MY bedroom."

"Your bedroom?"

"My bedroom."

"I don't understand... I should have my own room. Why would I stay in your bedroom? I am NOT sleeping on the floor or on a couch!"

"No, you're not sleeping on the floor or couch. You're sleeping in my bed. With me."

"What? Why? That's... Just weird... Why would I sleep in your bed? I need my own room. You have plenty of space here!"

"You don't get it, mom? Really? You're my slave. You're my bitch now. And you're going to sleep in my bed. And you're going to have sex with me. Whenever I want, whatever I want, you will do."

"Yuck! That is disgusting! What is wrong with you? Are you drunk? On drugs? Have you lost your fucking mind? You are a young, handsome, tall and rich man. You can have any girl you want! Why would you want to... ugh... do... that... with me? I am your mother!"

"That's why I want to do it. Because you are my mother. And it's twisted and fucked up. And hot. I've had an incest, Mom/Son fetish forever. And now I want to play it out, for real. If anything, you should take it as a compliment. I mean, look at you, you're smoking hot!"

"I used to be 'smoking hot.' I'm old, and you're sick. I should have never come here."

She crossed her arms, shook her head, and curled her upper lip. She certainly wasn't a happy camper.

"Fine, you can leave and go stay with your friends or boyfriend or, oh, I forgot, no one and live on the street... I'll pay for the Uber to Skid Row if you want..."

Realizing her place, lack of options, she succumbed, ceased her protestations.

"Don't expect me to enjoy any of this."

"You can expect I will be enjoying all of this..." I said, devilishly, with a shit-eating grin.

"Hrrmpph," she fumed as she picked up her suitcase and angrily stomped into the living room, and I pointed her in the direction of the master bedroom.

After she dropped off her things, we went out together, via helicopter cab, to the lawyer's office.

"Best way to avoid the traffic," I told her, as we looked down at the gridlock on the causeway and soon crossed over Star Island, with its multi-million-dollar yachts and mansions.

As we approached downtown Miami, we saw a pair of cigarette boats racing across Biscayne Bay, and try as she might to be nonchalant, I could tell she enjoyed the view of the skyline from the helicopter. I think I even saw her crack a slight smile when eyeing the latest glittering FRED Corp skyscraper on Brickell...

During the ride I also got cheeky and ran my hand along her thigh.

It was magnificent, too, so soft and smooth and succulent, clad in silk pantyhose. I couldn't wait to get her pantyhose off, to molest and truly own my new slave. My Bitch Mother.

Bitch Mother did nothing to stop me as I touched her, although she kept her face pointed away from me throughout the perpetuity of the helicopter ride...

When we landed at the helipad and rode the elevator down to the lawyer's office, Bitch Mother protested that she wanted a non-partisan, independent attorney and that she wanted us to pick one together, not have me choose the law firm.

"This lawyer is one of the best in Florida. He has no affiliation with me. I have drawn up the contract and terms and he will preside over the signing, answer any questions you have. This is the deal. Take it or leave it."

She didn't respond and so I took her silence as assent.

Sitting in the lawyer's office, looking at the contract laid over the mahogany table, Bitch Mother signed without any arguing after seeing the monetary amount, the lump sum she'd acquire.

However, she did wince upon the clause that read: "as well as cleaning, cooking, servant will comply to whatever demand, any or all, employer requests, implicit or non-implicit..."

The lawyer, a smug middle-aged, short, stocky, balding Cuban American, wearing an exquisitely tailored Armani suit and crocodile skin wingtips, made minimal eye contact throughout the signing, and Bitch Mother, after reading the contract carefully, signed and stood up to leave without saying a word.

It was a good thing she'd reverted to her maiden name, I thought, as I penned my signature, wondering what might be going through the lawyer's mind, having such an unusual request. But he'd probably seen much weirder, with all his rich clients...

Stepping into the hot and humid, 105 Fahrenheit, salty Miami air, we boarded the heli-cab, and I slapped Bitch Mother on her bubble-shaped ass, which elicited no reaction from her.

Throughout the return journey I felt up her thigh again and twirled her delicate, curly locks. Her sandalwood shampoo so fragrant, her golden hair so radiant...

Gazing out at the palm tree-lined avenues below, I whispered into my mother's ear: "You're going to suck my dick... My cum will be your afternoon snack..."

She didn't respond and remained silent until we touched down back at my building.

I'd ordered ingredients for dinner that night, which arrived shortly after we did.

Bitch Mother went to the bathroom to freshen up and then met me in the kitchen.

"Tonight, you're cooking roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. But first, you scrub the kitchen floor."

"But, it's not dirty."

"Shut the fuck up! I said clean it! What did I tell you about talking back!"

"What did I tell you about that?"

"I'm... Sorry."

I opened the cabinet below the kitchen sink, pulled out a large dish sponge, ran it under the faucet, wetting it down, and threw it at Bitch Mother. It landed in front of her stilettos...

"Take off your clothes. Drop to your knees."

"You're going to hell... You fucking monster..."

I extended my arm, fluttered my fingers, and clapped my hands together, loudly, demonstrating my dominance, letting her know what was coming if her recalcitrance continued unabated.

"Off with the clothes, bitch!"

Looking me dead on, staring at me, unflinchingly, she relented, took a deep breath, and pulled up and off the black blouse she wore.

She tossed it to the floor, and pushed down her beige skirt, kicked it off.

I was expecting her to undo and fling off the matching black silk bra and panties, pantyhose, but instead she stood there staring at me, like a deer in headlights, frozen.

"Bra, take it off..."

Keeping her eyes parallel to mine, she reached back, unhooked her bra, let it slide off her shoulders, hit the floor next to the rest of her clothes.

"Happy now?"

Ogling her luscious tits, I was. They were so perfect, round, firm, with pink pepperoni size areolae and pointy nipples that instantly shrank and hardened in the cool AC air...

"Fuck, you're beautiful. Your body is amazing."

"No, it's not. You're a pervert, wanting to see your mother like this."

"You're right, I am. If you weren't such a cunt to me, maybe we wouldn't be in this situation now. But we are. Remember, I own you, mom, and you have to do whatever I command. Say it to me, 'Your wish is my command.'"