Mother's Helper Ch. 09-18

When the shamed mother opened her eyes, her wrists had been untied and she was bent over the bed rail. She levered herself up until the bed finial cleared her cunt and picked up her robe from the floor, wrapping it around her sore ass and breasts.

She went to the kitchen for some much-needed coffee and saw Matt sitting at the table, but in her shame she avoided eye contact. Not until she saw the spatula lying in the kitchen sink did the debased memories of last night slowly come back to her. Yet she was also shamed to admit the memories of her beating last night were yet again exciting her. She had to keep her hand from rubbing her pussy right there in the kitchen. Last night Matthew had been so forceful, so vehement when she'd spoken to him like a bad girl. If only he had already left the house.

"Mother, make waffles for us."

"You're not going to pour the hot batter on me, are you?" she asked apprehensively, remembering what had occurred with the previous batch.

Matt laughed. "No, I promise—unless you burn them!"

"All right," she agreed apprehensively.

When she had added the ingredients to a bowl, he said, "Mix the batter here by me at the table." Warily, she moved the bowl and mixer from the counter to the table. He was sitting on the edge of his chair. Matt noted she was nervous, mixing too quickly and that the bowl was unstable. Surreptitiously, pretending to be reading the paper, he inserted his hand underneath her robe. "Still sore from last night and this morning?" he asked as he smacked her bare ass.

"Owww!" she yelled, jumping from surprise and pain, the mixer knocking over the off-balance bowl, as he'd foreseen. The batter cascaded onto his lap and the floor between his legs.

"Uh oh. A real mess," he said, admonishingly, handing her a cloth napkin. "Get down on your knees and clean it up." She stood motionless, her chest heaving.

"I assume you're going to punish me for this?" she gasped hoarsely, staring at the disgraceful floor. He pulled so hard on the hem of her nightgown that it slid off her shoulder, exposing the upper half of her breast. Before the whole breast appeared, she turned to face him and knelt in one motion, seeing that batter was dripping from his groin to the floor. "Take off your nightgown so you don't make a mess of it as well." She pulled it off. I'm naked, kneeling in front of my son like his slave in the middle of the kitchen, she thought.

Matt leaned forward, his robe opening, and his cock came into view, coated with batter. She stared at it, transfixed. "Lick the batter off the floor."

"Is that my punishment?"

Matt laughed. "No, that's cleanup, or an example of discipline. Your punishments will always be painful." When she remained stationary, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed down until her pendulous breasts ground into the batter on the floor. Powerless and humiliated, her tongue lapped up a couple of loads. Satisfied, Matt grabbed the hair at the back of her head and pulled back on her hair until she was vertical, her breasts splotched with the thick batter, heavy gobs dripping onto her thighs.

He put his hands behind her head and pulled it to his member. "Kiss it clean," he commanded. She looked up at him, wondering if he was teasing her again. She moaned in anticipation and her big lips met the head and lovingly kissed the crown. "Lick it clean," he groaned. Her lips opened and her long tongue began to slowly lave the head, swirling over the top and bottom. She was transported. "Clean all of it." With agonizing slowness, she lowered her head until she had the whole cock in her mouth. "Unnhhh," he moaned. None of the high school girls had been able – or willing – to ever deep-throat him.

Unbidden, her hand kneaded his balls, which were hanging off the front of the chair. She sucked him slowly, withdrawing till only the tip remained inside her mouth, then reversing with agonizing slowness till she engulfed all of him. One finger caressed his perineum as she continued massaging his balls. She looked into his eyes frequently, her own eyes glazed with lust. When he was ready to shoot, he forced her mouth off his dick and held her hands together, palms up, in front of his jerking cock. She groaned, unhappy that he wasn't going to shoot in her mouth, desperate for a fresh load of his sweet jism. He stroked himself a few times and unloaded a huge discharge onto her hands. When he'd extracted the last strands of cum, he pushed her adjoining palms up and slapped them into her face as she cried out in shame and surprise.

Startled, Janice knelt there, ropes of hot cum streaming off her inundated face and spreading across her breasts. She licked whatever spunk her long tongue could reach from her lips. She hoped her son liked her cocksucking. She knew she deserved no less than to kneel at his feet, naked and debased, watching his reddened cock bob in front of her cum-covered face. However demeaning he decided to treat her, it was nothing less than what she deserved for being careless in the kitchen and spilling the batter, only the latest example of being a bad mother.

"You want it all, don't you?" Eyes hooded, she nodded, understanding him perfectly. Her amazing talent for denial and justification had totally collapsed. "Okay, you have my permission," he granted. She scooped up the jism from her forehead and cheeks and sucked it into her mouth, closing her eyes in rapt pleasure at the taste. He watched, leering as she licked every drop of thick jizz off her fingers. He stood. "Clean this up and make it fast. You have to start packing for your trip."

"Yes, Matthew."

Chapter Eleven — Vacation and Homecoming

All day, Janice was tired from her hangover. The sexy mother's morning was busy, preparing for a weeklong vacation out-of-town with her older sister, Darielle. In the afternoon, Janice was relieved again to find a phone message from Matt, her teenage son, saying that he couldn't avoid having dinner at his best friend's house. By the time he arrived home, she was already asleep.

That night, sitting in the kitchen the evening before her departure, she'd added a new entry to her diary. She'd been strangely attracted to the thick, black leather book when she'd seen it in a stationery shop. She stroked the fine, lustrous leather. Black was one of her favorite colors. It reminded her of the short but thick head of ebony hair she loved. Her den was designed with black leather furniture and tables. Much of her clothing and lingerie (her baby dolls were exceptions) were also black.

However, in the hectic rush of last-minute packing the next morning to make her plane, she'd forgotten to check if she'd left the diary in the kitchen. She thought, with a growing sense of dread, that she'd left it exposed in a corner of the kitchen. She could have easily overlooked it, especially since she'd had no time for even a quick breakfast. Nor had she seen Matthew before rushing out the door, leaving her bedroom strewn with clothes and the kitchen piled with pots and dishes.

Janice admired Darielle, who was two inches taller and had always had a self-assured, commanding demeanor. But they also had a complicated relationship. Darielle was tall, but a bit scrawny and bony. She'd always been jealous of Janice's sultry beauty and success with boys and men. The male staff couldn't stop discreetly ogling Janice's voluptuous body, which did not escape Darielle's notice. It was not a relaxing vacation. Darielle noticed that Janice was preoccupied, and when asked, Janice said she'd slept little since she was away from home. It was true that she was restless at night, not because she was in a hotel bed, but because she couldn't remember returning her private diary to its secret place on the top shelf of her bedroom closet. Plus, she thought obsessively about new entries for the book.

She returned home from her trip on Friday, a couple of days earlier than Darielle. When asked why, Janice explained to Darielle that since Matthew was spending his last few weeks at home before going away to college, she wanted to spend as much time as possible with him, and didn't want him to be alone all weekend. She was devoted to her son, especially since men, with the exception of that drunken blowjob at the country club, were no longer a factor in her life. Since her divorce, she could never bring herself to go dating or clubbing, and she was too shy to go to most parties. Besides, that young guy at the club was more of a boy than a man.

"You don't have to worry about a boy like Matthew," Darielle had said. With his good looks and brains? He'll be fine." As he'd done before Janice left, Matthew spent as much time as possible every day researching on the web. He thought of his submissive mother and—as she did—replayed their scenes repeatedly. He also planned and fantasized about taking her to a new level upon her return. Yet he found it impossible to resist jacking off at least 2–3 times a day. However, he would beat off into a glass or dish, then save his ejaculate in the rear of the refrigerator. After several days, it had grown to quite a fair amount.

The truth was that Janice also found it impossible to relax on the vacation and slept fitfully. During the day, lying on the beach or at the resort's pool, she kept remembering her pool at home: how he'd made her bare her breasts, how he'd sadistically immersed them in the hot sun block, the texture of his beautiful penis' skin in the hot sunlight, the hot torrent of his semen inundating her face, the vulnerability of her bound wrists and knees, the discomfort and swelling of her bound breasts. Lying at the resort in her provocatively revealing bikini, Janice wondered if she'd be free to dress the same next year, or if her body would be striped with Matthew's marks, so she'd have to wear a caftan in public.

Darielle was aware of how distracted her sister was but could not possibly guess the reason. Since they were away for only a week, Darielle thought it odd that Janice placed a photo of Matt in his swim trunks on her night table, but no more than a little odd.

At night, Janice kept thinking of how her naked pussy felt when Matt had beat it with the spatula, the length and thickness of his semi-hard, swaying cock when she'd woken him that morning, how she couldn't resist licking up all the cum he'd deposited on her brazen photos, even though his spunk was cold and congealed. She wondered when he'd order her to again suck him dry, and whether he would begin striking her more severely.

Since the sisters shared a queen bed, Janice's restlessness affected Darielle's sleep. Janice remembered every second of kneeling nude in front of her son in the kitchen, kissing, licking and deep-throating his fantastic cock till he shot an incredible load onto her hands. She recalled the burning sensation when he slapped her palms into her face, deserving the degrading experience. That was the second time her face had been covered with his discharge.

Moreover, Janice had no memory of where she'd left her diary. She became increasingly preoccupied with its whereabouts. Besides, her place was at home, available to take care of her son's needs. She decided to return early. Darielle wasn't pleased but didn't object.

Upon arriving home from the airport, Janice went straight to the kitchen, nervous. The diary was nowhere in sight. She went upstairs like a shot but could not find the book in her closet either. She began perspiring in the hot, close closet. The sweaty leotard she still wore from the gym was clinging to her. She searched under her bed, in her lingerie drawer and in her bathroom hamper, all without luck.

Becoming more anxious, she tore the cover and sheets off the bed and ripped her clothing out of the dresser. Increasingly desperate, she swept all the items off the closet shelves.

Alarmed, she returned to the kitchen and started yanking open the drawers, spilling their contents onto the countertop. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the edge of the book peering out from behind an appliance. Thrilled, she hugged the diary to herself, only then realizing how wet she was from tension, how the base of her leotard had ridden into her ass crack.

Matt had spent the week planning and organizing. He thought that an extra letter should be added to BDSM: H, for Humiliation. When he arrived at home, he seemed more mature to his mother—more sexual and in command—than before. She abruptly moved the diary behind her back, trying to hide her excitement and nervousness upon seeing him again. "Hello, Mother." Even his voice sounded deeper. He briefly kissed her cheek and hugged her. "Good trip?"

"It was—all right," she stammered. He waited. "I, I missed you."

"Is that all?" He stared intensely, his eyes drilling into her hypnotically, demandingly.

"Ummm, I felt. . . guilty." She squirmed in the silence. "Guilty for being on vacation when you were not."

"You should feel guilty," he agreed. "What would make you not feel guilty?"

Her pussy creamed, wetting the already damp leotard. "Being disciplined, I guess."

"And how do you deserve to be punished?" He watched her nipples harden into the leotard.

"I—I don't know. . . Whatever you think."

"Should we make you strip right now?"

"Only, only if you insist. . ."

"Or should I spank you with a kitchen tool?"

"Uhhh. . . I suppose," she said, shuffling her feet in excitement.

"Or maybe make you kneel and cover your face and tits with cum?" She gulped, unconsciously licking her lips with the memory of his hot, sweet semen.

"No, I don't think we'll do any of those punishments."

Surprised and disappointed, she whimpered "No?"

"No. To compensate for a week's vacation in the Caribbean, you need something new and much more severe."

"Ohh. . ." she said, wonderingly.

"When did you get back?"

"An hour ago, honey."

"You've been back only an hour and you've already made a mess out of a clean kitchen, a kitchen which you left a mess?"

She looked around her. "Yes, I did a bad thing."

"You know I get home this same time every Friday, yet dinner's not even begun." She had never heard him use such a severe tone before. "Even though I've been working all day while you've been vacationing. Even though you've been home for an hour."

She hung her head, ashamed. "I swear I'll make it up to you. But I'm so tired today. I'd like to go to bed right after dinner. If that's okay with you?"

"Yes, you will make it up to me," he agreed. "Did you wear that leotard on the plane?"

"Of course not. I went straight to the gym from the airport. But after my workout, I didn't do my stretches because I had to come home."

"Go change and then make dinner. Maybe I'll help you stretch after dinner." She was surprised since he'd never before indicated much interest in her yoga. Matt had no idea where this new, authoritative personality kept coming from, but it felt natural and he liked it. Janice nodded.

"Mother, things can't continue as they were before."

She panicked. "What do you mean?"

"I no longer think you're ever going to stop being anything other than a bad mother, making mistakes, being forgetful, resisting my orders, being slow to obey, and so on. So there are going to be a number of changes around here. You will be disciplined more firmly than ever, at least once, if not twice a day. I will tell you exactly what clothing you may wear at home. Soon your lovely skin will wear marks, front and rear. And you will accommodate all of my . . . personal needs. I am the master of this household.

"Understand?" he repeated strictly.

"Yes, Matthew," she replied, relieved to feel her breasts and nipples tingling from this list of subjugation.

She turned her back to leave, forgetting she'd been holding the diary behind her back. "Mother, what were you trying to hide behind your back?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed. What an idiot she was! She stared down at the diary, her back still turned to him. "Umm, it's . . . it's just a recipe book."

"I see. . . it's a 'recipe book.' Then leave it here. Recipe books belong in the kitchen." She hesitated, motionless, struck with panic.

"I said leave it here." Grabbing her wrists with one hand, he forcibly pulled the book out of her hands and set it on the plastic bookstand on the counter that held books so you could follow a recipe while cooking. "I'm home for two minutes, you left your bedroom a mess, you've made the kitchen a mess, and then you don't do what I ask you. Do you think you deserve to be disciplined?" After a long moment, her body tingling, she nodded her head, sweat running down her spine.

"You can go," he said.

"Yes, Matthew." Reluctantly, as if in a dream, she trudged out of the kitchen, burning with shame. She was definitely home again.

Upcoming: Janice is already familiar with the use of appliances such as air conditioners and kitchen utensils such as spatulas. Now she's introduced to the creative use of more household items.

Chapter Twelve — Tea for Two

After Matt had released his mother so she could freshen up, Janice took a quick shower, but saw no reason to get dressed again if she was going to bed right after dinner. She wore a thin, black cotton robe that came to mid-thigh, tied carelessly. Underneath was the same set of sheer panties and baby doll that had been torn by the air conditioner. She prepared one of Matt's favorite meals, nervously aware of the closed diary on the counter. While cooking, she left an old, chipped plate on the edge of the counter. Sure enough, ten minutes later her elbow knocked it off, in full view of Matt. "Aren't you going to discipline me?"

"Yes, but only when I'm good and ready."

During dinner, she rarely looked at him, and when she did, it was only for a moment. She was buzzing with excitement. It had been an eternity since he'd last corrected her, before her vacation. Matt was preoccupied, assembling their agenda. Secretly, he was pleased at her transparent maneuver, pretending to inadvertently break a plate that he knew was already chipped. Considering all the punishments she had lined up, first for going off on vacation, then for making a mess of the kitchen, and finally for being late with dinner, she must be craving humiliation and discipline for her to break a dish.

First, he'd warm her up with a little breast discipline. Then, he'd actually beat her tits. As for below the waist? She'd taken his makeshift cigar tube dildo up her cunt, and he'd jerked off in her ass crack, but she'd never taken an anal dildo inserted by him.

It was a particularly stifling summer evening, and she was perspiring. "It's boiling," he said. "Why don't you take off your robe?"

"I—I can't. I'm going to bed right after dinner so I'm only wearing my baby doll."

"So? You know I like it. Don't talk back to me," he warned.

"But it's ripped."

"I don't care."

"But it's torn where . . . my breasts are."

"Mother, I'm not going to tell you again." She sat there, a look of consternation on her face. She desperately wanted to please him, but felt it was degrading to be sitting at dinner with her own son, exposing herself like a slut.

Before she could decide, Matt shoved his chair back, stood behind her and pulled the robe off her shoulders and down the back of the chair to the level of her elbows, constricting her arms and hands. "I'm going to teach you a lesson so you stop being so careless, breaking things." Her face turned scarlet, feeling both shame and arousal coursing through her. He actually thought he saw the dark nipple growing larger and longer, with more of it poking through the jagged rip. He sat down and enjoyed the sight of his lovely mother, partly bound and partly nude, eating dinner with him. She had just enough slack to awkwardly feed herself by leaning forward. It was extremely humiliating.