Dragon Lady Mother

Notice: no characters are underage in this story.

If you saw a picture of my mother as a young woman, it would remind you of an anime girl, wide eyed and lovely, buttons bursting on a tight white shirt over a pleated skirt, and legs that stretched off the page. But in her smile, you would see that she knew exactly the effect her innocent body was having on you, and even then, she was completely in control.

Fast forward to the woman I know, elegant, stunning, silk blouses or long slitted dresses, black hair piled high exposing that genetically perfect neck, neckline plunging into shapely cleavage, that leg strategically posed outside the slit, tall heels sculpting calves, but the eyes now narrowed like the smile, and anything but inviting. Nothing out of place, nothing free to touch, and impossible to turn away from. And more than ever, in complete control.

If you've pictured a Dragon Lady, uncompromising, authoritative, dominant, demanding obedience, a woman whose mind and beauty have taken her everywhere she wants to go, then you have met my mother.

As you would expect, she was a dominating parent, requiring one single thing - complete obedience. There was never a father in the picture. And I am her only son. And I was the completely obedient son. I would do what she said, when she said it, without question.

By the time I was 21, I had an idea what she did for a living, but I didn't know the details at that time. I knew it involved plenty of jewelry and perfume, a deep wardrobe, perfect hair, makeup, and manicure. I knew it involved a stretch limo pulling up in front of our apartment most evenings. And I knew it kept us very well.

At home, I never had any privacy. My mother was very security-minded, so there were cameras everywhere. Some were obvious and some were not, and she could bring up any view on her phone at any time. I assumed she was always watching. So I had no secrets.

But there was never any facade of external moral restrictions. Which meant that my life was simple - if Mother forbade it, I did not do it. If she had not, I felt no shame.

She never brought any men home. Or women. Never any drama. Never anything unseemly or out of place. On the rare occasion that I would be awake when she returned home, she seemed just as well put together as when she went out. Again, complete control.

But this is a story about my twenty-first birthday.

The limo arrived outside as usual, and I saw it pull up. I could hear her phone ring in her bedroom, and I assumed it was the usual exchange, and she would be heading down in a few moments. It was the ultimate disappointment. She had always found some way to celebrate my birthdays up until now, and I honestly believed she would do something special for this milestone, but she had not mentioned it all day, and I dared not ask. And now it looked like I would spend the rest of it alone.

Then she called my name.

I came to the door of her bedroom. I was not allowed in without her permission, and I was never ever given permission.

"Yes, Mother?"

"Come here," I heard her say from inside the master bathroom.

I came into the bedroom and stood just inside the bathroom door. She was at the mirror, of course, lipstick in hand, finishing touches. If ever she looked more perfect than any other time, it was now.

She put away the lipstick and stared at me, up and down. Assessing me in some new way.

"Happy birthday."

"Thank you," I bowed my head.

"Everything is about to change." She said it as if she were talking about the weather.

"Yes, Mother," still looking down.

"Look at me."

Of course, I looked at her. I tried to only look at her eyes, but she was expertly turned towards me, the cleavage, the leg, the arms. Her look was insistent. I took in all of her.

She was savoring this moment. I was helpless. I felt myself stirring, getting hard. Not so much that she could see it through my jeans, but she knew.

When she was certain that I was completely enthralled by her, she reached up and lifted her right breast out of her silk dress and exposed it to me.

"Do you know what it means when a woman shows you one breast?"

I knew, and she likely knew that I knew, but I wanted her to say it, to make it real, so I said nothing.

"It is her command for the male to masturbate."

She waited.

I had no memory of seeing her nipple before, except as implied through thin material in a blouse or swimsuit. It was stiff and small, darker than the cream of her breast, puffy beneath it. My mouth made its shape. My tongue began to flatten. My body was making its own decisions.

I reached my hand down my jeans.

"Not like that."

I slid my hand back out, unbuttoned my jeans, unzipped them, let them fall to the tile. I did the same with my briefs. My only embarrassment was that I was so small. I wanted to offer her something more inviting. But then I realized that my small size pleased her.

I kicked my briefs and jeans behind me with my bare feet. My t-shirt hung too long, so without being asked, I shrugged that off too, now standing completely naked in front of her.

I reached down and began stroking myself, the head barely sticking out of my fist as I began to tug.

She gave no instructions, which almost surprised me. She just maintained her pose for my benefit. She was my porn. She had commanded. I did not take long.

My legs shook when I came. I spurted in a thick white arc almost to her feet, and I was terrified I might defile them. But my cum was just on my hand, my dick, and on the tile floor.

She waited until I took a deep breathe, then in one motion she slid her breast back into her dress, and in the next motion she reached up the slit in her dress and wiggled out of a tiny pair of black lace panties. She threw them at me, and I caught them.

"Clean up the floor with that."

But she gave something away then. Something very important. Because I could feel how wet her panties were, as I knelt down naked and wiped up my cum. Or maybe she meant me to know exactly that. After all, she could have thrown me a hand towel instead.

I didn't wipe my hand with the panties, except what got wiped as I cleaned the floor, because she hadn't told me to. The back of my hand was still sticky, and the panties were soaked.

"Put them on."

I put them on. I was half flaccid now, so I didn't poke out of the low-cut top, though I might just barely at full staff. The panties rode up in back and were tight against my ball sack.

She said, "Tuck your penis and balls. You should get used to it."

I tucked them and the fit improved. But I was getting hard again, so I wasn't sure how well I could stay tucked.

"Now wait for me at the foot of the bed."

I was shocked. A spanking?

I waited at the foot of the bed. She sat, slid her dress to either side of her long slender legs, and waited for me to bend across them. I left my legs straight, and placed my palms on the floor, my ass hanging in the air over her lap. She pressed down on my butt until my crotch was resting on her right leg.

"What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing. These are your birthday spankings. Twenty-one. But for questioning me, we will double that." She seemed pleased that she could add another punishment.

"Yes, Mother."

Her hand came down once sharply on the wet panties, with a smacking sound, and I was grateful for the thin lace. My dick stiffened, still tucked and now very much in a bind. Her next stroke was on the other cheek, but then she started switching at random, with about five to ten seconds between each swat. She made me count each one aloud. After twenty-one, she paused, her hand on my ass. I had been squirming, and my stiff dick was tucked back hard by the pressure from her leg. Then she lifted my ass and reached into the panties and pulled my dick to the front. I was right, the head just barely stuck out of the top. Now we were ready.

She pressed down hard on the small of my back until I put all my weight on her legs, on my dick on her legs. She pulled the panties down to expose both cheeks, already red, and she spanked me. Every stroke burned, and throbbed my dick on her leg, and again my body started making the decisions. Between strokes, I began trembling, and my hips started humping her. By the thirtieth stroke, I lost all control and just was grinding her leg.

She didn't stop me. Instead, she pulled me by the hair on my head and said, "You will cum on the last stroke."

She waited then, and after every stroke I would grind and she would not continue until I was still.

Until the last three strokes, which were three seconds apart, as she ordered, "Three, Two, One, NOW!"

I came upon demand, on her legs, my belly, the rug.

She didn't even wait for me to stop shaking this time before standing up and rolling me off onto the floor. Then she took both her breasts out of her dress and made sure I got a good look at them as she wiped the cum from her legs with her hands and rubbed it onto her nipples like lotion as she said, "You've made me late. Shampoo this rug while I'm gone."

She pulled herself back together and turned away. Then on the way out the door, she looked back at me on the floor and said, "Oh, and your birthday present is on the bed."

I laid there until I heard the limo drive away. Then I crawled up on the bed and found a small box, gold paper and a black bow.

Inside the box were six more pairs of black lace panties.