Evolution

She wasn't counting as I had trained her, and I made a mental note not to let this go unpunished. Still, I only gave her ten lashes, her reward for leaving my bed unmade. I was getting tired from the exertion, and I dropped the belt, suddenly realizing how tired I actually was. I still wanted release, and I grabbed her hot red ass as I shoved my cock into her.

Her pussy was dripping and hot and I met no resistance as I shoved my cock fully into her. I held her ass and felt the walls of her pussy gripping my cock. It felt like warm velvet as I easily slid in and out of her. It was hard to imagine I had emerged, twenty five or so years before from this very opening.

It seemed impossibly small to take anything larger than my cock, but I remembered watching as my sister, at my command, had shoved her entire hand up to the wrist in this very hole. I fucked my mother, in the same position but in different ways, over and over. I fucked her hard for a time, short hard strokes that banged us together. I could feel my heavy balls slap against her clit.

For a while, I pulled all the way out and shoved all the way back in, feeling my cock part her wet lips over and over. I buried my cock in her, rotating my hips as though I was trying to widen her hole. I grabbed her wrists and forced them down as I exploded in her. I could feel her body tighten in pain and pleasure as I felt the cum leave my shaft, her nipples and pussy lips pulled to the limit.

I stroked into her until I was completely spent, then began to untie the ropes around her wrists. When her arms and wrists were free, I released the twine. I expected her to rub the soreness from herself, but instead, she remained in place, untying her ankles, leaving my cock inside her.

When her ankles were free, she turned and dropped to her knees. She slipped my limp cock into her mouth and cleaned it with her tongue. She made no effort to remove the clips or the dildo in her ass. She looked funny with pieces of twine hanging everywhere and a rope wound around her waist. She kissed my cock and looked up at me. Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Thank you."

I went into the bedroom and flopped down on the unmade bed. I wasn't aware of anything after that. I may have turned on the television and gotten a drink of water, but I'm not even sure of that. It wasn't the wine or the intense sex. It was sheer exhaustion. It was a case of being asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I woke the next morning later than usual. I had been asleep for nearly nine hours, far more than my usual six or so. I am a creature of habit, and I realized something was different. Mom typically had her lips wrapped around my cock when I opened my eyes. It was because she looked at my clock. When I set my wake up call, she would begin to service me just in front of the alarm, sometimes turning it off, so that I would wake to a blow job rather than a beeping.

This morning, I woke to the inviting smells of breakfast. It was understood that Sunday was my day. I could choose anything or nothing. I sat up and reached for the nightstand without looking. I smiled as my fingers closed around the coffee cup that I knew would be there for me. I wondered how many times it had dumped and refilled, to be hot and ready when I rose.

I stabbed the remote to local news. I stretched, drank coffee and thought about some things. I was having some feelings over the past few months that were hard to reconcile. I hadn't dated since I moved in with mom. My life was consumed with work and being the master of the house.

I spent some time with every woman every week. It wasn't always sex, and it wasn't always about our lifestyle of domination and submission. In addition, the women came to find that the two activities weren't necessarily combined. They were linked, but the process could go in any direction.

In other words, I was the master, but that did not mean I would have sex with them during their sessions. It seemed as though dad was the same way. I had found something recently that clued me in to this. The females knew that at some point during their encounters, dad's cock might enter each and all of them, or just as likely, it might not. Being the favored one that would get his cum was the ideal to their experience.

I changed this. I'm sure that getting my cock and cum was even a bigger deal to them now, since I orchestrated several events where my cock never left my pants. When they decided to test me and push my buttons, I made them fuck each other, something that I had never seen dad doing. I kept my sex as a reward for the right behavior. They caught on quickly.

They were far more brutal to each other than I could ever be. This turned out well for me. I could be assertive in my role without the necessity of being sexually aggressive. The women knew, from history and instinct, not only what they responded to, but their limits, and they did their best to push those boundaries with each other.

Something kept pulling at me, somewhere in the back of my mind, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It was a nagging that was unrelenting. I tried, yet again, to push it to the back of my mind as I finished my cup and went to the bathroom to shower. I came out to have breakfast, chatting with my mother about random things.

I liked looking at my mother. She was short with a great body. She walked several miles every day, and her legs and ass were tight and toned. She usually walked around in some sort of dress that she knew I liked to see her in, and one that had easy access to any part of her body.

Today she wore one of my father's undershirts. Some people call it a 'wife beater', although I don't know why and have never liked the name. It was white and thin and fit her like a mini dress. I could easily see her dark nipples under the thin fabric, and I watched her c cup full breasts jiggle, shake and sway as she moved. Just from the rubbing against the shirt, her nipples were hard.

She served me breakfast and coffee and asked if I would like jelly or if I would like her to suck my dick while I ate. She asked both questions in exactly the same way. I shook my head and thought about her questions for a minute. Would you like condiments and would you like sex? Exactly the same tone to the question. I figured out what had been nagging at my mind.

There was no passion in my life. I had sex with no emotional connection. I had no one that I shared feelings of love and intimacy with. Don't get me wrong, I was surrounded by plenty of love, but it was a family love. We just shared a kinky component to Sunday dinner. I needed a girlfriend.

This brought up a whole new and different set of questions and problems. I thought, for perhaps the 100th time, about Dana. She was beautiful and sexy and the kind of girl that made most men melt. Blonde, with green eyes and full lips. She was, to me, the whole package. She was smart and well spoken. She dressed well. She gave me signals that she wanted our relationship to develop on a more personal level.

There was just one problem. She worked for me. I have a firm and strict rule that I don't play where I eat. As a result, I kept my distance. Despite my personal and professional reservations, I thought about her every day.

I've seen and dated my share of women. Some would be considered far more lovely than Dana. Some had better bodies and knew just how to accentuate and flaunt their sexuality. Some had money and connections that would double my business. I avoided most entanglements until I was ready and had feelings for someone.

There was another component to this. Dana gave me a look that said she knew. I am a careful person. I am aware of security. What she knew of my secrets, if indeed she did know, came from her observations of me. There were times when she looked at me with a crooked smile on her face, as though she could see into and through me, and knew every dark thing inside.

Mom told me that she was going downstairs. I nodded, pondering the thoughts I was having. Mom told me that she was going downstairs. I was wrapping my mind around the realizations I just had about myself. Mom told me that she was going downstairs.

It had pricked my mind twice before it registered. Being anything is a funny thing. No matter who or what you are, or how you describe yourself, someone will always be there to disagree. I am well aware of this, so I dismiss it and go on with my life.

I first realized this when I wrote a story about myself, and how a book had affected me. I was pretty honest about my feelings about what I read and how it made me feel. I was told that I was wrong. I was describing my feelings and I was told that I was wrong. I still laugh about this.

How someone can put a label on another is beyond the scope of my comprehension. We tend to choose putting someone in a predetermined category, rather than challenging and expanding our beliefs. If I must, I'd consider myself a master and a dominant, but this doesn't define who or what I am. I found that people have a preconceived idea of what these terms mean, and anything that doesn't match their criteria exactly must be wrong.

In addition, these people have no problem expressing themselves to you directly. They will tell you, most times anonymously, that you are wrong. What you do, how you act and what you think do not match the actions of their definition. I sometimes let my mind slip into a mode that asks what the proper response might be from a proper master. Then I stop myself and do what feels natural and right to me.

There mom's torture began. It was just a small thing. She told me that she was going downstairs. I wondered about how many of these little slips I had missed or ignored. She had been in this lifestyle for far long enough to know exactly what she was doing. She could have been challenging me or simply asking for attention. Either way, her actions demanded a swift and calculated response.

The rules were set up by her and my father long before. You did not tell the master of the house anything. You asked for permission. You showed proper respect that you knew your place in the order of things. I knew I had to address this violation immediately, or I could be opening a door to chaos. I went to the closet and packed a box.

It nagged at me that she had pulled this so soon after a session. Perhaps it was just a slip on her part, or perhaps something else. I decided that it didn't matter. I still had an obligation to fulfill my role.

At the bottom of the stairs, I saw mom near the washer. I set the box down quietly and crossed the room. She heard nothing as I approached, my bare feet on the carpeted floor making no noise. She was naked, just about to change into shorts and a shirt, tennis shoes and socks for her daily walk. I snatched her up by the hair and propelled her backward toward the treadmill.

I positioned her on the machine.

"Don't move."

She had what I thought was a look of bewilderment on her face. Maybe she didn't intend the violation. So much the better. I used leather to bind her wrists to the side rails. I put a ball gag in her mouth and pulled hard on her hair, until she was looking at the ceiling. I put my lips an inch from her ear.

"You don't tell me you're going anywhere, slut. You ask my permission. Do you understand me, you little cunt?"

Mom's eyes widened and she nodded furiously. I stepped in front of her and pinched each nipple hard, pulling it out. I slapped her tits and flicked her nipples until I thought they were as hard as they were going to get. Then I sucked on each hard, trying to make them a little harder and more sensitive.

When they were sticking out to my satisfaction, I clipped a metal clip on each nipple. Mom gurgled in pain as each bit into her, but her eyes really responded when I attached a weight to each ring at the end of the clip. I pulled on them and slapped them to make sure they were securely fastened. When I was sure they were attached to my satisfaction, I stepped back.

Mom was trying not to move. The slightest movement caused her tits to shake, and the weights to swing just enough to increase her pain. To make standing still a little more difficult, I made her step into a butterfly device. They go on like a pair of panties, but rather than going under and attaching at the back above the ass, the bottom looped around the top of each thigh. The top went around the waist normally, but rode very low.

From any angle, the woman's pussy and ass could be entered unimpeded, but there was a device in the pseudo panties that was actually a vibrator. This part held firmly right on the clitoris. From the back, you saw just three thin straps. From the front, you saw the straps and a tiny triangle pressed in at the front of the slit. It wad a wireless remote with 3 speeds.

I slapped the insides of her thighs to get her legs open wider. I attached a clip to each of her pussy lips. I put heavier weights on these, repeating my steps to make sure they were fastened properly. What could best be described as a gurgling wail came out from under the ball gag as I slapped and pulled on the clips.

She jumped as the clips pulled on her pussy lips. I hit the dvd remote and removed her chosen destination for today, not bothering to look at it. I replaced it with a disc of herself and my sisters being tied down and brutally fucked. More noise came out from under the ball.

I started the treadmill at a leisurely pace, letting her get used to the walk. She groaned and adjusted to walking with the clips pulling her pussy lips, getting her legs as far apart as possible. I stepped up and put my face very close to hers.

"Do you think a half hour of this will remind you to speak to me with the proper respect?"

Mom nodded furiously and this time, I could actually make out the gurgle under the ball gag.

"I'm sorry."

"Good. Then an hour should make sure you don't forget any time soon."

Her eyes widened and she began to choke out a pleading cry. I slapped her face.

"You invited this."

As I turned, I hit the remote, making the vibrator buzz directly on her clit at the highest level. I called over my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, sir. That would have been the right response."

The last thing I heard, other that her sobbing cries and the noise from the television screen, was a set of little clanks. I realized that with every step, she was causing the weights hanging from her pussy to bang together. I smiled. My own little version of wind chimes.

Upstairs, I called my older sister. Jenn sensed something and immediately asked what was wrong.

"Nothing. I just need to talk to someone. Outside of all of this."

My sweeping gesture went unseen, but I'm sure she felt it. Jenn was sharp, and grasped the meaning immediately.

"I'll be back on Tuesday for you. If I'm not finished here, I'll fly back Wednesday morning."

I assured her that this could wait, but she was adamant. She knew me well enough to judge for herself the intensity of my words. Besides, I never asked for anything from anyone. I was self sufficient. Just my call set her alarms off. My request, in her mind, made it urgent.

I thanked her and hung up. There was no point in arguing the point. Once my big sister made a decision, she set a plan in motion that couldn't be changed or discussed. I knew her well. She was probably on the laptop right now making her plane reservations and calling her editor.

I made some notes in my journal and got a drink. I decided to talk to the girls. I wanted some information that only they could give me. It was just shy of an hour when I made my way back downstairs.

Even from a distance, I could see that my mother was drained. Her body had a shine I could see from across the room. Sweat had been pouring off of her. Drool was leaking from the sides of the ball gag, and her chest was heaving. Her tits were coated in sweat and drool when I turned the treadmill off.

I could see that her legs were like rubber. She nearly collapsed. She was shaking all over, and I wondered how many orgasms she had endured. I turned off both the dvd player and the butterfly. Mom sank to her knees. I slipped off the ball gag.

"Please, sir."

She was gasping for air.

"I'm sorry sir. Master. I'm sorry."

The shaking continued. Her voice caught and she was choking back sobbing.

"I... I'm sorry sir. I won't... I'm sorry. I..."

I pulled her head back, again by her hair. I steeled myself and maintained my resolve. This was not my mother. This was my slave. I again put my face very close to hers and fixed my eyes on hers. I tapped her temple with my index finger.

"Remember."

I stood and untied her left wrist.

"Now for your punishment."

Her head snapped up as though I had slapped her. Shock and confusion came over her face. I could see the questions playing across her mind as clearly as if they were written on a blackboard in front of me.

This wasn't the punishment? What was this? There is more coming?

The dread fell over her face like a mask.

"Make yourself presentable and be in front of me in exactly 20 minutes."

I walked back upstairs, leaving her to untie herself and remove the clamps. I did not look back. I sat at the kitchen counter and considered a few things. I needed to figure out a few solutions to certain issues. In my present state, they were not the slaves. I was. I was expected to be available for their every desire and tantrum, giving each my undivided attention.

I thought this was too much for any one person, and I wondered how my dad had managed it. Mom reported 19 minutes later, naked and clean, her head bowed. She stepped in front of me and dropped to her knees. She kissed my cock, then my balls, then my feet. Still staring at the floor, she said it again.

"I'm very sorry sir. Please forgive me."

I still wasn't convinced she was telling the truth. It might have been a lapse in judgement, but my instincts told me this wasn't the case. If she thought for a second that I wouldn't answer a challenge swiftly and severely, she was mistaken.

I took hold of her hair and dragged her to the middle of the living room floor. She scrabbled along to keep from actually being dragged, and when her legs opened, I saw red welts on the insides of her thighs, no doubt the effects of the weights as she walked. I stopped in the middle of the room, letting her drop to the floor.

"You will sleep here tonight."

She said nothing. Her gaze was fixed on the stones that would be her bed. She waited patiently. Good girl.

"You will not speak for the next 24 hours. Not a word, not a syllable, nothing. I do not want to hear your lying fucking mouth for a second."

She lowered her head.

"If you and those other sluts think I am someone you can control, you have made a grave error. Do not fuck with me. I will give you attention on my terms. If you have a problem with this arrangement, just say the word."

Mom shook her head slightly.

I smiled to myself, knowing I had been ready to threaten her with far more serious consequences. I would have went so far as to tell her I would sell her to a redneck to beat and fuck her as much as he wanted. I felt my response had been sufficient, judging solely from her reaction.

Mom got on her knees, closed her eyes and opened her mouth. Her act of contrition. Her way of telling me to use her mouth to satisfy my desires.

"Tasting my cock is a privilege. Having me enter you in any way is a privilege. My cum is a reward. You are entitled to nothing."

She closed her mouth and looked down.

"Make my lunch, slut. No clothes for you for the next 24 hours."

I reached down and took her face, under the chin, raising her eyes to mine. I slapped her face.

"You had better listen and get it right. I said to come to me in 20 minutes. Not 19, not 21. 20 minutes, and I specifically told you exactly. That was your test. How do you think you did?"