Celia's Game

As the laces loosened the leather was no longer stretched across her face and the hood went from a form-fitting mask to merely a leather bag covering her head. Significantly, this meant she could now hear and the first thing she heard was Celia telling them to stop.

"That's enough. Can you both hear me? Nod if you can. Good, now put your hands back down by your sides. That's it. Now I want you standing as far apart as you can." They shuffled apart until the chain was tight between them. "OK, listen carefully, here are the rules. Your session with me is over for tonight. However, your session with each other is only just starting. The chains you are wearing are to stay in place, just as they are now, until you present yourselves at my back door at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Then, and only then, will I remove the them.

"Of course, if either of you feel you can't go through with this then there's nothing to stop you freeing yourselves and walking away. However, and don't doubt for one moment the sincerity with which I mean this, if so much as one chain is freed, one padlock cut, there will be consequences.

"My relationships are built on trust. They only work if you trust me completely. It is my choice to put the two of you in chains tonight and, if you cannot comply with that choice, then that implies that you do not trust my choices.

"And, if you do not trust my choices then you don't trust me, and our relationship is over.

"Or, to put it more simply, if the two of you are not chained together exactly as you are now then don't bother coming back tomorrow morning - or ever again. Nod if you understand."

Sam nodded. She'd never heard Celia be so stern. There was no doubt whatsoever that she meant what she said.

"OK, if we're all agreed then there's one last thing before I go." They heard Celia go to the bench and come back to stand beside them. Suddenly Sam felt a cool gooey liquid flowing over her shoulders, over her back and chest then on down her body. Whatever it was, it seemed to go on forever and she was soon covered in it. Finally, it ended and Sam heard the metallic sound of the empty tins being put on the workbench.

"I'm going now. There's a kitchen timer on the workbench set for five minutes. When it goes off, and only then, you can remove the hoods. Goodnight."

Silently they both waited for the timer. Five minutes can seem like an eternity when your stood, blindfolded and chained and with god knows what dripping down you. As she waited, Sam began to put two and two together, trying to work out just what Celia was playing at. She could feel a growing sense of fear, fear that she might just know who this man she was chained to would turn out to be. Surely not, surely Celia would not do this to her, to them.

The timer sounded and, with a sense of dread, she reached up and pulled off her hood. She blinked, her eyes having to get used to the light but she knew, she knew at once...

"Mum!" Ben cried out. "What the fuck! What are you doing here?"

"Pretty much the same as you, I guess."

"But... but... I never thought it would be you. We were... we were... I had my fingers... you were... this is so fucked." He reached down to the chain between them. "I can't do this." He turned towards the bench. "We need to find some pliers or something."

"What for?"

"To cut the chains. Maybe if I pull hard enough the locks will break. They can't be that strong, surely." Ben started to tug at the chain between their waists.

"Hang on, hang on, we've both got to agree on this." Sam put her hand on his to stop him.

"What, you mean you want to stay chained together?"

"Not exactly. It's more about what Celia said about it all being over if we're not chained together in the morning."

"Who cares what she thinks. This is bullshit!"

"I care what she thinks. She's been good to me, very good. I'm very fond of her and I don't want to throw that all away in haste."

"Fond of her?" And then it finally sunk in. "Mum, are you telling me that you and Miss Forbes are some sort of item? Are you saying you'd stick with her after she's pulled a stunt like this?"

"Yes, we're an item, as you put it and, yes, I know this is a bit much but, please, let's just stop and think for a bit before we cut any chains."

"No way!"

"Please, Ben," Sam pleaded. "Please."

For a long, long moment Ben just looked at her but he stopped tugging at the chain and, eventually, let go of it all together.

"Let me get this straight: you, my mum, have a thing going with Miss Forbes, a thing which, by the looks of it includes lots of kinky sex? For fuck's sake!"

"Yes, I do have a 'thing' with her, and yes, if you have to know, we do have sex together and, yes, I guess some of it is pretty kinky. So what?"

"So what! So what! Do you have any idea how fucked that is? How long has this been going on?"

"Ever since she moved in. We've been together for about four or five years now."

"Four or five years! You and her! Dykes!"

"Less of the 'dykes', please. Yes, Celia and I have been in a relationship for four or five years. And talking of kinky sex, isn't that a bit rich coming from you? I wasn't the only one hooded and in chains in this scenario. Do I gather the two of you are an 'item' as well. How long has that been going on?"

"Ever since last summer when I turned eighteen. But that means... But mum, how could you? Aren't you a bit old for that sort of thing."

"Old! I'm thirty-eight, not ninety-eight. I've still got needs just like any other woman. And, while we're on the subject of age, how about you? After all, she's old enough to be your mother, quite literally."

"That's different."

"How?"

"It just is."

For a moment or two they just stood there as the sticky goo covering their bodies dripped slowly downwards. Both were still quite angry but the steam had gone out of the argument. Ben and Sam could never fight for long.

"So, are we going to cut the chains or not," Ben asked after a while.

"Please, Ben, I'd rather not. I know you really want to but, as a favour to me, can't we stay like this just for one night and then, in the morning, after she cuts us free, you won't have to see her ever again."

"She really means that much to you?"

"Yes, she does. Sorry."

Again there was a long pause. In the end Ben just shook his head wearily.

"OK, I suppose I can manage one night. So, what do we do now?"

"First things first, I need to get these clamps off my nipples.

Sam reached for the nipple clamps and took them off. As ever, as the blood returned, they stung like crazy and Sam couldn't suppress a little moan of pain.

"Stings, doesn't it?"

"How would you... Oh, I guess that means she uses them on you as well."

"Quite a bit. And you got it easy; she hangs weights from mine." Ben and Sam shared a smile.

As they put their hoods and Sam's nipple clamps down on the workbench Ben saw the golden syrup tins. He picked one up. It was, like its partner, completely empty.

"What the fuck was this all about? I don't know about you but I don't find being covered in golden syrup particularly sexy. What are we supposed to do, lick it off each other?"

"Lick it off each other? If you think that for one moment... OK, I get it, you were joking. No, I don't know why she did it but I do know it's got pretty much everywhere. I need a shower, a long hot shower and I need it now."

"Here?"

"I think the idea is we are to go home and have on. Come along. The sooner we clean this gunk off us the better."

Getting back home turned out to be harder than they had thought. Right from the start there was the problem of the stairs out of the cellar. If they got too close they were so sticky they couldn't move against each other. If they stayed apart, well, as far apart as they could, they simply didn't fit up the staircase. After some experimenting they found that going sideways was easiest, as long as they kept in step. As they came together Ben put one arm around Sam's back and took her hand in the classic dance position.

"It looks like we're going to have to dance our way out of here," Ben commented dryly. "And, tonight, on Strictly Come dancing we have Ben dancing with Sam in the golden syrup tango."

"Very funny, Ben, very funny. Now, one, two, one, two, let's get out of here."

They were still 'dancing' as they passed the outhouse. When Ben said he wanted to check if his stuff was in there they discovered that both of them used it as a changing room. However, when they looked inside, it was no surprise to find it empty.

"Come on, I'm freezing," Sam complained.

"But what if Mr Biggins is out walking his dog? He'll see us."

"He'll see us anyway if we stand around here much longer. Anyway, have you got any better suggestions?"

They made the twenty yards between the houses without incident but, when they got to the kitchen door, they were leaving a trail of golden syrup footsteps which Sam didn't want traipsed through the house. At her insistence, as soon as they entered the kitchen, they found some greaseproof paper which, when torn into foot sized squares, stuck to their feet and protected the carpets.

At last they made it to the bathroom where they turned on the shower, waited a couple of moments for the water to run hot and then, with a huge sigh of relief, squeezed together into the shower unit.

Right up until they had got into the shower Sam simply couldn't understand why Celia had done the thing with the golden syrup. It seemed a bit childish, not in the least erotic, and didn't really fit with the whole chained together thing. Now, as they washed themselves down she began to understand. Forcing them to shower together was forcing an intimacy that, otherwise, they might have been able to avoid. Quite frankly, two people sharing a shower is always going to be cosy and, with the amount of golden syrup all over them, this was not going to be quick. At first Ben, in particular, was stubbornly separate, keeping as far apart from Sam as the chain and crowded shower unit would allow. However, after one particular awkward fumble when he dropped the shower gel and they had to crouch down in unison to pick it up, it became apparent that, for some areas, it was simply going to be easier if they washed each other.

At first they were both a bit nervous and reticent about this but, as the sticky honey was replaced by warm soap suds, nature began to take its course. In particular, when they washed each other's backs, they had to squeeze together and Sam wasn't entirely surprised when Ben's prick, which had been flaccid ever since the big reveal, started, once more, to stiffen. Surreptitiously Sam rubbed herself against him and was quietly pleased to feel it harden even more. Secretly she was reassured to find she wasn't the only one getting more and more turned on by all this warm soapy flesh.

When they finally moved apart again Sam glanced down to check out the strength of Ben's erection. The poor lad was as hard as he had been when they had still been hooded. A wicked urge overtook her. Taking another dollop of shower gel, she reached down.

"Here, let me wash this for you."

"Mum! What are you doing?"

"I'm washing off the syrup. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"But that's... that's my prick."

"I know and I'm getting it nice and clean for you. Do you want me to stop?"

"It's a bit weird."

"So, do you want me to stop?"

There was a long pause.

"Maybe... as long as you're just washing, not anything else."

"OK, just washing."

Tenderly, lovingly, Sam 'washed' his prick by smoothing the shower gel up and down the shaft. Occasionally she would break from this to cuddle his balls. And all the while Ben got harder and harder. She squeezed up close to him and said softly, into his ear "I think my cunt's still got syrup in it. Why don't you wash that while we're at it?" Ben hesitated, possibly a bit shocked by his mother using the 'C' word, but, sure enough, it wasn't long before his soapy fingers were rubbing against her pubic mound. Sam put her spare arm around Ben's shoulders and opened her legs a bit, encouraging him in.

And all was going well until the limits of Sam's hot water tank were reached and the shower started to run cold. Reluctantly they broke apart, rinsed off, turned off the taps and exited the booth.

Once they were out of the shower the mood seemed to break. Getting dry involved just as much in the way of gymnastics as showering but towels, however fluffy, don't have quite the same eroticism as warm soapy water. In particular, Ben's shyness returned and, once they were dry, he insisted that they both put on some clothes. They went to his bedroom where he found a pair of boxers and a plain white tee shirt. Then to Sam's where she chose a pair of panties and the oversize rugger shirt that she used as a nightie.

"So, what do we do now?" Ben asked.

"What do you want to do?"

"It's still quite early, only just after nine o'clock. I suppose we could watch some telly."

Together they went down to the lounge. As ever, the chain between them meant that everything was harder than they had anticipated. Going downstairs was hard enough but trying to settle on the sofa was a nightmare. It was quite clear the chain was too short for them to sit side by side; they would have to remain facing each other. But that meant that, if one of them was sat, the other had to kneel astride their lap which was uncomfortable and impractical. After all, the one kneeling was facing the wrong way. They tried lying side by side which was worse. Then Ben worked out a compromise: he could sit and his mother could lie, face down across his lap.

"Why are you the one that gets to sit?" Sam asked dryly.

"Because you're the one who won't cut the chains."

"OK, smartarse, if you insist."

As Ben sat down Sam had to lean forward with her hands on the back of the sofa. Then she had to lower herself sideways until she was across his lap. It was awkward but in the end they managed.

"This is really uncomfortable," Sam complained bitterly as she arranged cushions under her head.

"Have you got any better suggestions?"

"No, I guess not."

"OK, what do you want to watch?" Ben switched on the telly and scrolled through the Sky+ menu. They compromised on MasterChef and, as John Torode, Greg Wallace and the various contestants did their thing, they settled down to watch.

In many ways, even despite the rather odd seating position, this could not have been more normal: Sam and Ben, mother and son, sat on the sofa, watching MasterChef together. However, Sam couldn't help but feel that there was an unresolved sexual tension in the room, and, for all Ben's protestations, for all his insistence on clothes, she wasn't the only one with a massive unresolved itch to scratch.

As soon as he put the remote control down Ben found he had nowhere to put his hands. After some dithering he rested them on Sam's buttocks. OK, given how they were sitting he didn't have many other places to put them but such easy intimacy certainly moved the tension up a notch. It didn't help that the whole scenario put Sam in mind of the way Celia would sometimes give her an 'over the knee' spanking. Half of her even wanted Ben to give her a tap or two.

And, being Ben, he couldn't keep his hands still. He was always a fiddler and, probably without even knowing what he was doing, his fingers of his left hand were playing along the chain around her waist while the fingers of his right slipped down between her thighs.

Sam surreptitiously eased her thighs apart so as to give him better access.

"So, who do you think is going home this week?"

"I'm not sure. The blonde, maybe?" Quite frankly Sam didn't give a hoot as to who was winning or losing as long as the warm pressure of his hand remained between her thighs. She wasn't sure but she thought she could feel Ben's prick beginning to grow where she was laid across it.

However, Ben shifted position, probably to ease the growing pressure on his prick, and, as he did so, his hand slipped even deeper. Sam couldn't suppress a little squeak as his fingers grazed the gusset of her panties.

"God, mum! I'm so sorry!" Ben protested as he whipped his hands away. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's OK, Ben, I really don't mind. Look, I know you've nowhere else to put them. Please, do whatever feels comfortable and let's get back to the program."

Ben did replace his hands on her buttocks but he was now overly self-conscious and it wasn't the same thing at all.

Finally, MasterChef was over.

"See, I told you the blonde was going home," Sam commented.

Ben had reached for the Sky controller and was flicking through the programs.

"How about...," he started.

"How about bed," Sam replied. "It's all right for you, you're sitting down properly. I'm scrunched up and it's really uncomfortable. I need to be somewhere where I can stretch out full length."

"Isn't it a bit early for bed. It's only just ten o'clock."

"I know it's early but, seriously Ben, I've had enough of this. I need my bed and I need it now."

"But what am I going to do?"

"I dunno. Grab your kindle and you can read if you want. I'm just not staying down here any longer."

"Oh, all right." Ben picked up the remote and switched off the TV.

After a certain amount of struggle to get up off the sofa they went upstairs and into the bathroom. Brushing their teeth was no problem but, naturally, they both wanted the toilet. It was immediately clear that there was no way to do this with any privacy. One of them sat on the toilet as normal, the other sat on their lap, facing them. Once again the last shreds of modesty were being stripped away.

Getting into bed was even more complex than getting up from the sofa. They ended up standing against the edge, holding each other tight and then falling together into it. Then there was a certain amount of wiggling together until they lay, side by side, facing each other. They experimented a bit and found that one of them could lie on their back as long as the other was curled up right next to them, preferably with one leg thrown over. Naturally Ben insisted on being the one on his back using the excuse that it was the only way he could read his Kindle.

Not that Sam minded particularly. For the first time in ages she was curled up against a man, a man she loved and not a monster like her ex. She felt warm, she felt secure, she felt loved and cared for, she felt happy.

There was one fly in the ointment but, she had to admit, it was a doozy. Nothing they had done since leaving Celia's had done anything to relieve the itch between her thighs. What's more it was a very specific itch. The butt plug, still more than amply filling her backside, seemed to emphasise was was missing in front. After all those years without a man there was one thing she wanted more than any other. She wanted, no make that needed, to feel a prick, a big fat hard prick, deep, deep inside her, filling her cunt the way the plug filled her arse..

It didn't help that, despite Ben's obvious reticence, she could tell that he was equally aroused. The simple answer, the easy answer, was staring them in the face. However, should they go down that road, then 'normal' society would call it incest and be shocked. Sam mulled this over. One thing Celia had taught her over their time together was that the conventional was not always right. If two consenting adults come together in private to share their bodies, then what business is it of anyone else what they do? Where's the harm? Who's to tell them no?

If only she could be sure that Ben would feel the same way about it. The last thing she wanted to do was to hurt their relationship by forcing herself upon him.

And as she lay there pondering she could feel, simply by the way she was lying, the warm pressure where her pubic mount pressed against his thigh. That alone was enough to keep her ticking over. She could feel her juices flowing. If only...