Mother's Helper Ch. 09-18

He reloaded the injector, inserted the tip into the cunt funnel and fired. "Fuck!" she yelled. He wished he could simultaneously shoot a hot load up her ass. He controlled her sucking by pulling the shoelaces. As he did with the tea clamps, he yanked on them rhythmically when he wanted her to deep throat him. She buried his shaft down her throatdesperate for him to cum as her crushed breasts were forced against the burning metal. Each time he pulled, he'd enjoy the sight of more cum oozing out of the funnels and running down the shoelaces. That view, plus her face against his pubic hair, was enough. Still yanking her nipples, he pushed back her head and spewed his load onto her contorted face as she came in unison, yelling "Fuck! Yeah! Do me!" and other words as she jumped and twisted frenziedly in the chair, banging the cunt funnel and anal carrot dildo into the seat of the stool.

When he'd squirted the last of his discharge across her now-blank face, he turned off the coil but left the hot funnels to cool off on her chest. He photographed her for ten minutes, including the small river of juices pouring down the funnel in her cunt and onto the stool. She gritted her teeth in pain when he used the eraser tip of a pencil to force the raw, turgid nipples back inside the funnels. Then he rotated the still-warm coils off her greasy breasts, a mixture of oil and cum covering the reddened mounds, pulled the third funnel out of her grasping, sucking cunt, and removed the carrot from the depths of her bowel. She gasped in relief as the kitchen air-cooled her throbbing mammaries.

He slapped her fully awake and removed the eye mask. She gazed at her abused, livid breasts and bound nipples as if they belonged to a stranger. "Don't wash your face or tits," Matt warned. "Leave the laces. Put on a blouse and skirt and make dinner." She trudged to the staircase, holding onto the railing to hoist herself upstairs. He thought he heard her moan of suffering from upstairs as she buttoned the tight blouse across her throbbing breasts. When she returned a couple of minutes later, he could see the two cum-slicked shoelaces beneath the fabric wet with oil and cum, the black leather cords extending down beneath the blouse. She looked disgustingly obscene. It was a clear admission of servitude: as his slut mother, her tits were his, and he could play with or abuse them any time he liked.

• • •

She made dinner like a zombie. Matt told her to make something with a cream sauce, to remind her that she was a cum-slut. He was attentive to filling and refilling her large wine glass. He thought she was in shock, but actually she was remembering every moment and feeling of her previous debasement. Finally, to make conversation in some naïve hope of normality, she asked tentatively, "What did you do today, Matthew, aside from buying my wardrobe?" She realized the contradiction, asking a normal mother's question after she had cooked a domestic dinner wearing a slut's face, the cum slowly drying, and a wave of absurdity hit her. Here she was pretending to be an ordinary suburban mother, when in reality she was the willing cum- and pain-slave of her masterful son. She realized that with each session she sank lower into the mire of obsession and subjugation. Yet she had never been as completely happy as now. She belonged to him. And every session was a roller coaster of abuse and ecstasy.

"Oh, I kept busy with different things," he said evasively. "And you?"

"I had so much work to catch up on at the office I arrived late at the gym, she said. "Since I was lazy about exercising or doing yoga on my trip, I worked out really hard. But since I arrived late, the gym was closing before I could do my stretches." She brought their filled plates to the table and they sat.

"I'm going to stretch your tits now."

She closed her eyes and shuddered. He had said it with the same matter-of-fact tone as "Pass the salt." There was no question that it would happen, that she would be in pain, that she would crave more. "Wha-why?"

"Why do you think?"

She screwed up her face in concentration. He waited. "Because I gave you your allowance a day late?" she ventured.

"Yes." He reached across the table and inside her blouse, grabbed the ends of the shoelaces and pulled until they emerged from the opening of the blouse. She froze, pain and pleasure distorting her features as Matt tightly tied the shoelaces together, forcing the nipples to bend and stretch toward each other.

"Oh God!" she muttered, jerking her face down to watch, causing a gob of cum to fall off her forehead onto the edge of her plate.

"You look great, like you're wearing a nipple chain. Except that it's a 'nipple lace!' But you're dripping onto your plate. Clean that up." She scooped the congealing cum into a teaspoon, slowly sucked it in and swallowed it, licking her greasy thick lips.

Matt removed another shoelace from a kitchen drawer, tied it to her "nipple lace," and strung it across the table to where he was sitting. She sat there, mouth slack and tongue lolling from the pain and the arousal, stupefied by the depths to which she would submit to his whims. She never knew what new debasement he would force her into. He abused her now every day and every single night. She was his play-toy.

They began their dinner in silence, Matt enjoying every moment of the strange scene. Every few minutes he pulled on the lace. Immediately, the increased tension forced Janice's nipples forward. Her breasts bulged under the blouse, the nipples massively extended. Grimacing, she continued her meal. When no food remained on her plate, he said, "Open your blouse." He undid the laces from her suffering nipples. She sighed with relief. "Go prepare yourself for yoga."

"Yes, Matthew, whatever you say. I'll just put on shorts and a T shirt?"

"No you won't. The liniment will stain them. Just put on your robe and the same baby doll, since it's already torn." She was silent, further humiliated by the thought of wearing the spotted, encrusted baby doll, the garment she'd worn during the filthy scenes with the air conditioner, the tea clamps and the blow dryer. "And I've finally decided what I want from you for my graduation gift." He turned and looked directly at her. She simply stared at him, her eyebrows raised slightly, mouth open questioningly, but was mute.

Finally she asked tauntingly, "What is it you want? To. . . to whip me? To whip my ass?" he met her gaze, unperturbed. "Or maybe to cane me? To cane my tits?" No response. "Because you won't stop at anything, will you?" He just stared at her, implacably. "To fuck me?" she said in a challenging tone to provoke him. "Okay. To fuck my cunt?" He just smiled serenely. "Or to. . . to fuck my ass? Or both?" But he was so self-assured she couldn't get any kind of rise out of him.

"First, I'm going to massage you, like I promised. I've got some new liniment that smells great. Then you will be whipped for your rude attitude just now, but that's only a preparation for my present. I have different plans for your nipples. Meet me in the den in twenty minutes."

"Yes, Matthew," she said, suddenly contrite. In an instant, her defiance had changed to burning curiosity.

In our next chapter, Janice's first yoga lesson, with intense heat and the novel use of another kitchen tool.

Chapter Fifteen – The Bolster and the Injector

Janice was so flustered at the outburst to her sexy son that when she walked upstairs she had to hold onto the railing yet again. She'd practically told her son she wanted him to whip her and fuck her cunt and ass. She grimaced while putting on the tattered baby doll. When she returned to the kitchen in her robe and high slippers, Matthew was not there, so she slowly walked down the long, dark corridor to the den in the rear of the house. In the den, she saw that there were other changes in the house besides her wardrobe. Matthew had placed three heat lamps around the room that he'd been using for a bio-chem experiment in the basement. Each was carefully plugged into a socket along a different wall, which meant a different circuit, so there was no danger of tripping a circuit breaker.

Although there was still light outside, it was dusk and the room was dim. It was also cool. It was a decidedly masculine room with furniture in black leather. Each window had two heavy rods going across from which hung café curtains. A black leather bolster from one of the sofas had been placed on the thick carpet between them. It was cylindrical, well over a foot in diameter, and firm. Another smaller bolster lay behind it.

On the coffee table next to the bolster, a large tumbler had been filled to the brim with her favorite, a white Russian and frozen yogurt. There was also a blender pitcher half filled with the remainder. The drink was so deliciously sweet and cooling that it never occurred to her that it was also loaded with vodka. Next to the glass were the lemon and bungee cord, plus a thick, black satin eye mask. Her mind was too tipsy to figure everything out. Feeling unsteady, she immediately took another large swallow. Staring at the eye mask, her mind flashed for an instant on her diary.

She wondered why the microwave had been moved to an end table. Next to it was a large beige squeeze bottle of liniment and a six-inch metal injector, an updated design of the traditional plastic baster. Looking more like a doctor's instrument than a cook's, it had three metal rings in which to insert your fingers before pushing on the plunger. It tapered to a one-inch tip.

Although Matthew was not visible, another of his notes was. It said, "Drink the entire glass so you're as relaxed as possible. Put on the eye mask to help you relax. Then lie face down on the bolster. I'm going to be multi-tasking—massaging and simultaneously stretching your muscles, since you were bad on your trip (no yoga). I learned about two new yoga techniques while you were away. One is called Bikram Yoga."

This comment aroused Janice's curiosity: not one new yoga technique but two! Since she loved doing yoga, she became excited and drank another large mouthful. Noticing herself in the wall mirror, she saw that her lips and chin were covered with the white goo. She stared at herself, and then licked the thick white shake off her lips. She'd heard about Bikram Yoga, taught in classes with the temperature at 104 degrees, but it was too new for there to be classes in it in her area. Since she was now excited rather than relaxed, she drank more, almost finishing the large glass.

Janice removed her robe and lay down on the bolster. It raised her stomach and ass high in the air, but was surprisingly comfortable. She had no idea the nightie did not even cover her ass. She waited, trying to slow her breathing and relax.

After a few minutes, she realized that she'd forgotten to put on the eye mask. She sat up, remembering that Matthew's instructions were explicit: "Drink the entire glass." She did not want to disobey his order, especially since he was going to so much trouble this evening. She finished the glass with two mouthfuls, so quick and large that she sputtered, spewing the white froth all over her black robe.

"Bad girl!" she said to herself. Before she could wipe it off, she suddenly felt dizzy, so she grabbed the eye mask, put it on, and again lay face down on the bolster, the room slightly spinning.

The first thing she became aware of was her outstretched hands being massaged at the same time. The second item was that the den was no longer chilly. He moved along to her forearms and upper arms. She moaned, "Mmmm, that feels good." His strong hands were not gentle.

"Just relax, stay still." He removed his hands. In a minute, the room felt hotter, although her pussy was wet. She was now perspiring freely. She heard the microwave hum. Pushing her baby doll up to her neck, he aimed the squeeze bottle and shot the white liniment over her thighs and back. Foggily, Janice became aware of a series of mechanical clicks. She wasn't sure through the mask, but she also thought a bright light flashed repeatedly at each click.

Matt resumed with her feet, kneading up her calves and thighs. As he massaged her ass, she began moving her hips. When he started in on her inner thighs, she groaned, "Yes. . ." But when he reached her pussy, she was unable to close her legs. He'd tied each one to one of the coffee tables on each side of the bolster.

"Mother, I said this would be a full body massage." He rubbed her lips, pushing together the meaty labia until moisture seeped out of her opening. A loud groan escaped her mouth as her body shuddered in a mild orgasm.

A few minutes later, she'd been turned over onto her back, all four limbs tied tightly. The bolster was under her lower back, making her breasts arch prominently. The den was blazing hot, her body drenched with perspiration. "It's broiling hot," she said.

"The point of Bikram Yoga is to have the room over a hundred degrees, so your muscles don't cramp while they're stretched," Matt said. Without warning, he inserted the same lemon into her mouth and fastened the bungee cord. The gag felt less uncomfortable than the night before.

He proceeded to massage the front side of her arms and legs. He placed the small bolster under her neck, raising her head so she had a perfect view of her body. "We don't want you to get dehydrated, so drink up." He removed the cord and gag and held the glass to her lips as she drank thirstily. Matt replaced the ball and cord and pulled off the eye mask. She gazed at herself, half-seeing the wrecked baby doll had been pulled down to cover her mound. Matt wore only his pajama pants, his skin glistening in the heat.

The microwave hummed again. Grinning, Matt stood between her feet, the liniment bottle jutting from his groin. He squeezed hard and a geyser of hot lotion rained on her face, baby doll and thighs. He rubbed it into her legs and then, kneeling above her, rubbed the liniment into the baby doll over her abdomen. Her moans increased as she watched, eyes half-lidded. He grabbed her right breast, his hand encircling it around the base, squeezing and forcing it up into a tight column. She yanked frantically at the cords on her arms and legs but couldn't move them more than an inch or two. He noticed her eyes had closed. "Open your eyes," he commanded.

He placed the palm of his hand directly over her nipple, the liniment pooling on the top, pressed down flat and rotated his hand, the fabric grinding into her nipple. The grinding force would have flattened her breast, except that his grip around the base prevented it. Her pelvis began to shift up and down off the carpet, responding to the pain. He repeated the technique on her left breast. The pressure on her breast was enormous. "Oh my God," she cried through the gag. Her pelvis bucked even more. He left her chest and began on her inner thighs. After rubbing her pussy, increasing her frenzy, he placed another large bolster under her hips, raising her pelvis, and went to the microwave, although his back blocked whatever he was doing there. She couldn't stop writhing.

The microwave was turned on again. When it finished, he turned around, holding the injector. As soon as she saw what was in his hand, she began screaming, but he only smiled as he placed the tip in her cunt, laying the injector on the bolster beneath her. He clasped each breast tightly like before and ground a thumb into each huge nipple, bending it back and forth. Her ass bounced up and down. Behind the gag, it sounded as if she was saying, "Fuck! Fuck!" over and over. He removed one hand from a breast and ground the thumb harshly into her clit, punishing it.

With the other hand, he grabbed the injector. Still abusing her clit, he drove in the injector halfway, a full three inches, and squeezed the bulb. As the hot liniment was forced up her cunt, her body leapt up in a massive climax, the tendons in her neck and thighs like ripcords, nothing on the floor except her shoulders and feet. He rammed in the remaining five inches and squeezed the remainder of the seething white liquid into the far reaches of her cunt. Her hips rose another three inches as she shuddered nonstop for thirty seconds, a spray of liquid shooting out from her pussy, and collapsed on the bolster like a discarded doll, mouth hanging open, barely conscious.

Matt removed his pants. After a few seconds he extracted the injector and replaced it with three fingers inserted all the way up her cunt. He removed them, dripping, and lubricated his cock with the liniment and cunt juices. He had planned to fuck her, but because of her insolent taunts earlier, thought he should definitely deny her that pleasure. He jacked off and quickly spewed his load into her half-open mouth. It filled quickly and the overflow poured down onto her breasts.

He studied her prostrate form, saturated with pools of sweat and liniment, legs splayed, breasts swollen and pussy reddened, nipples standing up a full inch. White liniment bubbled out of her cunt, cascading onto the bolster, flowing down the bolster like a waterfall onto the carpet. As she lost consciousness, the last thing she was aware of was another series of mechanical clicks, accompanied by synchronized bursts of light, flickering on her closed eyelids like a movie projector.

Please look for the next episode, wherein Matt takes the introductory installment of his graduation gift and Janice heats up a frozen dessert treat.

Chapter Sixteen — The Creamsicle

Sunday breakfast was quiet. Janice, exhausted from her abuses and climaxes at the hands of her inventive and relentless son, had slept soundly. The fantasies of Matt that had tormented her on vacation were being lived in a spiral of humiliation and submissiveness. Each of them read the newspaper. Again, Janice could not bring herself to look at Matt during breakfast. Matt acknowledged to himself that he'd been afraid of committing the final obscenity. It had been his weakness. He'd waited far too long to fuck her. She was desperate for it. But he'd have to gag her before her first whipping tonight.

"Is there anything you want from me?" she asked, conciliatory after the abuse she'd undergone last night.

"Even though your baby doll and panties are ruined, I want you to wash them and keep them, as a symbol."

"As a symbol of what?" she whispered hoarsely.

" As a symbol of my becoming your master and owner."

"Oh. . . . All right. As you wish.

"I'm going to spend the day with Alex," he said. Alex was Darielle's son and Matt's best friend. He was also a cutie, a hot one. Although he was younger than Matt, he was very mature for his age, with blond curly hair, broad shoulders and thick biceps. "I'll be back for dinner."

He thought for a moment, grabbed a pad and pen, and wrote a list:

You'll need —

1.One of the young bamboo shoots from the grove in the garden
2.1 large and 1 medium cigar tube
3.Place cords on both wrists and ankles
4.Remove your clothing and kneel on the ottoman, facing the chair
5. Tonight's sessions will include two special, creamy desserts

She screwed up her courage to ask a question, her desire and curiosity burning. "Obviously you're going to apply my first whipping." He nodded. She wondered if he'd leave any marks on her breasts. "Will you mark me?" He nodded again and she gulped, wondering if she'd have to suck him off again tonight and swallow his load, or whether he'd fuck her while she was helplessly tied. "But what is the Velcro for?"

He leaned over and slapped her left breast. "Too many questions," he said. She'd simply have to wait. Better silence than to anger him even more.

After dinner, feeling the sting in her whole breast, Janice followed her latest instructions, burning with curiosity about the two creamy desserts. Naturally, she could predict what one would be. Wearing only her robe and heeled slippers, she knelt in front of the large ottoman, her legs stretched so her knees were at the corners. It was a strain but she knew she needed the stretch. Her arms rested flat on the arms of the matching easy chair. She had already fastened cords around her wrists and ankles. The heat lamps pounded down on her. She was throbbing with anticipation.