329 mother begged him
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332 Mother Begged Him free porn video
Part 4
It was all a bit much for our Trevor in reality. Oh, he had the imagination, the fantasies, and the lust, but this was his mother, and reality was way, way different to fantasy! During the long working day, his mind kept straying, remembering her face, the blood, and that look as they cleaned up her wounds and posed after the whipping of ‘so you see, I can take it, type of triumph’.
He just couldn’t place it with the mother, the caring, loving, butter wouldn`t melt mother he had known since birth, pictures don’t lie tis true, but without those albums and seeing her and the pin bra or Carlo`s hands up under her skirt, he would never in a million years have associated her with this behaviour… The works manager interrupted his musing, it was the man`s weekend on call, they shared the weekends alternately, so he was here to be briefed.
The task over he tidied up and it being mid-afternoon and he the boss, he set off homeward, his mind still a turmoil, could he really inflict pain as his father and uncle had? So troubled was he that he sat a while in a gateway thinking over his options.
Finally, his stragedy formulated, he completed the journey, he would talk with her tell her his nagging doubts...
Mother was in the lower garden tending her roses, her pride and joy. Her trug basket full of old English fragrance, multi coloured perfection, a sheaf of long-stemmed blooms for the sideboard.
She saw him coming having hoped to have completed the task and readied herself before his arrival. Smiling, he explained he had handed over for the weekend and had come home a tad early. (in this area of the UK, Fridays are known as poets day, she should have known… [Poets= piddle off early tomorrows Saturday!] He stood near the arch that she had been secured too in the picture, he had always wondered why the thing was steel and so substantial, it having his swing hung from its curved arch when he was very small. She saw his glance and smiled, pointing the two steel pins he had not noticed before, saying “those were measured for my ankles just the right length from the arch.” He shuddered, as she was so matter of fact about things. She placed the trug down, caught his hand and led him to the ornamental well, pointing out lashing rings in the surround base and saying that this was another place she had been secured and left overnight.”
He led her to the garden seat, and sensing he wanted to talk she sat with him as he explained he really wanted to live his fantasies, but he had grave misgivings about his abilities to administer the punishment she so desperately seemed to need, or of course, his worries that like a ball on a hillside if he did start would he be able to control his lust and stop! He would hate to disfigure her or worse…
She realised his fears perhaps would overcome his sexual desires and would lose her this chance to enjoy the sports that the brothers had taught her to enjoy. And just as she had promised herself that he was a chip from the old block and she had set her mind on enjoying again those orgasms she loved so very much.
So, she after a moment`s thought, explained to him that “she didn’t care if he did lose control,” she begged him think not of himself but her, widowed these last long years, virtually celibate bar her own ministrations, then having found her son was a dominant and perfect for the role she so wanted once more, and setting her sights on him pleasuring her and her him, then for him to have these misgivings, “oh please god no!” She begged him, pleaded with him, said she would rather risk disfigurement, or even death at his hands, but she wanted, no, needed these massive sexual release`s, and not just i****t, though that was fun, no, she needed pain, his pain, to really orgasm she had to be used, humiliated, and chastised. Did he not understand? If he lost control, well that was a risk she was prepared to take, but she was sure he could and would control himself, just as the brothers had before him, though if he did. So, what they would have tried…
By now she was shaking with passion, her hand in his, his mind made up that if this is what she wanted, he would help her, and he would try, but there was still the nagging doubts of control and possible damage or even death, but he was scared of prison, losing everything if it went wrong.
She thought for a while then said how about she would “lodge a document or even a disk with their solicitors if it would help, saying clearly that she accepted the risk without duress and that he would be acting in fact, at her request and with her full consent if any real injury befell her!” she said “she would seal it in an envelope and that way whenever and if ever, they stopped ‘playing’ he could retrieve it and destroy it, or defence if necessary use it in his!” This agreed he went and fetched the video camera. She sat on the wall of the well, still fully dressed and a red rose in her hand and they made a short film just as she had suggested. She candidly explain her desperation to be used, her need for sexual pain, humiliation and bondage and her full compliance with her son, as dominant at her insistence. accepting any risk of death or injury.
Then as if it was the most matter of fact everyday issue, she carried on with the roses. Amazed he took the camera indoors, took the short piece off onto the computer, then to disc, sealed the disc in an envelope, had her write on the package, clearly marking it ‘for safe keeping not to be opened except by him or her’, before sealing that into another envelope address to the family solicitor and together they walked to the local post-box, she posted the missive and he immediately kissed her, then with a sense of relief, together, they walked in the balmy evening air back to their home, her knowing that she had just unleashed a b**st, that, like most b**sts could never be returned to its box.
He cooked a meal as she arranged the roses, then they ate. Like an old married couple, they watched television, had hot milky drinks locked up and mounted the stairs hand in hand, but there, after toileting and dressing in night -clothing-, the similarities ended.
As if by some mutual agenda he opened the playroom door, had her stand under the lift, secured her wrists to the lift, and pulling the slack from the rope securing it before kissing her, saying good night, switching out the light and closing the door.
Retiring to his bed. He collected the next of the remaining albums and laid comfortably in the soft glow of the bedside light, began to peruse the pictures. He had selected album marked ‘R’.
For her stood in darkness, arms secure above her head, expecting her night would be one long and a very exhausting round of trying to ease weary muscles, she had time to muse. She had trodden this path before. Oliver would have left her on tiptoe, to add to the pain, he was an unfeeling bastard like that, but her son had left her on her flat feet and with enough slack to move but not escape.
Time in the darkened room, passed slowly, not that she had any way of knowing that of course, no chink of light under the door, and the curtains drawn, her thoughts turned inwards, molehills becoming mountains, an itch that needed scratching, a hair tickling her nose, her wrists, becoming uncomfortable, fingers wrapped round the rope easing the stress.
As it happened album ‘R’ proved to be some out in the garden pictures, the well, featuring prominently. In the first A4 picture, her wrists and ankles were clearly secured at each side of the square well, ropes over the low wall secured to steel rings deeply embedded at ground level. Above her the winder and the roof, her body suspended over the deep well-hole, on her back, unsupported except by her bonds, her head resting on the well-wall, long blonde tresses, trailing down the outside like a waterfall. A clock, a simple alarm old clock said 8, presumably an evening hour, still warm, balmy and heavy, you could almost feel the heat, a summer long ago, both brothers standing, watching and smiling proud of their handywork.
The second page had two half page shots, the uncomfortable position not enough for Oliver, in the top one, he was dipping honey with his fingers, onto breasts, nipples and her light, almost fluffy, pubic hair, dribbling the sticky sweet goo into her cleft with a joy opening the lips to ensure complete coverage.
The next picture, was the two men, sat on the same seat they had occupied that very afternoon, beer glasses in hand, as they watched over her sticky body, broad smiles and the clock, showing a few minutes to 9 now, nothing apparently having changed except for more empty beer bottles. Slowly he turned the page.
This time another two pictures, both A4`s, clear and precise close ups, the first of a breast, the second her sex, both enlarged to show the tiny insects, a group of wasps, from a local nest, their black and yellow markings neat as they crawled over the sticky sweet attractions, laid out like a banquet for them. The feelings of the myriad of mouths nibbling at the honey and the tiny feet of the things, dragging along behind them, their vicious stings, in a way that must have been an agony of desperately trying not to move and irritate the feeding hoard, not withstanding the discomfort of her bonds.
A turn of the page found the light failing the wasps having presumably left. Three pictures depicting Father recovering her body from its position and, of her being taken and staked out on the grass. Her naked form laying spread out on her back, in the classic x, she assisting the two men, by passively laying herself in position for them presumable knowing she was to be left overnight...
The clock being placed beside her ankle and reading ten forty-five, and there being no attempt to remove the honey, in fact there was evidence of it having been topped up.
Eagerly he turned the page, dawn, and a hastily taken shot of her body and the grass damp with dew, the picture taken from the doorstep the clock just in sight and not clearly readable, mother in some distress, but a fox warily vanishing through the hedge at the edge of the lawn, leaving a trail in the dew from the secured woman, with curious and reluctant looks back at the meal he was leaving and obviously startled by the photographers arrival.
The final page in use in this album had close ups of both sex and breasts though now honey-less and with blood running profusely from a small torn wound in her left labia which said it was a good thing the photographer had arrived when he did, and images of of her wrists and ankles, each bearing the marks of the overnight bindings...
The last one of the tear and the three stiches obviously after the hospital had done its thing!
He turned out the light then rose quietly opening the door to the playroom to stand silently watching his victim for a while, listening to her breathing, and her restless attempts to ease her tired and aching limbs.
He clicked on the light, she blinking at the sudden unaccustomed brightness, saw him approaching, album in hand, kneeling and opening her sex, checking no doubt, for a small ragged scar which he soon found down the edge of her left labia, he had wondered about its misshape when he had had chance to first see it, but took it, it was hereditary
She, not knowing he had seen the photographs, said she had been bitten on her last overnight outdoor bondage session! He asked her of the ordeal, and she said that to their surprise there was more wildlife in the garden overnight than they had expected, a hedge-hog had been and fed from her breasts fairly early, his tiny feet scrabbling against her soft skin and the nibbling sensations as he cleaned away the honey from both breasts, being strange but a turn on, which took a long erotic time and knowing she could do nothing, was both stimulating and frightening in equal measures. It was later long after it had gone that she had the company of that fox, again she still could do nothing, and he had come near then shied away on a few occasions, each time returning just a little closer after a few moments. Finally, he had gained enough courage and began nibbling at her sex warily and nervously, attracted no doubt by the honey. His teeth must have nipped her, and the taste of blood had him then beginning to tear at the soft tissue, until alerted by her screams his father had appeared and the a****l had been frightened away.
The wound needed stitches, and they explained it away as having caught herself stepping over a barbed wire fence while fetching mushrooms, though she doubted the nurse believed any of her story, and the stitches were really painful.
Trevor rewarded her honesty by releasing her and taking her to their bed, stiff muscles found his gentle massage and his tender care, oh so very acceptable, and they were soon making love once more before sleeping the sleep of innocent babies.
It was all a bit much for our Trevor in reality. Oh, he had the imagination, the fantasies, and the lust, but this was his mother, and reality was way, way different to fantasy! During the long working day, his mind kept straying, remembering her face, the blood, and that look as they cleaned up her wounds and posed after the whipping of ‘so you see, I can take it, type of triumph’.
He just couldn’t place it with the mother, the caring, loving, butter wouldn`t melt mother he had known since birth, pictures don’t lie tis true, but without those albums and seeing her and the pin bra or Carlo`s hands up under her skirt, he would never in a million years have associated her with this behaviour… The works manager interrupted his musing, it was the man`s weekend on call, they shared the weekends alternately, so he was here to be briefed.
The task over he tidied up and it being mid-afternoon and he the boss, he set off homeward, his mind still a turmoil, could he really inflict pain as his father and uncle had? So troubled was he that he sat a while in a gateway thinking over his options.
Finally, his stragedy formulated, he completed the journey, he would talk with her tell her his nagging doubts...
Mother was in the lower garden tending her roses, her pride and joy. Her trug basket full of old English fragrance, multi coloured perfection, a sheaf of long-stemmed blooms for the sideboard.
She saw him coming having hoped to have completed the task and readied herself before his arrival. Smiling, he explained he had handed over for the weekend and had come home a tad early. (in this area of the UK, Fridays are known as poets day, she should have known… [Poets= piddle off early tomorrows Saturday!] He stood near the arch that she had been secured too in the picture, he had always wondered why the thing was steel and so substantial, it having his swing hung from its curved arch when he was very small. She saw his glance and smiled, pointing the two steel pins he had not noticed before, saying “those were measured for my ankles just the right length from the arch.” He shuddered, as she was so matter of fact about things. She placed the trug down, caught his hand and led him to the ornamental well, pointing out lashing rings in the surround base and saying that this was another place she had been secured and left overnight.”
He led her to the garden seat, and sensing he wanted to talk she sat with him as he explained he really wanted to live his fantasies, but he had grave misgivings about his abilities to administer the punishment she so desperately seemed to need, or of course, his worries that like a ball on a hillside if he did start would he be able to control his lust and stop! He would hate to disfigure her or worse…
She realised his fears perhaps would overcome his sexual desires and would lose her this chance to enjoy the sports that the brothers had taught her to enjoy. And just as she had promised herself that he was a chip from the old block and she had set her mind on enjoying again those orgasms she loved so very much.
So, she after a moment`s thought, explained to him that “she didn’t care if he did lose control,” she begged him think not of himself but her, widowed these last long years, virtually celibate bar her own ministrations, then having found her son was a dominant and perfect for the role she so wanted once more, and setting her sights on him pleasuring her and her him, then for him to have these misgivings, “oh please god no!” She begged him, pleaded with him, said she would rather risk disfigurement, or even death at his hands, but she wanted, no, needed these massive sexual release`s, and not just i****t, though that was fun, no, she needed pain, his pain, to really orgasm she had to be used, humiliated, and chastised. Did he not understand? If he lost control, well that was a risk she was prepared to take, but she was sure he could and would control himself, just as the brothers had before him, though if he did. So, what they would have tried…
By now she was shaking with passion, her hand in his, his mind made up that if this is what she wanted, he would help her, and he would try, but there was still the nagging doubts of control and possible damage or even death, but he was scared of prison, losing everything if it went wrong.
She thought for a while then said how about she would “lodge a document or even a disk with their solicitors if it would help, saying clearly that she accepted the risk without duress and that he would be acting in fact, at her request and with her full consent if any real injury befell her!” she said “she would seal it in an envelope and that way whenever and if ever, they stopped ‘playing’ he could retrieve it and destroy it, or defence if necessary use it in his!” This agreed he went and fetched the video camera. She sat on the wall of the well, still fully dressed and a red rose in her hand and they made a short film just as she had suggested. She candidly explain her desperation to be used, her need for sexual pain, humiliation and bondage and her full compliance with her son, as dominant at her insistence. accepting any risk of death or injury.
Then as if it was the most matter of fact everyday issue, she carried on with the roses. Amazed he took the camera indoors, took the short piece off onto the computer, then to disc, sealed the disc in an envelope, had her write on the package, clearly marking it ‘for safe keeping not to be opened except by him or her’, before sealing that into another envelope address to the family solicitor and together they walked to the local post-box, she posted the missive and he immediately kissed her, then with a sense of relief, together, they walked in the balmy evening air back to their home, her knowing that she had just unleashed a b**st, that, like most b**sts could never be returned to its box.
He cooked a meal as she arranged the roses, then they ate. Like an old married couple, they watched television, had hot milky drinks locked up and mounted the stairs hand in hand, but there, after toileting and dressing in night -clothing-, the similarities ended.
As if by some mutual agenda he opened the playroom door, had her stand under the lift, secured her wrists to the lift, and pulling the slack from the rope securing it before kissing her, saying good night, switching out the light and closing the door.
Retiring to his bed. He collected the next of the remaining albums and laid comfortably in the soft glow of the bedside light, began to peruse the pictures. He had selected album marked ‘R’.
For her stood in darkness, arms secure above her head, expecting her night would be one long and a very exhausting round of trying to ease weary muscles, she had time to muse. She had trodden this path before. Oliver would have left her on tiptoe, to add to the pain, he was an unfeeling bastard like that, but her son had left her on her flat feet and with enough slack to move but not escape.
Time in the darkened room, passed slowly, not that she had any way of knowing that of course, no chink of light under the door, and the curtains drawn, her thoughts turned inwards, molehills becoming mountains, an itch that needed scratching, a hair tickling her nose, her wrists, becoming uncomfortable, fingers wrapped round the rope easing the stress.
As it happened album ‘R’ proved to be some out in the garden pictures, the well, featuring prominently. In the first A4 picture, her wrists and ankles were clearly secured at each side of the square well, ropes over the low wall secured to steel rings deeply embedded at ground level. Above her the winder and the roof, her body suspended over the deep well-hole, on her back, unsupported except by her bonds, her head resting on the well-wall, long blonde tresses, trailing down the outside like a waterfall. A clock, a simple alarm old clock said 8, presumably an evening hour, still warm, balmy and heavy, you could almost feel the heat, a summer long ago, both brothers standing, watching and smiling proud of their handywork.
The second page had two half page shots, the uncomfortable position not enough for Oliver, in the top one, he was dipping honey with his fingers, onto breasts, nipples and her light, almost fluffy, pubic hair, dribbling the sticky sweet goo into her cleft with a joy opening the lips to ensure complete coverage.
The next picture, was the two men, sat on the same seat they had occupied that very afternoon, beer glasses in hand, as they watched over her sticky body, broad smiles and the clock, showing a few minutes to 9 now, nothing apparently having changed except for more empty beer bottles. Slowly he turned the page.
This time another two pictures, both A4`s, clear and precise close ups, the first of a breast, the second her sex, both enlarged to show the tiny insects, a group of wasps, from a local nest, their black and yellow markings neat as they crawled over the sticky sweet attractions, laid out like a banquet for them. The feelings of the myriad of mouths nibbling at the honey and the tiny feet of the things, dragging along behind them, their vicious stings, in a way that must have been an agony of desperately trying not to move and irritate the feeding hoard, not withstanding the discomfort of her bonds.
A turn of the page found the light failing the wasps having presumably left. Three pictures depicting Father recovering her body from its position and, of her being taken and staked out on the grass. Her naked form laying spread out on her back, in the classic x, she assisting the two men, by passively laying herself in position for them presumable knowing she was to be left overnight...
The clock being placed beside her ankle and reading ten forty-five, and there being no attempt to remove the honey, in fact there was evidence of it having been topped up.
Eagerly he turned the page, dawn, and a hastily taken shot of her body and the grass damp with dew, the picture taken from the doorstep the clock just in sight and not clearly readable, mother in some distress, but a fox warily vanishing through the hedge at the edge of the lawn, leaving a trail in the dew from the secured woman, with curious and reluctant looks back at the meal he was leaving and obviously startled by the photographers arrival.
The final page in use in this album had close ups of both sex and breasts though now honey-less and with blood running profusely from a small torn wound in her left labia which said it was a good thing the photographer had arrived when he did, and images of of her wrists and ankles, each bearing the marks of the overnight bindings...
The last one of the tear and the three stiches obviously after the hospital had done its thing!
He turned out the light then rose quietly opening the door to the playroom to stand silently watching his victim for a while, listening to her breathing, and her restless attempts to ease her tired and aching limbs.
He clicked on the light, she blinking at the sudden unaccustomed brightness, saw him approaching, album in hand, kneeling and opening her sex, checking no doubt, for a small ragged scar which he soon found down the edge of her left labia, he had wondered about its misshape when he had had chance to first see it, but took it, it was hereditary
She, not knowing he had seen the photographs, said she had been bitten on her last overnight outdoor bondage session! He asked her of the ordeal, and she said that to their surprise there was more wildlife in the garden overnight than they had expected, a hedge-hog had been and fed from her breasts fairly early, his tiny feet scrabbling against her soft skin and the nibbling sensations as he cleaned away the honey from both breasts, being strange but a turn on, which took a long erotic time and knowing she could do nothing, was both stimulating and frightening in equal measures. It was later long after it had gone that she had the company of that fox, again she still could do nothing, and he had come near then shied away on a few occasions, each time returning just a little closer after a few moments. Finally, he had gained enough courage and began nibbling at her sex warily and nervously, attracted no doubt by the honey. His teeth must have nipped her, and the taste of blood had him then beginning to tear at the soft tissue, until alerted by her screams his father had appeared and the a****l had been frightened away.
The wound needed stitches, and they explained it away as having caught herself stepping over a barbed wire fence while fetching mushrooms, though she doubted the nurse believed any of her story, and the stitches were really painful.
Trevor rewarded her honesty by releasing her and taking her to their bed, stiff muscles found his gentle massage and his tender care, oh so very acceptable, and they were soon making love once more before sleeping the sleep of innocent babies.
Makenna
- 10.07.2020
- 4
- 0
