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"Simon, if you're not doing anything too important, can you please give me a hand?" I heard my mother calling. As I didn't regard reading the paper as 'too important' I headed upstairs towards the sound of her voice. Mum was dressed in a tee shirt, jeans and sneakers, unusual for her, as she always sought to be well dressed.

"Time for a spring-clean, honey," she commented. "Will you help me to get all the junk out of this cupboard, please?"

This being the location for all unwanted family debris, I realised the size of the task, but agreed and made a start. There was plenty of material to dispose of, and mum left me to get it all together for a final inspection.

I'm around 6'2" and even then, the top shelf was a bit of a stretch. Running my hands along the shelf to ensure it was all clear, my hand hit on some form of paperwork. Pulling it down, I discovered a yellow envelope; opening it, I discovered a quantity of photos, and my jaw almost hit the floor when I saw what they were.

The first photo I saw showed a woman, wholly naked but for a long string of pearls and high (very high) heels facing a sort of altar, the centrepiece of which was a large glass phallus. Her hands were behind her back but the truly startling thing was that the woman was my mother. This photo was taken from behind the altar; her face was quite unmistakeable, confirmed by the small red birthmark on the front of her right shoulder. A second photo showed her with her back and hips towards the camera as she knelt in submission, her hands bound behind her back with a silk scarf,

I was finding it hard to breathe with the huge significance of this discovery, and I dashed to my room and threw the envelope under the bed. Further investigation would be essential.

Perhaps it might be appropriate to provide a few details of my family at this stage. My father was an accountant with his own business, a self-made man with a tendency to worship his maker. His business and golf were about the extent of his interests.

My mother, Sally, then aged forty two was the sort of woman you might see in a suburban shopping centre and not give a second glance. She was medium height with brown hair down past her shoulders, wide set brown eyes, a slightly narrow and rather long nose and full lips; she was inclined to say that they made her look too "pouty". Mum was about five feet six inches tall and weighed around 130 lbs. Breasts around 34C, with a small amount of sag, but with a curvy, heart shaped butt.

For most of my c***dhood and adolescence, Mum had been warm, gentle and loving towards me. She was quiet and tended to keep in the background, but this had changed somewhat over recent years. She started to place a lot of importance on respectability and became quite open about the need for decency and good behaviour.

Mum wore clothes that were conservative and never revealing, blouses buttoned to the neck and skirts and dresses below the knee. And black rimmed spectacles. She frowned at even slightly smutty jokes and comments, and attended church regularly every Sunday—wearing a hat, of course. I was encouraged to accompany her, although it became less frequent as my views on religion changed. Dad played golf.

I realised early on that my parents' marriage was somewhat strained. I came to understand that it had been largely a marriage of convenience—Dad had wanted a housekeeper who would be available for occasional vanilla sex, and Mum wanted to get away from a family life where she felt unloved. They were married when Mum was just twenty and I was born nine months later, in 1988. At the time these events unfolded, I was 22 and moving towards qualifying as a psychologist.

Returning to the spring cleaning, I finished up, and Mum thanked me, then told me she had some shopping to do and would be out for a couple of hours. This was ideal, and I returned to my room and fished out the envelope. It contained a range of photos of a nature that rapidly gave me an erection, regardless of the fact that this was my mother. The photography was almost professional in quality with fine details.

Some caught my eye immediately. One showed her on her knees with her mouth engulfing a glass phallus, obviously deep throating it. Mum's skin was silky smooth and glowing almost as if she was generating a light within herself. Another showed her with the phallus buried to the hilt in her arse as she leaned over a bench with her bottom in the air. A similar picture of the same situation from a different perspective showed her with a look of extreme excitement and stimulation.

There were many others, although one made me gasp in astonishment. It was one of a series, starting with my mother dressed in the usual way, but with a wedding veil covering her eyes. A second picture showed her kneeling in a sort of cradle that supported her shoulders. The veil had been lifted, but now she had a man's cock deep in her throat, with the glass version again buried in her arse. From the position of her right hand, she had to have been masturbating.

Two other photos puzzled me. They were a great deal older, in black and white and the quality was nowhere near as good. They showed a tall dark haired woman, bare footed and wearing nothing but a string of pearls. In one, she was standing with her head down in a submissive posture; in the other, her hands were bound behind her head, causing her breasts to stand out. I remembered that there was a photo of my mother in a similar position.

All of this was too much for me, and I headed to the bathroom to relieve myself with a highly satisfying orgasm. I also realised that I was definitely going to discuss this matter with Mum, which set my mind running in some highly erotic and quite dark directions.

This had been a Wednesday and Dad was heading off next Monday for an interstate conference, supplemented by the inevitable games of golf. Good—this would give me an opportunity for some uninterrupted, in-depth conversations with my mother. First, though, I needed to visit some rather specialised stores in the less reputable parts of town to buy one or two specific objects—including a large sized glass phallus.

The rest of the week dragged more slowly than any time I had ever known, but eventually, Dad left on the Monday morning "red eye" leaving me with his usual injunction to, "look after your mother". Never had this had such significance, and I intended to make a thorough job of it.

Mum sighed as he left and turned to me. "Some breakfast, I think, Simon, then I'm going to take it easy for the rest of the day. What are your plans?"

I couldn't have had a better opening, and I looked closely at my mother. "Well, Mum, I'd rather like to have a chat with you about some photographs that I found during the spring clean."

"Photos?" she replied, puzzled. "What photos are you ..." and then the light dawned. She gave a faint scream and her hands went to her mouth, her eyes open and staring.

I held my ground and said nothing.

"You can't possibly mean those photos of me ... But you do, don't you?" she whispered.

"Right, Mum, and I think we need to talk. It's not something we can just let go and pretend never happened."

"Simon, I guess you do deserve an explanation, but this is going to be so difficult for me. I need to get this whole episode out into the open and confess to someone I trust. I need to deal with the memories so that I can exorcise them and they will no longer trouble me. Simon, would you please be a darling and give me an hour or two to collect my thoughts, then I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

"Okay, Mum. It's a miserable day out there, so let's get comfortable in the lounge this afternoon. How does three o'clock sound to you?"

"Thank you, Simon," she responded, and after breakfast we went our separate ways.

At three o'clock, I returned to the lounge. The curtains were drawn against cold wet weather, a fire was burning in the hearth and the room was lit by candles. Mum was curled on the couch with her legs tucked under her, dressed in a pastel blue blouse, buttoned down the front and cream coloured linen slacks. She had obviously brushed her hair until it shone, and wore discreet but well applied makeup. Even so, she looked uncomfortable and apprehensive.

"Okay, Mum, how do you want to play this? By the way, in addition to a lot of photos of you, there are two much older black and white pictures of another woman who I can't quite ..."

Mum was off the lounge and dashed to my side. "Please, Simon, please let me see them."

I pulled out the two photos in question and Mum's voice trembled, near to tears. "Oh Simon, thank you, thank you so much. These are pictures of my grandmother, and I thought I'd lost them years ago. They are so important to me; they're really the only pictures I had of her." And she kissed my cheek lightly.

"Mum, this just makes the story even more puzzling; why is she in these poses and what does that have to do with your activities?"

"I understand your curiosity, Simon; perhaps I should start right at the beginning."

The saga that now exposed a completely new picture of my mother, her family and where she now found herself.

"As you know, Simon," she began, "I was born in 1968, the second of three c***dren. My elder brother was academically brilliant and my younger sister was physically beautiful, but I had neither my brother's brains nor my sister's looks. I became increasingly isolated and introverted, which just put me even further at odds with the rest of my family." Mum looked despondent, and I realised that she was returning to those lonely years.

"I was about thirteen when my grandfather died," my mother continued, "and after that, grandmother sort of took me under her wing. She was lonely and so was I. She was smart, warm, funny, beautiful—and something that just wasn't talked about in those days, she was submissive.

She and grandfather had been passionately in love with each other, and he was her Dom, giving her what she needed. We had long talks; grandmother was very open about sex, and I eventually discovered that I had submissive tendencies as well. I had no real way to realise these tendencies, but grandmother understood, and after I turned eighteen, she became my first Dom."

My mother now seemed to have returned to the 1980s. "Oh god, it was wonderful. She taught me so much about my body. She spanked me, flogged me and humiliated me in ways that still make me tingle just thinking about it. I licked her vagina and her bottom, even into her anus, and made her orgasm." Mother's voice became ragged and her breathing irregular as she was transported back to her early experiences as a sub.

"Then early in 1987, grandmother had a stroke; she never recovered and died a few weeks later. To my astonishment, and the resentment of the rest of my family, I inherited the bulk of her estate, including her beautiful pearl necklace. Her will was rock solid, but it alienated me from the rest of my family. I had known your father for a few years before we married early in 1988. In a sense, it was an arranged marriage and afterwards I felt that I'd had little say in the matter, but both families were strongly in favour."

I could sense that Mum was again starting to feel rather sad, but she continued, "I had hoped that your father could fill my need to be dominated. He was a very self possessed man with strong opinions, but he didn't have any interest in my needs. I came to realise that he needed to be married to anyone who could enhance his status as an accountant, especially as I had my own money. Even so, I was never so naïve as to allow him to make all the decisions about how I invested it, and that has been a source of friction between us over the years."

"Then I had you," Mum continued with a warm smile, "and you took up all my time, which I thoroughly enjoyed. In a very odd way, you came to dominate me—not in any sexual sense, of course, but I found myself needing to accede to your wishes. Looking back on those days, I suppose it might have made you unbearably spoilt, but that never happened."

"No, Mum," I replied gently, "I could always tell how much you loved me, and even when I was very young, I realised how important it was for you to know that I loved you and would do anything for you."

"Thank you, honey," Mum continued. "You took up a lot of my time, and I needed to work part-time, at first while your father was establishing his practice, then to give me an interest outside the home. About ten years ago, I started to feel a big gap in my life, and that grew with time."

Now my mother looked hesitant and uncertain. "I know I shouldn't say this, but as it's confession time, I won't hold back. Your father and I ... well, our sex life almost ceased. Not only wouldn't he help me with my submissive needs, but any physical contact shrunk to nearly nothing.

Then around seven years ago, a friend of mine introduced me to a man named Blake Sheldon. I found out later that that was a false name, but that doesn't really matter. He told me that he was the grand master of a sexual fetish cult and he promised to meet my needs to be submissive in ways that would lead me through my erotic fantasies towards fulfilment."

"Sheldon told me that he had eight "masters' who were part of the cult, and they would control every aspect of my sexuality. I could be spanked, paddled, flogged or whipped and humiliated in any ways that they decided. While in their presence I would obey without question any and all orders I might be given. I would be their plaything. I could be bound, and could have sex with one or more of the group, vaginal, anal or oral.

Sheldon did make it clear that I would experience pain, but my skin would not be broken and I would suffer no internal injury. I was to have a safe word that I could use if the experience became unbearable, but if I did, I would be interrogated in depth for my reasons for doing so. If I used it a second time, I could be expelled from the cult."

"Sheldon was very persuasive and he had a beautiful deep voice that he could use to make you believe almost anything. It was warm and resonant, rather like yours, honey", Mum smiled as she looked at me. I was conceited enough to agree with her, although not foolish enough to verbalise this. A former girlfriend had told me that it was like "listening to chocolate."

Mum continued, "I was also told that a series of photographs would be taken of me during the rituals, and one of the female "attendants" was a skilled photographer. The photos you found are evidence of my involvement with the cult, and my commitment to its goals."

My mother was now even more uncertain, but I made my position clear. "Mum, you clearly need to confess, but we can't leave it here. For you to do the job properly, you will need to find your way back to these experiences through the photographs and cauterise your memory of what happened and how you felt."

She blushed, but then continued, "I guess you're right, honey, but this isn't easy. Well, the first night I found my way to an old house in the hills, and I was greeted by two people in long robes with hoods; rather like monks' habits. I had a sense that they were women, but I couldn't tell for sure. I was ordered to strip naked, wearing only five inch patent leather pumps and a string of pearls, my grandmother's pearls, round my neck. I was blindfolded and led into a large room or chamber. The blindfold was removed, and I could see that I was standing facing a semi-circle of figures. When he spoke, I knew the central figure was Blake Sheldon; flanking him were four figures on either side, making a total of nine people, all men, I soon discovered.

I was told to stand with my feet together but with my hands behind my head with my fingers interlaced. This had the effect of thrusting my breasts up and out. Then I was told to revolve, slowly so that everyone could see the whole of my body. The cult members commented on my body, sometimes adding ideas about what they would like to do to me, often in quite graphic terms."

"Such as?" I enquired.

Mum blushed and stammered, "Th ... that ... they'd li ... like to 'fuck its ... its arse and ... and make it scream. That they'd like to ... to ... to 'fuck those tits and cum in its mouth'. That they'd 'cum on its tits.' And more like that. They always referred to me in the third person neutral, which was so degrading, but added to the strange sense of excitement. As well as this, it was decided that I should have a new name. Sheldon told me that, within the cult I was to be known as 'Slut' and that any reference to 'Sally Benson' would result in punishment"

"Oh god, Mum, how were you able to put up with that?" I asked with shock in my voice but, even so, starting to feel aroused by these revelations.

"That was part of the deal, honey; I was desperate to find an outlet, any outlet, for my submissive needs. Allowing myself to be subjected to this humiliation helped me to deal with those needs."

"After I had turned completely and the commentary stopped," Mum continued, "I again faced Sheldon. In front of him was a large glass phallus, looking quite lifelike. I was ordered to get on my knees, lean forward and take the phallus into my mouth, coat it with saliva and treat it as if I was sucking a man's ..." Mum hesitated but fell back on the less controversial term, " ... a man's penis. I had to take it as far down my throat as possible. The first time I gagged and had to move away. It was permitted this first time, but he told me that if this did not improve in future, I would be punished."

"Punished how, Mum?" I enquired again.

"I would be spanked with a stiff leather paddle, ten times on each cheek. On the second week, I again failed to take the whole thing down my throat, and I was paddled. It hurt and I squealed with the pain, but it also created a warm glow in my ... in my vagina."

Mum blushed again, and I laughed gently. "Look, Mum, it's quite alright to use the common language; you won't embarrass me—I've heard it all before. It created a warm glow in your pussy or in your cunt, okay?"

Mum sighed. "Okay, I guess, although this all feels so dangerous to me. Like walking a tightrope without a safety net."

"Mum," I replied, "Don't be too scared—I can be your safety net."

She rewarded me with a sweet smile and then continued her story. "After I'd lubricated the phallus, Sheldon removed it from its mounting and had me spread my legs and bend over to touch my toes. Spread this way, my anus was open and completely visible, and he inserted the phallus into my rect ... into my arse. To be fair, he was very gentle at first, easing it in slowly, but when my sphincter muscle spasmed he slapped my arse hard. That distracted me, and he was able to get it past the opening. He gradually thrust it up inside me and moved it around; at first it was dreadful and I cried out in pain, but I gradually adjusted to this thing inside my anu ... my arse.

It took several weeks for me to become fully accustomed to this, but when I did, the feeling of fullness was so stimulating and erotic that it almost brought me to orgasm. I would have done if they'd allowed me to play with my pussy," here Mum grinned at me, "but that was not permitted."
Mum moved on to another photo. "Sheldon fastened a collar round my neck, and I was led on all fours round the room, stopping in front of each cult member. They had taken their ... cocks out and rubbed or slapped them into my face. The sensation of a rigid cock being stroked against my face was unbelievable," Mum seemed to have gone into something like a trance, reverting to her experience of more than five years ago.

"Each week, one of the members was allowed to cum over my face, and I can remember that so vividly, especially the aroma of fresh warm cum—I found that so enormously arousing. On guy in particular had a huge black cock, and when he came, he almost covered my face with his spend. And I loved it—you can see it in this picture. I hoped he would cum on me every week, but it seemed to be on some sort of a roster."

"At the end of each meeting, there were two auctions. In the first, the "masters" made bids to determine who would have sex with me. It could be in any position, but could not be anal, for reasons that will be obvious in a minute. It could be oral or vaginal, and I know the winner was encouraged to make it as humiliating as possible. During the performance, the rest of the group made more humiliating comments."

I didn't have to ask this time. "Things like 'take it all, slut', 'ride it as hard as you can and make it beg for release' or 'pinch its tits and make it scream' and more comments like that.

At the same time, my bottom was put up for auction, and this included anal sex. The highest bidder could do whatever he wanted to my backside, so long as he didn't draw blood or cause any internal injuries. Some of them liked to spank, paddle or flog me, one or two liked to bugger me and a couple liked to bite me, leaving bite marks that stayed for several days."

The harder spankings or floggings left marks as well, but they were all so erotically wicked that I came to depend on this demonstration of my submission to give me the sexual satisfaction I craved. I carried them around at home, secretly while I was being a wife and mother, but still with the evidence of my degradation hidden under my panties. There was something intensely arousing in knowing that my bottom was marked while I was later dressed demurely, handing around the mashed potatoes, washing up—or sitting in church."

This confession was having a marked effect on my mother and it seemed as if it was essential for her to admit to her actions as a means of exorcising those memories. However, it didn't seem to be working, as the confession was creating some kind of submissive high in itself. She was falling into a sort of submissive trance, returning to and reliving her experiences of five years ago. At the same time, she was pressing her legs together in an attempt to achieve some degree of stimulation, and her breathing became shallow and ragged.

"Mother," I said, "If you need to touch yourself, please just do it and don't worry about me." She looked at me with half-closed, hazy eyes and then reached down and undid the snap on her slacks and slid her right hand down to her sex. Very quickly, I could see her gently stroking herself along her pussy.

One more photograph fascinated me; the picture of my mother being led forward with a wedding veil over her face. She looked at me with a very intense expression, and said, "Simon, honey, I won't be a minute," and left the room. She returned shortly after carrying a DVD case. "This bizarre 'ceremony' was videotaped and this is a copy converted to DVD."

"As the final stage of my initiation, I was 'married' to the phallus in a grotesque parody of the wedding service, and this is how it happened." My mother was led forward by one of the female acolytes and presented formally to Sheldon who asked, "Slut, the woman formerly known as Sally Benson, do you know of any impediment why you should not be bound to the phallus as the representative of the male procreative organ?" She answered, "No."

"Do you give yourself freely without any duress, coercion or compulsion to the service of the phallus?" Her reply was, "I do."

Then, "Slut, will you pledge your undying loyalty to the service of the phallus as it here represents the male procreative organ, and serve the male organ whenever and wherever you are required to do so?" To this she answered, "I will."

She was then instructed to place both hands on the phallus and repeat the following words after Sheldon; "I take this phallus as the true representative of the male procreative organ, to have and to hold from this day forth, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in heath, to love, cherish, honour and obey until the time of my death." My mother repeated those words as required by Sheldon.

Sheldon then produced a ring in the form of a twisted golden cord and placed it on the third finger of my mother's right hand. She repeated at Sheldon's instruction, the words, "With this ring, I pledge my obedience to the phallus and shall worship it with the full extent of my body."

He then raised the veil from over her eyes and said, "Now, Slut, you must kiss the phallus and take it all into your mouth, demonstrating your submission to the sacred member." My mother did so, deep throating the glass object. She was then collared and led around to each member of the cult, sitting back on her heels and kissing, licking and sucking their cocks, bringing each one to orgasm but not permitted to take any cum in her mouth. Each finished by spraying over her body.

Finally, she was placed in the cradle and Sheldon forced the phallus into her upturned arse, this time with little preparation, causing her to scream with the initial pain. Then she took Sheldon's cock into her mouth, and in his case she again brought him almost to a climax. Sheldon then moved until he was lying on his back, and Mum was required to straddle him with the phallus still buried in her arse, and ride him to orgasm. She was told specifically that under no circumstances was she allowed to cum before he did; if she was able to do so after him that was a bonus for her.

During this whole bizarre performance, my mother watched intently, continuing to rub her pussy and almost reach a climax, but the end of the DVD caused her to stop. She looked around, embarrassed and quickly removed her hand, although I could see that it was glistening with her juices.

"How often do you watch that DVD, mother?" I asked, "Every day?"

"Oh no, Simon, nothing like that," she replied, a little too quickly.

"Every week, then?"

Mum blushed. "Well, I suppose ... perhaps every few days."

"Hmm, I see. This is obviously a very powerful reminder of your submission to the cult. You told me that you wanted to confess to me all your activities within the cult in an attempt to cauterise these memories, but clearly it isn't working. You are still intensely bound up with your experiences as a submissive slut."

I knew I was taking a risk referring to her as a slut, but this seemed to make no difference. She was miles away, seemingly in some sort of sensual overload, where confession of her actions had caused her to submit to her memories.

"Oh my god, Simon, what am I going to do?" she cried, suddenly breaking free from her fantasy.

"What do you want to do, mother?" I replied, deliberately avoiding any direct answer.

"I ... I so need to be able to submit myself to someone I can really trust. I need to be able to lose myself in the experience of submission, but know that I can be understood, supported and satisfied. I desperately need someone that I can establish an intimate emotional bond with and really be able to rely on so that I can surrender myself completely to them. I can give that person complete control over me, and let go of all the responsibilities in my emotional life. They can do anything they want to me or with me, Simon, but it's all about complete and absolute trust, like the trust I had with my grandmother. Then I can release all my inhibitions and be who I want to be."

I stayed silent, knowing that there was more to come.

"Oh, Simon, I feel so lost. I just don't know what to do. I sort of trusted Sheldon, but the cult was so wicked, so decadent that I became addicted to it and its activities. At a deeper level, though, I still felt incomplete. There was no real personal bond, no individual that I could completely relate to and trust to give me what I so needed. After the cult dissolved, I tried to hide behind this disguise of propriety, religion and respectability, but it hasn't worked."

"Okay, Mum, but why did you leave the cult, then?"

"I had no choice, Simon. One evening I arrived at the house to find it was a smouldering ruin. I'd heard about a fire in that general area, but I hadn't connected it with the cult. Apparently, Sheldon had been killed in the fire; the police believed it was arson, but they never located the culprit. I wouldn't be surprised if it was an irate husband who discovered that his wife had been a participant, and took his revenge in a pretty spectacular way. Of course, that meant that the cult had collapsed, and I returned to my conventional suburban lifestyle."

Mum hesitated for a while, looking uncertain and rather desperate.

"I thought that leaving the cult behind and returning to being a traditional homemaker would allow my submissive element to fade away. I was foolish enough to keep watching the DVD, and that stirred something dark, dissolute and lustful deep inside me that wouldn't be denied. Now you've found the photographs, Simon, and I thought that reliving my experiences and confessing to you would exorcise the demons. But it hasn't; it's made my desires more powerful, more demanding that I do something about them."

Here, Mum burst into tears. "Oh god, Simon, what am I to do?"

"One quick question, Mum, and please be honest with me. Did you leave those photos there knowing or even hoping that someone would find them? How would you have reacted if it had been Dad?"

Mum looked at me and I could see a flood of emotions crossing her face. "I guess I did want this dirty secret exposed so that I could confess. I don't know how your father would have reacted; underneath it all, I suppose I hoped that he would realise that I needed help and been prepared to take a more active interest in my sex life.

When I realised that you had found them, at first I wanted to run and hide. But then I started to feel excited and so naughty that I was confessing all this erotic stuff to the son I loved so much.

Confessing to you plunged me back into submission. The very act of telling the stories behind the photos took me back powerfully to the experiences themselves, and I became so aroused at the memories and the raw sexuality of what happened. Now it's over, I just don't know where to go or what to do."

"What do you most want to do, Mum? Would you like psychological or psychiatric treatment to rid yourself of these desires?"

"No, Simon, it's part of who I am, and I'm not ashamed of how I feel. It's just that I can't find anyone who will take me seriously and who I can trust."

"Okay, Mum, how about Dad? Could you make a confession to him and beg that he will treat you as you need so much?"

"Simon, I have tried that or something like it. He thought that I was just depraved and I needed to cleanse myself of this unhealthy obsession. He wanted me to talk to our minister and seek God's help. I sidestepped this and never brought the subject up again, and I don't intend to suffer that type of humiliation again."

"I see—maybe you'd have had more success if you'd stuck a couple of golf balls up your arse!"

Mum tried to look stern and said, "Simon, how could you think such a thing," but she betrayed herself by laughing.

"Um, maybe not, Mum, but have you thought of trying to find a professional Dom, someone a bit like Sheldon, perhaps, but maybe not quite so extreme?"

"That did occur to me, honey, and I have made one or two tentative enquiries, but the trust issue just gets in the way. I guess I'm just condemned to a lifetime of vanilla sex with a man I hardly know, maintaining a respectable façade but dying inside," and she again burst into tears.

I moved over to my mother and took her in my arms as she trembled and shook against me. I knew the answer, but the problem was to sell it to her so that she would be able to accept it.

"Mum, there is an answer, but it will depend on your willingness to engage in something both i*****l and immoral."

She looked at me, puzzled and intrigued but worried about the implications.

"Okay, here goes nothing," I thought to myself. "Mum, how much do you trust me?"

She smiled. "To the ends of the earth, honey, and beyond. Why do you ask?"

"Then I will be your Dom and you can submit to me."

She gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. "Simon, no, I couldn't possibly do that. You're my son and I love you like a son, but I couldn't allow you to have a sexual relationship with me."

"Why not, Mum—give me one compelling reason why it shouldn't happen?"

"It's i*****l for a start, it's totally immoral, I'm twenty years older than you and what about your father? There, that's four reasons!"

"None of which is compelling, mother. Yes, it's i*****l, but, as Bob Dylan once said, 'In Jersey anything's legal, as long as you don't get caught'. That's the point; we would have to be very careful, but that needn't prevent us enjoying each other. The same comment applies about Dad. In addition, he's hardly ever here, and he's so self-involved that he probably wouldn't even be aware of anything going on.

As to immorality, well, maybe, but that's more a question of us being willing to square our own consciences. From my point of view, if two people truly love each other as I love you, Mum, and I think you love me, then morality is irrelevant. We should be able to do anything we both enjoy. Finally, Mum, age really doesn't matter. You're a sweet and gorgeous but needy woman and I'm convinced that I can help you to meet that need."

"Simon, I ... I just can't get my mind round this. You've really stirred a hornet's nest in my head and I need time to think this through."

"Fair enough, Mum—anyway, it's getting late and I'm hungry. Why don't we sleep on this and talk again tomorrow?"

She was very hesitant, but agreed with a great deal of uncertainty. I knew then that she would become my sub and be able to refuse me nothing. I had to masturbate that night, and my orgasm was volcanic; one of the best ever.

I was up before Mum next day, but I soon realised that she was doing her best to avoid me. Eventually, I found her in the lounge; she looked pale and drawn and she told me she hadn't slept well.

"I understand, Mum; I guess this whole Dom business has been on your mind."

"Simon, I feel so confused, so uncertain, so scared so ..."

"Excited?" I added quickly.

She blushed a deep red and just nodded her head in agreement.

"You can't really escape from all this can you? You've tried, but I suspect that you don't really want to, even if the implications are a bit out of control."

She nodded her silent agreement again.

"Okay, Mum, here's what's going to happen. We are going to resolve this issue once and for all, as well as explore whether you can face being my sub. I promise I won't hurt you, but you must be prepared to trust me completely and do everything I say. Are you okay with that?"

This time, she spoke her agreement, very hesitantly and sounding quite scared.

"We need to re-enact some of the scenes shown in the photographs," I told her. "You will remove all your clothes, then return here wearing only your five inch heels and your pearl necklace. And your makeup will be the same as in the photos—slutty."

I sat and read while I waited for mum to return. Later, I heard the unmistakeable click of high heels on a hard floor, a sound that I always found remarkably erotic. Mum returned dressed as I had instructed. She had applied her makeup skilfully with understated eye shadow but overstated glistening lip gloss and gleaming, blood red nails. Her hair was carefully styled in the same way that she always wore it for church. The contrast between this and her nakedness was unexpected but surprisingly exciting.

Mum's body looked delicious. Her skin was silky smooth, and a little pale. Her breasts were full and sagged only slightly, and although the room was warm, her nipples stood out hard against wrinkled areolas. I saw that she had trimmed her bush to a neat brown patch of what looked like soft, unusually fine hair.

"Excellent, mother, now lock your hands behind your head—I want to see those beautiful tits to their best advantage.

She blushed furiously as she did so but was clearly uneasy. "Simon, I ... I don't know ... I don't think I can ... Isn't there some other way?"

"No, mother, and in any case, what are you afraid of? If it's about losing control, you will have to trust me; even in the cult you had a safe word, so we will use that."

"Yes, Simon, with Sheldon it was always 'wombat'."

"Good. Now mother, tell me exactly how your hands were bound behind you."

"Sheldon made me knee in front of him with my body upright. Then he took both my hands and pulled them behind me, tying them with a silk scarf."

"Like this one, mother?" I asked, producing a scarf I'd bought for the purpose.

She gasped and answered weakly, "Yes, just like that; Simon, what are you going to ...?" but I silenced her by putting my finger against her lips.

I moved behind her, and taking her hands in mine, pulled her arms behind her back and tied her wrists with the scarf. "Just like that, mother?''

"Yes"

As she answered, I opened the zip on my pants and with some difficulty, took out my rigid, straining cock, starting to stroke it in front of her face.

Her eyes went wide and there was a look of astonishment on her face. "Oh my god, Simon, what are you doing?"

"Tell me mother," I demanded, "what am I doing?"

"Simon, no, please, this is so wrong, you must stop."

"Stop what, mother?"

"What you're doing to ... to your ... to your penis."

"Wrong, mother," I said and walked closer to her, slapping her across the face with my rigid cock.

"This is my cock, mother, now, what is it?"

"Oh god," she moaned, "it's your cock," in a whisper so low I could hardly hear her.

"Louder, mother, what is it?"

"Your cock, it's your cock," this time she was almost shouting.

"Much better, mother, now what am I doing with it?" I demanded again, stroking it so that pre cum started gathering on the head.

She seemed almost mesmerised, gazing intently at my cock, pulsing and growing in front of her eyes.

"Uh, you're ... you're stroking it ... stroking it to a climax."

"That's right mother. Guys love to stroke their cocks. Tell me, mother, do you think it's appropriate for a son to stroke off in front of his decent, respectable, polite, church-going mother? Don't hesitate, mother, tell me?

"No."

"You're telling me that it isn't appropriate for me to jerk off in front of my mother, but the truth is that there's a part of you that LIKES it, that likes to watch, that gets excited watching me get close to orgasm—isn't there?"

"No." In spite of her denial, I could hear the desperation in her voice. She needed to let go. "Simon, how could you do this to me, your own mother; how could you degrade me by asking me these questions and masturbating in front of me?"

I walked slowly around her kneeling form, taking my time and occasionally stroking her smooth, slick skin. She was trembling and shuddered as I touched her.

"Wait there, mother, I shall be gone for less than a minute," I said and left the room briefly, returning with two framed photographs. One was a portrait photo of my mother, dressed very primly in her "Sunday-go-to church" outfit, looking thoroughly decent, but with a smile that barely touched her eyes. The other was a still, taken from the "wedding" DVD, showing mum with the veil pushed back and about to deep throat the glass phallus. The look on her face was of someone totally consumed by lust.
"Tell me, mother, which of these photographs is the real you?"

"I ... I ... I don't know; you can't ask me to answer a question like that, Simon, I just can't, ... I mustn't ..."

I wasn't going to let her off the hook. "Look at your expressions in these pictures, mother. The photos don't lie and nor will you!"

I stood close to her stroking my cock with more pre cum gathering at its tip. My mother seemed almost to be in a trance as she looked at it.

"Oh god, I ... I." She looked up at me with a mixture of desperation and pleading in her eyes. I maintained a mask of stony indifference, even though underneath I too was boiling with lust.

"So which is it, mother, tell me NOW," I finished with a shout, and this was enough to cut through her crumbling resistance

"I'm ... I'm the slut in the second photo, worshipping the phallus. That was the time I felt really alive. The person in the other photo was a phony, someone I made up to hide my real feelings behind a mask of respectability and modesty."

"Hmm, very good. Now you can admit it to me. Somewhere deep down inside, mums, especially you, like to watch."

She looked at me and whispered, "Yes"

"Yes, what Mother. You must SAY THE WORDS!"

"I ... I ...I like ... it."

I moved behind her and took her pearl necklace in my hands, twisting it until I felt some resistance. "What is it that you are prepared to admit to liking, even if you are so reluctant?"

She gasped. "When guys do ... inappropriate things, nasty things."

"I see. Tell me, mother, do you think it is "appropriate" to use your word, to display your naked bottom to a room full of strangers and to have a glass phallus inserted deep into your arse? Is it appropriate to worship that phallus with your mouth, deep throating it. It wore off all your lipstick didn't it mother?"

There was no answer, so I went to the next level. "Was it 'appropriate' to allow your cunt or your mouth, as well as your bottom to be auctioned for men's pleasure?"

This time, she whimpered but could not find an answer, so I pushed her again.

Was it "appropriate" to go through that grotesque, warped "marriage" to the glass phallus, representing the male reproductive organ, representing all men's cocks? And then to masturbate while you have the glass cock in your arse and Sheldon's cock in your mouth. Are these things "appropriate", mother? Answer me, mother!" I finished sternly, allowing he no way out.

"Simon, I don't know whether those things are appropriate but I thought so at the time. I had no option. I needed to submit in that way. I needed the rush it gave me, I needed to be the slut they said I was. I needed the release and being able to give complete control to someone else. Now I realise that I am still the prisoner of my past and I can't do anything but accept my fate. I've been condemned to the flames"

"I see. Well, perhaps we need to do something about that. You will go to your bedroom and prop yourself against the bed-head. Open your legs as wide as you can, then masturbate to orgasm. There are some conditions to this, however. Firstly, you will look into my eyes for the whole time you do it, not taking your eyes off mine at any stage. Secondly, you will not climax until I allow you to. Thirdly, as you masturbate, you will tell me, in detail, all of your fantasies about control in general and about me in particular. Is that clear?"

Mum nodded in agreement, but with some hesitation and left for her bedroom; I followed shortly after.

By the time I arrived, Mum was in position, but I forestalled her. "First, Mum, do you still have the ring from your "marriage?"

She whispered, "Yes," and I instructed her to find it and place it on the third finger of her right hand, which she did.

Back in position, my mother looked at me intently and wetting her right index finger, started to stroke up and down her soft pink slit. Her outer lips began to open and her saliva lubricated her pussy until her bright pink, perfectly shaped inner lips started to glisten with her own dew.

She alternated her stroking by inserting first one, then two, then three fingers into her now soaking cunt, and started to moan and quiver with excitement.

"Very nice, Mum, now don't forget that you need to reveal your innermost fantasies."

She gasped and shook but couldn't seem to find the words. She continued to look deep into my eyes, and I refused to allow any softening of my demands for her revelations.

"Oh god, Simon," she stammered, "You are taking me back to my days with the cult and I can only remember the sensations that I felt when I was able to submit myself wholly and without reserve to their demands. I so need to experience that again—but I don't know how," she finished with a deep moan.

"No, mother, now you need to be completely honest with me. The truth is that you do know how, don't you?"

"Oh Simon, I can't ... I mustn't ... it's so wrong." She was now shuddering with her need to reach a climax and her hand continued to move in, around and across her pussy steadily and through increasing wetness, just flicking the tip of her engorged clitoris. She also used her free hand to pinch and pull her nipples, sobbing with the mixture of pain and pleasure she was inflicting on herself. "Please, Simon, please just let me cum, I can hardly stand this any more."

"No, mother, not until I know the whole story."

"Oh Simon, don't keep me strung out like this, I need to cum so badly."

"You know the rule, mother, now tell me," I barked.

"Aargh, oh god, alright, alright. Your cock ... your cock ... I NEED your cock. I went back to the so-called marriage ceremony where Sheldon married me to the phallus and then took me himself. But ... but ... but ... this time it wasn't Sheldon who took me. It ... it was y ... it was YOU. Oh god, Simon, I want you to control me, make me do naughty, nasty things. Make me do what people say is wicked, perverted and evil. I want you to dominate me. I want to be your slut, your bitch, your whore, just for you alone. You are the only person I can really trust and I need you so very, very much," she whimpered in a voice that was now choked and almost incoherent. Then in the same low voice she begged, "Oh Simon, please I'm desperate—please, I beg you, let me cum."

I managed to say, "Now I think we understand each other, mother. When I count to three, you may cum. One." She moaned and thrashed on the bed.

"Two." A five second pause, then, "Three."

My mother shook violently and screamed, an almost a****l howl. Her body shuddered, then went completely rigid before she screamed again as her climax reached its peak. Then she sobbed loudly as she came down from this monumental orgasm and I joined her on the bed, holding her in my arms,

She looked at me through tear streaked eyes as if trying to gauge my response to what she had told me.

I had one final demand, "Mother, take off the ring and put it onto the third finger of my right hand. It won't quite fit, but that doesn't matter."

She did as I instructed and I continued, "You are now married to my cock, and it will rule your life. Do you understand?"

She seemed to reach some sort of conclusion as she simply whispered one word in my ear.

"Master."