A Mother's Tail

"Oh my god, Sir, what are you doing to me, I never realised ... what will happen to me? I've never ..."

"Well, well, slut, look what I've found," he teased, revealing the object that he'd hidden when he returned to the room.

"Oh god, oh god—it's ... it's ... it's a flogger." My voice cracked with fear.

"That's right, mother, now, beg me to flog your superb super-sensitive breasts."

"Oh god, no—no, I can't ... I've never ... you will hurt me too much. Please, I beg you, don't flog my breasts ... my nipples." I was almost incoherent with dread at what was about to happen to me, but I bit off the safe word, hoping for some mercy from my son.

"I've told you what will happen, now, beg me to flog you. You can use your safe word if you choose, but I suspect your master wouldn't be best pleased."

"No," shouted my husband. "Flog the bitch. Make her scream with pain. Do it hard so I can see her writhe and hear her beg for mercy."

I thought, I desperately hoped, that my son wouldn't be as brutal as Jay demanded. I hesitated and looked deep into Corey's eyes. I could see a confident control there and I also sensed an understanding that he would not harm or damage me. But I could also sense a growing impatience.

"Please Sir," I sobbed in final acceptance, desperation now pulsing through me, understanding that my safety was in my son's hands and cowering away from the anticipated first strike. There was nowhere else for me to hide, so like a good sub, I asked for my discipline. "I beg you, please use the flogger on my breasts. Punish me and hurt me. Please!"

He drew the tails of the flogger lightly across my tits, and I gasped at the unexpectedly sensuous sensation. A sudden flick of his wrist, caused the soft suede tails to strike my engorged nipples.

The effect was dramatic and immediate. I screamed and twitched as the strips struck my breasts. The flogging continued; and I writhed against the restraints, my head shaking, making my pony tail fly in all directions.

My screams became punctuated by loud, deep moans as the flogging continued because something totally unexpected was happening. At first, my nipples stung with the strikes, but as he continued they started to become hot, sending ripples of pleasure throughout my body, centring on my quivering cunt and generating a sexual tension unlike any other I'd ever experienced.

Corey paused in the flogging and wiped a finger along my pussy. It was flowing with my juices, the treatment generating a rising tension for me. He put his finger in my mouth and I licked and sucked it voraciously, entranced by the taste of myself, and rapidly descending into a black pit of desire and degradation. My own son had driven his mother into a forbidden but highly erotic realm, charged with an unnatural desire for him that wasn't going to go away.

"So, the naughty slut is getting off on her punishment, is she?"

"Oh god, this is getting me so worked up and the hot sensation in my tits is transmitting itself straight to my pussy. Oh please don't stop, Sir."

He resumed but the little rolling orgasms showing through my moans and gasps were only the beginning of what became one earth-shattering climax.

I moaned my disappointment when he stopped the flogging, but then screamed loudly when he produced a vibrator with a clit stimulator and inserted it into my drooling pussy. My screams turned into an almost continuous wail, punctuated by a torrent of meaningless words until I screamed, "I'm cumming, oh my god, I'm cumming." It was almost too much to cope with and I shook violently and went completely rigid as my orgasm thundered through me, radiating outwards in a fierce flame of release.

I slumped forward, apparently unconscious, and the next thing I remembered was lying on the bed while Corey gently massaged a soothing lotion into my breasts. As I recovered, tears started to flow, tears of gratitude, and I looked up at Corey, whispering, "Thank you, Sir, thank you so much."

My father looked at this scene with disgust in his eyes. "You let her off much too lightly; I'd have flogged her until she passed out."

"As I remember it, father, she is my toy to use as I please, and this is how it pleases me." Jay huffed but said nothing more, although his increasingly harsh attitude had me worried.

I think Corey may have also felt some concern, as he sat in a lounge chair and looked straight at me.

"Come here, mother, and sit on my lap. We have around fifteen minutes until midnight. I'd like to just hold your gorgeous body close to me for a short while."

I almost danced across the room and dropped onto his lap, linking my arms around his neck while he held me around the waist. His hands gentled up to my tormented breasts, but his soft, caring touch sent waves of pleasure through my body, and I shuddered with delight.

I looked deep into his eyes and could see love, passion and warmth there. And something else, deeper, perhaps darker; something that I desperately wanted to explore, but I knew I couldn't do it in front of Jay.

So I settled for the tenderness of my son's embrace until his father declared, "Midnight. Time's up.'

One final sweet kiss before Corey replaced the leash on my collar and handed me back to Jay.

Corey left the room and I turned to Jay.

"I think that went quite well, Jay. Corey obeyed all the rules and I think we gave you a show that might have satisfied you."

"You bitch," he snarled. "You incestuous whore. You spent the whole time climbing all over your son, making out you were his mistress and lapping up his affection. You've never shown me anything like that attention."

I was horrified; how could this have gone so wrong. Of course I enjoyed Corey's attentions; he was unexpectedly mature and he treated me with respect and love even though some of the scenes were somewhat extreme. I felt safe with him and, yes, I did fall under his spell. One day, some young woman will get a fantastic lover and friend. But how was I going to deal with Jay's irrational jealousy?

"Jay, look, Corey obeyed all the rules. He didn't harm me in any way and I felt he respected me, regardless of what we were doing at the time."

"Don't try to excuse yourself, bitch. Admit it, you'd rather be with him than with me."

"No, Jay, you've got it all wrong. And, after all, it was your idea that we approach Corey, even though I had hesitations about it."

Jay's face went black with anger and he strode across the room and hit me once, hard across the face.

"Whore", he screamed. "I can't stand to be in the same room with you." And, so saying, he stormed out.

A little later I heard his car start up and I was left alone, tears streaming down my face, bitterly regretting that I'd ever been part of this crazy idea.

I slept badly that night, and was up early drinking coffee and pretending to read the paper when Corey bounced into the kitchen.

"Hi mum. How are you this bright and sunny morning? Boy, I went out like a light as soon as my head hit the pillow, and ..." He caught sight of my face, devoid of any makeup and showing a distinct bruise on my cheekbone. "Oh my god, mum, what happened?"

I burst into tears, hugging my arms around myself and rocking with the misery and sense of betrayal. Corey wrapped his arms around me but mercifully, said nothing until the emotional flood receded.

"He hit you, didn't he, the rotten bastard. He bashed you because he thought you were having too much fun."

I could only nod my head in agreement—words wouldn't come.

"I'm going to give him a taste of his own medicine. How dare he hit you, particularly as all this was his idea."

"No, Corey, don't. That will only make matters worse, and you're lowering yourself to his level. Please, just stay here and hold me, and I'll deal with your father in my own way."

Corey looked reluctant to agree, but he sat beside me and held me close, making soothing noises and promising to be there for me whatever happened.

"Just remember, I love you, mum, and I'll do anything I can to help you. Whatever it takes, just let me know. Okay?"

"Okay, sweetheart."

Corey stayed with me and fussed and pampered me until I laughed at him with genuine enjoyment and said, "Okay, you big ape. Thank you for your concern but I'm a big girl now. I reckon I can cope, so go out and meet your mates."

"Okay, mum," he grinned, "love you," and he left the house.

Now I started to worry about Jay. He hadn't returned after last night and I wondered how he was going to be when he did get back.

He finally returned in late afternoon and I could see straight away that he had been drinking. "Spend some quality time with your lover, did you?" he sneered and headed straight for the whisky decanter.

"Jay, we need to talk about this, otherwise it's going to damage our marriage."

"Listen, whore, you've already damaged our marriage and I can't see there's anything left. You've made it abundantly clear that you prefer your son to me, and I can't see any point in talking."

"No, Jay, please don't be like this," I begged and went to him, laying a hand on his arm.

"Don't touch me, you filthy bitch."

Then I made the mistake that altered all of our lives. "Jay, please calm down. I think you must've been drinking pretty heavily, so why don't you get to bed and sleep it off. Maybe in the ..."

I got no further and with a roar of rage, he grabbed me by one arm and dragged me out of the lounge and down the stairs into our "playroom". I had stumbled and almost fallen as he dragged me and I screamed in fear when I realised what he was going to do.

"Jay, for god's sake no. Please don't hurt me—I don't deserve this."

It made no difference. He dragged one wrist to an arm of the St Andrew's cross and locked it there. My struggles made no difference, and he locked up my other arm so I was facing away from him and into the cross. I was screaming and begging him, but he seemed deaf to anything I said. When I was locked in place, he ripped my tee shirt off and released my bra, then grabbed my struggling legs and pulled off my jeans and panties. I was now naked and completely at his mercy.

I could hear his heavy breathing as he yanked his belt off his pants, and then the torture began. He lashed at my bottom and my back with his belt, hard, unremitting strokes, screaming, "slut," "whore," "bitch" and other vicious insults, lashing into me with his belt. I screamed my "safe word" over and over, but all that achieved was savage laughter.

And then the world lurched sideways. I couldn't see the action, but I heard Corey come storming down the stairs yelling at his father.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing —have you gone completely mad?"

"I'm teaching this incestuous bitch a lesson she won't forget. I'm teaching her who makes the rules and what happens when you don't obey them. Now unless you want the same treatment, you interfering little prick, you'll get the hell out of here."

"According to my mother, my prick is a good bit bigger than yours, old man." Corey was deliberately provoking his father, and it worked.

"You've asked for it, boy," and out of the corner of my eye, I could see him swing his belt at Corey. But Corey was too fast and caught the belt in mid swing, yanking his father close to him and, by the sudden "whump" of air, guessed that he had hit his father in the solar plexus.

"Now, old man, let me give you some of your own medicine."

However, I heard Jay stumble up the stairs shouting, "Fuck the pair of you, I'm not staying in this snake pit one moment longer."

As soon as he left, Corey came to me and unlocked the cuffs, catching me in his arms as I slumped down.

"Oh god, mum, what has he done to you? Your back is a bloody mess; I think you ought to go to hospital."

"No, Corey, I don't want to advertise what has happened and the police will want to talk to your father, and this whole sorry mess will become public. Do you think you could carry me upstairs and see if you can clean me up?"

"Okay, mum, your call, but I don't want to wrap my arms around you, that might be too painful. So we're really only left with a piggyback or a fireman's lift. Which do you fancy?"

"Fireman's lift I think, honey, although it's rather undignified."

"Undignified, your bouncy butt," he chuckled and in spite of the pain, I had to laugh too.

Corey carried me to my bed and laid me gently on my stomach, then with warm water and antiseptic, swabbed and cleaned my back.

"There's a lot of bruising, mum, but in spite of some bleeding, not too many breaks in the skin. You're going to be very sore for a while, and you'll have to get used to sleeping on your tummy, but I'll make a good nurse."

I started to object but he silenced me quickly by gently stroking my bottom and saying, "Any cheek from you and I'll give this cheek the treatment. Got it?"

"Yes sir," I said submissively and Corey laughed.

I was awakened next morning at around 7.30 by persistent ringing on the door bell. I groaned at the thought of getting up but Corey beat me to it, and I could hear the murmur of conversation before Corey appeared looking white as a sheet and asking me to come down stairs.

"Mrs Cox?" asked one of two police officers, and when I nodded in agreement, he asked me to sit. I lied, saying I had damaged my back with an over-enthusiastic workout and would prefer to stand.

"I'm very sorry to have to tell you that we believe your husband, Mr Jay Cox, was killed in a motor vehicle accident early this morning. The driver was travelling too fast on wet roads, didn't take a corner properly and hit a tree. I'm also sorry to have to tell you that his blood alcohol level was significantly above the legal limit. We will need a formal identification, but it won't be a pleasant experience."

"I'll do it, mum—I'll go now and get it over with; I'm sure there will be a lot of formalities to deal with.

The next weeks were a nightmare. The funeral, more paperwork than I ever imagined possible, condolences from family and friends and the grief at such a stupid loss. And grief tempered by an unhealthy amount of guilt on my part. Throughout this ordeal, Corey stood by my side to support me and I was eternally grateful to him.

A few days after the funeral with my back now improved a great deal, I was sitting alone, tormenting myself with guilt and with tears rolling down my face. Corey had been out and on returning, kneeled in front of me and took my hands in his.

"Okay, lovely lady, what's eating you?"

"Oh Corey, I feel so guilty; if I hadn't agreed to his stupid scheme, your father would still be alive."

"Okay, mum. One big issue is that he was drunk out of his mind. And this wasn't like Cary Grant in "North by Northwest". No-one held a gun to his head and forced him to drink. He made the choice and suffered the consequences. But just think what might have happened if you'd said 'No'—or, for that matter, if I'd said 'No'. And look what he did to you. I don't think he was rational that night; he lost his reason, but from everything you've told me, that was just a matter of time anyway. Mum, don't blame yourself for something you have no control over."

Tears flowed again, but this time they were tears of gratitude. "Corey, my dear sweet Corey, I don't know what I'd do without you. You're so good for me." I gave him a hard, fierce kiss on his mouth.

After this, our relationship started to become flirty and tactile. Corey had started to pat my bottom—he claimed that if I squeaked, it meant that I still hadn't healed properly, but he continued this gentle game after I was completely recovered. I, on the other hand, whistled appreciatively whenever I saw him without a shirt, and that, too, seemed to become more frequent. And we curled up together on the settee on cold evenings in front of an open fire, watching movies, eating popcorn and making obscene remarks about the actors.

I knew I was coming to depend heavily on Corey, and he seemed to reciprocate until it hit me like a freight train—I had become dependent on him. This gorgeous hunk of male animal I was sharing a house with was my own son! And I was having corrupt, salacious thoughts about him, about him doing things to me that no son should ever do to his mother, but the need grew within me until it became almost irresistible.

This was the problem. My work life was challenging, but my services were in high demand; I got results. But recently I thought I was starting to lose my edge, and I knew why. When Jay and I were together, I could lose myself in his sexual dominance and find the release I needed by giving him control over my body and emotions. I discounted his increasing harshness and abuse by rationalising my need for a master.

Now Jay was gone, the avenue of my release had disappeared and there seemed to be no alternative—except that one forbidden but totally overwhelming possibility, my son, Corey.

Could I? Would he?

One evening I shut my eyes and jumped. We had been talking and laughing about a silly game show on TV and I reached out and trickled my fingers down his ear and along his jaw line. Corey became serious and his beautiful blue eyes locked onto mine.

"Be careful, mother, that you don't start something you can't finish."

All my senses seemed to become hypersensitive and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

"Corey, I don't want to finish. Oh god, I want to start something that I can't control. I need to be able to let go completely. I need to be able to fall and to have you catch me. Corey, I need you so much, in the worst possible way. That Friday evening when we were together, you lit a flame in me that at first I couldn't blow out, and now I don't want to."

I paused, my breathing becoming shallow as I watched him, waiting almost with despair for him to reply.

"I think we need to talk, mum, so that there can be no possible misunderstanding between us. I want you to tell me, simply but clearly just exactly what you want from me."

This was the turning point; if I was honest with Corey, there could be no going back. If I hid my almost overpowering desires, my life would become just a pale shadow with no meaning."

"Corey, I need someone I can trust absolutely, and I hate to say this, but your father broke that trust. I know I can trust you; you've shown me that ever since I walked into the bedroom on that Friday night. Corey, I love you without hesitation, totally, but this has become so much more than just traditional love of a mother for her son. I need you in ways that most people would consider wholly and totally immoral, even insane. I want you to make love to me, to dominate me, to use my body for your enjoyment, knowing that when that happens, it gives me so much pleasure. Oh god, Corey, I want you to fuck me until I scream with ecstasy, and never stop doing it."

"I see, mum," he said as a small smile passed over his face. "Tell me, mum, what part of that Friday evening did you enjoy most?"

I could have said anything, but a flash of insight told me what he wanted to hear, and it helped that it was my absolute truth.

"Right at the end, honey, when you held me on your lap and touched and stroked me. I felt so safe, so loved that I wished it could go on forever."

"Good answer, mum, me too. So if you're serious about me controlling you, let's first try to recreate that scene. Strip for me, then come and undress me.

I jumped to my feet and tore my clothes off, my whole body trembling with desire. I met Corey half way across the room and pulled his tee over his head, then ran my nails down his hairless but so well defined chest, flicking at his nipples.

"Is that an invitation, mother?" he asked with a gleam in his eyes.

All I could do was to nod my head before, down on my knees, I slipped off his moccasins and, groaning deep in my throat, kissed his feet in submission. Then I tore open his jeans and dragged them down, leaving only the inescapable signs of his arousal, his beautiful, rigid cock and the damp patch on the front of his boxers. I slipped them slowly down his legs, inhaling his potent male aroma, and then looked up into his eyes as his met mine, powerful and demanding.