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From: PinkBette1@netscape.net (Pink Bette)
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Subject: {ASSM} Mom Finds New God, part 2 of 2 (mF incest d/s)
Date: Tue, 10 Apr 2001 02:10:04 -0400
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Standard disclaimers apply.  This is a story for adults; if you're a kid,
close your eyes and go away.  If you think the story will offend you,
ditto.

   -- Pink Bette

   MOM FINDS NEW GOD, part 2 of 2 (mF incest d/s)

   [In part 1, Mom finds her 15-year-son Matt's porn stash, replete with
all kinds of kinky BDSM images that have her -- well, shocked, of course,
wouldn't you be?  When she questions Matt, a buff young high school
freshman who lifts weights religiously, she is in for more shocks,
especially when she spots his hard-on.  Her dreams that night are
interesting....]

   [Overlap for continuity]

   I dreamed that night of being naked except for a black leather collar
around my neck.  I was being led naked, on hand and knees, and whoever was
leading me halted me before a water bowl and made me lap from it like a
dog. Then I felt someone spreading my labia, felt myself being entered,
felt the muscular thickness and warm heat of a hard cock pushing slowly
into me, then pulling out again and thrusting in, hard.  I panted like a
dog and pushed back against his next thrust, felt him inside me, powerful
and dominating.  I was a bitch in heat, mounted by some unknown man, virile
and strong, who was fuck, fuck, fucking me like a dog.  "Bitch," he
whispered harshly in my ear.  "Who owns you?" And suddenly the water bowl
from which I'd drunk like a dog changed shape and grew into a mirror, and I
could see behind me the man who was hammering into me now with savage
force. It was no man.  It was a boy.  It was my son.  He grinned at me
cruelly and fucked his rock-stiff prick into me.

   Matt sauntered into the kitchen the next morning.  "Nice dreams, Mom?"

   I stared at him.  He looked so innocent.  He looked far more rested than
I did.  Did he know what I'd dreamed?  Did he know that in dream after
dream, I'd dreamed of his cock deep inside me, forcing me into orgasm?  Did
he know I'd dreamed of kneeling at his feet in the shower with the warm
water of the shower streaming over me, with my mouth wrapped around his
cock?  Did he know I'd dreamed of -- no.  It hadn't been a dream, not
quite. It had been me lying in bed in the half-drowse of morning, my
fingers rubbing my own cunt and clit as I half-dreamed, half-imagined, but
fully wished him over me, inside me, using me like those dominators in his
filthy magazines had used the people submitting them.  So much shame I'd
felt, yet in that dawn light I'd experienced the most powerful orgasm I'd
ever had in my life.

   So much shame, but as I looked at Matt now, with his oh-so-innocent
question, I wanted it for real.

   And I though my _son_ was a pervert.

   "Have you thought any more about the punishments you'd like me to submit
to, Mom?" he said midway through his bowl of shredded wheat.

   I flushed and turned away.  What could I say to that?

   "Do you think I'm joking, Mom?  I'm not." I turned to him.  He'd put his
spoon down, and his eyes had somehow gone dark.  "I would love to kneel at
your feet, Mom, and do your will."

   I couldn't find anything to say.

   "But I have to admit, Mom.  I'd love even more for you to be at _my_
feet, doing _my_ will." I swallowed on a dry throat.  "Have you ever
imagined it, Mom?  Unzipping my jeans with your teeth, taking my penis in
your mouth?  Your 15-year-old son fucking your mouth?  Forcing you to
swallow his jism?" His eyes were very dark now, and he pushed away from the
table so I could see his hand resting on his thigh, the fingers curling
around to touch the hard bulge of his teenage prick pressing against his
jeans.  "You could do it now, Mom.  You could kneel now before me and
acknowledge me your Master.  You could suck me dry.  And then I'd go to
school, and when I came back, I might let you do it again."

   His voice was hypnotizing.  It was hard to break free of it.  But I did.
I turned, I left the room, my throat dry, my breasts heaving.

   He left to catch the bus.  I was overwhelmed.  I couldn't imagine going
to work in this state.  I called in sick and went back to my room.  The
magazines were still there, sitting on the bedside stand.  I went to them,
resolved to pick them up and take them away, throw them into some dumpster
over in the next county.

   But I found myself sitting on the bed again, looking through them.  With
each picture, I saw myself in the position of the one who was tied down or
being beaten with a whip or belt or being fucked.  And I saw Matt, my son
Matt, as the one who dominated me.  He tied me down so I couldn't escape.
He spread me open and ran his fingers along the wet slit between my legs.
He thrust his virile tool down my throat, into my cunt.  He sodomized me.
He put clamps on my nipples and whipped my back with a leather flogger
until I cried out.

   I was so wet that my juices had soaked through my pants into the
bedspread.  My cunt ached with need.  I pulled my pants down below my knees
and lay facedown on the bed, my hands between my legs, and for the second
time that day masturbated to a fantasy of my 15-year-old son with his cock
deep inside me.

   "Get you hands away from your cunt!" a harsh voice commanded.

   It wasn't just fear that filled me, but shame at being seen half-naked,
masturbating.  In one swift move, I stopped, rolled over, and yanked the
bedspread over myself, spilling some of the filthy magazines on the floor.

   It was Matt, of course.  How long had he been watching me?

   "What are you doing out of sch--" I began, trying to sound stern; but he
interrupted me with the same harsh voice:

   "Shut up."

   His voice wasn't frantic, but firm, commanding.  He stood in my doorway,
his eyes dark as they had been at the breakfast table.  The crotch of his
jeans bulged.  He must have missed the bus on purpose, in hopes that he
could catch me in just such a compromising position.

   "You're ready now, aren't you, Mom?" He smiled, his eyes narrow.  "You
were almost ready at breakfast, but you were afraid to show me how much you
want this." He tapped the bulge.  "Or how much it excites you to think of
me standing over you making you suck it, or any of the other things you'd
like me to do to you with it.  But I see you, Mom.  Just now I saw you
fucking yourself.  And what did you fantasize as you fucked yourself?  You
want to become your son's slave and whore.  You want your son to dominate
and use you.  You want to kneel at my feet and worship my cock with your
tongue.  It's hopeless to deny it, Mom.  It's time to acknowledge me as
your Master."

   I was flushed and speechless.  Every word he said battered me with
shame. Every word he said made me want to move my hips in that instinctive
motion of a bitch in heat.

   Suddenly he crossed to the bed and tore the bedspread off of me.  I lay
there, quivering.  Smiling harshly, he put his hand between my legs.  I
flinched at this touch that so shamed me, so aroused me.  He scooped up my
juices on his fingers and lifted them to his face, sniffing them.  Then he
took a taste and smiled wider.

   "It's not every day that a son tastes the sex juices of his mother.  Did
they taste so good to my father?  Did my father fuck you as good as I'm
going to fuck you, Mom?" He laughed and wiped his wet fingers over my face.
"No, Mom, he didn't.  No one has fucked you like your son will fuck you. 
Like your Master will fuck you.  Have they?

   "Now," he said.  "You don't seem to know what to say.  But that's all
right -- for now.  You won't be able to talk in a moment anyway." He
chuckled and reached over to take my hair.  "It's time for you to kneel to
me." He made his hand into a fist around my hair, making me cry out --
forcing me to move off the bed.  He was strong.  All that weightlifting. 
Young, but strong.  Virile.

   "Kneel," he commanded.  "Kneel to your Master."

   I wanted to struggle, but at the same time I didn't.  I was overwhelmed
with shame and desire, wanting to worship him as that nun had worshiped the
construction worker.  I looked up at my son.  He smiled thinly down at me,
his eyes narrow and cruel, and he had that same arrogant bearing that the
construction worker had in the picture.  "Spread your legs wider," he said.
"It's the duty of the slave to give her Master access." When I didn't
comply, he simply reached out a foot and kicked my legs apart.  I cried
out. "You must learn to obey," he said.  I still wore my blouse, and he
reached down to tear it open.  The buttons spilled onto the rug.  I think I
felt even more naked than if I had truly been naked, with my blouse torn
open to show my bra, my pants down around my ankles, my legs spread with my
cunt wet and open.  Kneeling like this before my son.  I looked up at him
again,

   Slowly, deliberately, he unbuttoned his shirt.  "The etiquette I will
generally require, Mom, is for you my slave to bow your head until I give
you permission to look upon me.  But I will be lenient with you now.  It's
right that you should look upon me now.  To see your son's body," and he
opened his shirt so I could see the well-defined muscles of his chest and
abdomen, "and know it now as your Master's body, the body I will use to
dominate and own _your_ body.  The body that will fuck and use you,
Mother."

   Oh god, I could feel the shameful desire well up in me to see him reveal
himself to me accompanied by these words that instructed me in the new
meaning: my son not just son, but sexual being.  Incest.  He was going to
commit incest with me.  A thrill of fear and excitement went through me.  I
had a choice, still.  But the thought excited me.  Yes, turned me on.  To
commit incest with my son.  To be dominated and sexually used by my
freshman-in-high-school 15-year-old sone.  I was conscious of his cock hard
behind the zipper of his jeans.  I would take my son's stiff prick into my
mouth and worship it with my tongue and lips.

   He bore down on me arrogantly, pushing his crotch into my face as he
unbuckled his belt and pulled it out from the belt loops.  "Just your
mouth, Mom.  No hands.  Unzip it with your teeth."

   I did it.  Gasping with need, I took the zipper into my teeth and pulled
his zipper down.  I used my teeth to unbutton the metal button at the top.
His cock sprang out.

   His penis was fully erect.  My son's penis, hard, hard for me to suck
it, pinkish and veined, thick and long enough and virile enough to take a
woman -- to take me -- completely and powerfully.  His pubic hair was thick
and black, and a thin line of hair led up to his belly button.  I was full
of shame, but that only excited me further.  I wanted to touch him, run my
hands up his hard masculine body.  But, "Take it," he said.  "Mouth only.
Suck my cock, Mom."

   I loved the way he called me Mom, commanding me with the tone of voice
he might use with a whore.  I felt a rush of pussy juice run down to my
cunt, to be spoken so by my own son.  I took my son's stiff cockhead
glistening with precum into my mouth, and I heard him sigh.  "No, Mom,
doing cyber sex isn't quite like this, you're right," he said.  "How lucky
I am that the very first woman to eat my hard cock is my own mother.  How
lucky that the first woman I'll possess with my fucktool is my mother. 
Aren't you lucky, Mom, to have in your mouth the stiff prick of the son you
gave birth to?  Aren't you?"

   Of course I couldn't answer, because my mouth was full; and with his
last word he made it even more full by jabbing it into me, forcing his cock
to the back of my throat and making me gag.  He took my hair in both hands
and pulled my head so I couldn't pull back and fucked himself into my
mouth, down my throat.  I groaned, hardly able to breath, his cock hurting
my throat.  My cunt juices flowed out of my cunt and down my thighs.  "You
want it hard, don't you, Mom, you bitch," he growled, pulling his hips back
and thrusting again.  "It excites you, doesn't it, to be used so hard by
your own son."

   Then, suddenly, he pulled out, leaving me gasping for breath.  He raised
my head up and laughed.  "Tell me what you want now, Mom.  I want my load
to count -- do you want me to come in your mouth, or do you want your son's
jism to paint the inside of your hot wet cunt?  Or would you like my first
experience of entering a woman's hole to be the experience of reaming my
mother's hot tight ass?" He laughed at the look on my face, and he
interpreted it correctly.  "Don't worry, Mom, we have time, we'll do all of
it, and more, now that you're my whore.  But where do you want it _now_? 
You'll have to say it."

   Oh, god.  I wanted so much, but to say it...  to say it?  My hips were
moving.  He stood, his eyes both darkly cruel and laughing at the same
time. "C'mon, Mom, tell your little boy where you'd like him to fuck you.
Mouth or cunt or ass?"

   It wasn't worry about pregnancy that held me back -- he knew anyway that
I'd been forced to have a hysterectomy not long after the divorce.  What
held me back was the shame of admission, of putting into words what I
wanted, how I wanted it, how being humiliated like this and forced into
sexual submission by my own son was exciting me sexually like nothing ever
before.  How would it be to have him pumping into me?

   "C'mon, Mom-whore, your hips are moving, you want my stiff prick, you
want it bad.  Tell your son and Master.  C'mon, bitch, I want to hear you
beg."

   This was my son talking to me like this.  This was my son taunting me
with his fucktool.  And this was his very first fuck, from what he'd said
-- how could he be controlling himself, how could wait?  How could he not
simply push me to the floor and spread my legs wide and take me, as he so
clearly wanted to?

   "Matt," I murmured.  It was the best I could do.

   "Speak up, bitch, and with proper respect.  It's Master, to you.  C'mon,
Mom, beg.  Tell your son and god what you want."

   Yes, my god.  I was just like that nun, making a man with a hard cock
into her god.  Yes.  Yes.  My son.  My God.

   "Master," I said, trying it out.  He nodded, pleased.  "Please, Master
-- please, fuck me.  Fuck me."

   "Fuck what, Mom?"

   "My -- my cunt."

   "Say it in a complete sentence, bitch."

   So strange, to find myself excited beyond reason by my own son calling
me foul names, holding me half-naked at his feet, forcing me to beg for his
cock.  I did it, each word forced out of my mouth making more of my body's
juices to flow out of my wet whorish pussy.  "Please, Master, please, God,
fuck my cunt, I beg you."

   He smiled.  "You're doing very well, Mom.  You deserve a reward."

   With that, he grabbed my hair again and forced me to my feet.  He was
rough and magnificent, my son Matt, pulling a pocket knife from his back
pocket and opening it, laughing at my widened eyes, and then he used it to
cut my bra between my breasts.  He closed it and put it away, then tore off
the rest of my blouse and bra, so that I was completely naked except for my
pants around my ankles.  Still grasping my hair, he led me to the bed.  I
was forced to shuffle, hobbled as I was by my pants.  Roughly he shoved me
backwards onto the bed.  The slick magazines were cold on my back, and I
flashed on a memory of how just last night I had determined that my son
would not be a perv.  Now here I was, begging him to fuck me.

   He tore my pants off and forced my legs apart.  I loved that, craved
that -- the force and strength of him as made me spread my legs to him.  He
skinnied out of his jeans, but he left his shirt on, open so I could see
his buff young body, hard and masculine.  "I want you to keep your eyes
open while I fuck you, Mom," he said, "I want you to know with my every
thrust that it's your 15-year-old son pumping into you and turning you into
my whore.  Understand?"

   I nodded.  He reached out and slapped me.  I stared back in shock.

   "The time for wordlessness is over, bitch.  Say it.  Do you understand?"

   "Yes," I gasped.  "Yes...  yes Master."

   Then he slapped me again, and I was just realizing it excited me when he
pulled me to the edge of the bed and entered me.

   For all his roughness, my son was gentle in how he entered me for his
very first fuck.  He entered slowly and pushed slowly until his cock
completely filled me, and I moaned with the power of it.  Incest.  We were
committing incest.  He filled me and stayed there and I watched his face.
My son's cock inside me.  I moaned with the shame and pleasure of it.  He
smiled darkly.  "Who am I, Mom?"

   "My son...  my Master," I said.  Both were true.

   He pulled back slowly, slowly, until I was panicked that he would pull
out of me altogether.  "No, please don't pull out, Master, please, please,
fuck me, fuck me."

   He grinned down at me, his eyes hard, and slammed into me.  Now he was
not gentle.  He pulled my hands up over my head and held them there and
pinned me to the bed with his weight and his powerful thrusts, fucking me
hard.  Each time he pulled out he pulled out slowly, until I again feared
he'd pull out; and then he'd slam in again, hard, brutal, his hard cock
filling me completely.  He called me Mom and Bitch in alternation, telling
me what a whore had given birth to him, how lucky I was that my own son had
the power to fuck and own me because I needed this, didn't I, bitch, didn't
I, Mom...  and I did, I did, I did.  I writhed and moaned under him,
groaning with the power of being sexually used by my own son who normally
at this time would be sitting bored in Algebra, but instead was making
himself into my god with his godlike masculine tool....

   And the whole time I kept my eyes open, as he had ordered me to:
watching his face dark with cruel lust as he drilled his own mother and
laughed at my groans and the way I wrapped my legs to take him my Son and
God deeper and deeper into me.  I looked directly into his eyes as he made
a particularly vicious thrust into me, and as he pulled slowly back out for
the next, I told him, "You are my God," just as that nun must have.  I
said, "You are my Owner," and his next thrust was proof as he took
possession of my cunt with his hard cock.  And that's how we finished,
looking into each other's eyes as he possessed me and I became his
possession.  "Come, bitch!" he ordered, and I spasmed around his thick took
as his body stiffened and his hot jism filled me.

   He stayed inside me until the last throbs of my cunt muscles had ebbed
away, and then he pulled out, his cock now limp but still magnificent.  He
took my hair again and pulled me off the bed, again forcing me to my knees.
"Clean my cock, Mom," he said, and as thoroughly as he'd just fucked me, I
felt my arousal grow again at this new shame and humiliation from my son.
His cock was slick with my cunt juices and his jism, and the same mixture
dripped from my hole and down my thighs as I licked him clean.

   It would be like this, from then on.  I would still be his mother, and
he would still be a high school freshman.  To all outward appearances our
lives would bear this out.

   But at night, and on weekends, I would submit to my son as my Master and
God, and he would turn me his mother into his whore, subjecting me to every
humiliation and perversion his imagination held.

   Am I filled with shame when I think these thoughts?

   Oh yes indeed.  And with hunger.

   -- Pink Bette
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