No one was harmed in the construction of this fantasy.
Chapter 1 – *No Pun Intended*
I may not be the smartest tool in the shed, but I like to think that I’m honest with myself. And according to this book I read on not being a victim, that’s one of the hardest things to do. But for the life of me I can’t figure out why my life is like this, now. Like, do people get what they deserve or is it all just random?
I’m not what you would call religious. Not anymore. I lost my faith when my son began using me for sex. Truth be told, I had always had doubts, but something about being your own son’s sex slave makes it pretty obvious that nobody is looking out for you no matter how good you were for all your damn life.
I think on some level I had always known the church was hogwash, but I believed in God. I guess my being so devoted to the church was my way of showing Him that I was good. And in return He blessed me with a demon child who was never happy and grew up a bully.
Maybe Frank Jr. is the way he is because he was a c-section and didn’t get my vaginal mess in his nose. I read where that’s a thing. Or maybe it’s because I didn’t hold him enough when he was a baby because I was depressed for a time after his birth. But his daddy could also be a cold fish, so maybe it’s in his genes.
I tried to be a good mom, though. Even though Frank Sr. never went, I took Junior to church with me every week because I knew he needed the Holy Spirit to come into his heart. Well, you can lead a horse to water and all, but sometimes a horse is just born mean.
I don’t even know what to call it – what we are doing. I mean, I’m his slave and everything, but is it rape if I don’t fight him? If it feels good? If I think about him when I touch myself? I can’t say.
It stopped for a while because Frank Jr. was working a rig way over in the western part of the state and just seemed to forget about his old mom for a few months. He didn’t call or anything so I supposed he was happy enough spending his paycheck on whores or heaven forbid, had actually found a girl willing to put up with him. He’s a big, good looking boy, but he has issues.
I thought about going back to the church while he was gone if only to reconnect with people, but I was sure that somehow they would see what I had become, so I never did.
I swear, I was just getting to the point where I wasn’t thinking about him all the time – wondering if he was going to show up and just start taking me whenever he wanted like before. Also guiltily wondering if I secretly wanted him to because sometimes I still pleasured myself remembering times he had forced me to feel pleasure.
I had spent a few hours that afternoon gardening in the June heat and was relaxing in a cold shower. Since I’m being candid here, I was at the part of the shower where I like to make the water hot and set the detachable shower head to massage so I can use it on myself down there. While I did it I thought about that first day my son returned home from the camp and taught me what it meant to be owned by another human being. He took me like an animal. I’d never been more terrified or more sexually excited in my life.
Just when it starts to feel real good the shower curtain gets yanked aside and I scream, “SLASHER!” and drop the shower wand because the first thing comes into my mind was that movie.
But it’s him, of course – all six foot four of him, tan and naked with a big ‘ol hard dick and a shit-eating grin on his face. The shower wand clattered against the wall for a second before coming to rest upside down shooting a pulsating stream of hot water against the back of my legs.
“Hey Fuckpig! Did you miss me?”
He talks like that to me. Calls me Fuckpig and Cunty the Human Sextoy, and whatever other disgusting things he thinks of because he knows how much I hate that kind of talk.
He’s a brutal boy and just way too big to resist so I don’t even try anymore. Not that I ever did, really. I think I do what I read that PTSD people sometimes do when confronted with something horrible. Which is to say that I freeze and do nothing. My mind just seizes up and I turn into a helpless little girl when he comes for me.
When he appeared like that in my bathroom I just started weeping because I was so confused by what he makes me feel, and because I knew that my time of peace was over.
He stood there outside the walk-in shower with his monster hard-on in his hand looking me up and down like he was a thirsty man, I was a cold beer, and he was just deciding if he wanted to have all of it in one go or torture it for a while.
He’s an evil genius when it comes to making his mom cum. I blame pornography. Even though I hate being so utterly at his mercy, his hands turn my traitorous body into a perpetual orgasm machine no matter what I want. And he knows it too, the smug prick. His mouth, his fingers, his huge cock – it’s like he’s got a current running through his skin that lights up my nerve endings wherever he touches me. And he touches me everywhere.
But also he likes to hurt me. It’s amazing the things you don’t know about yourself. Like how much getting beat makes me wet down there. I even cum sometimes when he’s doing it. I don’t know what that means about me, but I can’t help it and I can’t hide it. And it seems nothing makes him happier. When I’m tied down all helpless and open, and he’s cracking that heavy leather multi-tentacled sex whip he got off Amazon across my tits and thighs and even my vagina, I’m in agony, but also super turned on. After the beatings stop and the pain recedes, it’s like I’m charged with sex energy, body all tingly and floaty. I don’t know. I hate it and I love it all at the same time. I can’t explain it better than that. I just really wish he would stop doing it to me. Or just not as hard.
He also likes to torture me with pleasure and I don’t know which is worse. Sometimes when I’m in bondage he spends what seems like hours watching tease-torture porn on the laptop while practicing on me like he’s studying for an online degree. Ever so lightly he’ll tickle me everywhere with an ostrich feather, while I maniacally giggle, cackle, moan, whimper, cry, and beg just like the poor little Asian girls tied down on the computer. Or he puts the machines on the back of his hands that turn him into a human vibrator and he plays and plays with me, groping and squeezing and penetrating, getting me ever so close. And then just when I’m about to climax he stops, again and again until I’m in literally in tears with frustration. At that point I would even prefer a beating or fucking. Just anything to end the agony of pleasure and denial.
One time he made me cum just from licking my tits. Of course, it happened after he had beat me everywhere with that damn whip, so I was already feeling a lot. Still, it shames me to be so wanton. I wasn’t even restrained at the time. I just let him. I always let him.
“Were you washing that pussy for me, Pig?” he asked stepping into the shower knowing full well what I had been doing. But I’m such a dummy sometimes. Here I was about to get used every which way by my son, and I’m feeling mortified that he caught me pleasuring myself.
He took my jaw in one hand and forced his open mouth over my tightly closed lips, His other hand went straight to my vagina and gripped me hard. When I cried out he shoved his tongue into my open mouth and even though I was still sobbing like a child that just got a spanking instead of supper, I didn’t resist. I think he loves doing me that way because he understands that kissing him probably makes me feel more violated than just about anything he does to me.
“Like you love it, bitch,” he purred at me.
I didn’t much feel like getting slapped around yet so I gave him what he wanted and kissed him back like we were boyfriend and girlfriend. Good God, it is confusing to feel our tongues swirl against each other while he’s holding me firmly against him with one hand behind my neck, and two fingers are all up in my vagina with the other.
Once he had his fill of my tears he forced me to my knees. He saw that being down low like that meant the upside down shower head was focused on my ass. He spreads my ankles with his foot and forced my back into an arch so that that I’m on all fours and the shower spray is on my privates again, this time from behind. Then he lowered himself to his knees so his massive hard on is in my face.
“Suck it, slut.” he sneered as if I didn’t already know what he wanted. He wrapped a huge hand around the back of my head and impaled my mouth. Like a good little slave, I took him deep.
At first I struggled out of reflex but soon remembered how to relax my jaw. He hadn’t bothered to wash himself yet so he tasted of salt and vinegar like he had been on the road. He held my head like a coconut between his big paws and fucked my mouth for a time while I made that embarrassing, “Ganh! Gahn! Gahn!” noise because I can’t help it.
“Oh you disgusting whore, I have missed this mouth!” he crowed happily.
It is impossible to breath when he’s in me that deep so when I start to gag for real he let’s me push myself away and gasp in some air before he shoves himself back in.
I would appreciate it ever so much if someone could please explain why it turns me on so much to feel dirty and used like that, but it does. While he pleasured himself I could feel my sex engorging, not only from the face fucking and the hard spray pelting my posterior, but also in anticipation of how he would use me next. Sensing my arousal, he put his hands on my ass and spread me open to the water while pushing me even closer to the dangling shower head. When my hips began to thrust against the pulsing spray he began spanking me hard. I groaned around his cock as the first orgasm was forced from me.
I grew up conservative so the only other person I’d ever had sex with was his father. And frankly, even though I didn’t know the first thing about what was good or bad sex back then, I could tell what we had together wasn’t anything to write home about. Plus, he was a smoker so I didn’t always enjoy his breath. It wasn’t very frequent so I mostly didn’t mind it. But in the twenty or so years of marriage before he passed, I could count on one hand the number of times Frank Sr. made me climax and still have two fingers left over. And even those times it was me and the alcohol doing most of the heavy lifting.
Often times his son makes me cum that many times before I’m even tied to the bed. And then it’s just a savage roller coaster of pain and pleasure for a good portion of the day.
Sometimes it’s like being in a trance. Or at least I want it to be. My mind just gets overloaded from all the emotions and sensations. I try to forget who is doing it to me but he won’t let me. It’s not enough that when he’s home he uses his mom for sex almost every damn day, but he likes to talk dirty while he’s doing it to me. And he likes it when I feel ashamed, so he makes me say things as well. “Where is my tongue, Mom?” He likes to ask in a muffled voice when he is back there with my ass cheeks pulled apart and his stiffened tongue stabbing in and out my rectum. Between my whorish moans I whimper, “In Mommy’s ass,” as he has instructed me.
Why don’t I go to the police, you may have wondered. I thought about it a number of times early on, but the shame of having to tell those men what he was making me do was too much.
And then he showed me his movies.
Often times when I was tied down I was also blindfolded. He would leave me there sprawled on my bed with some music or pornography playing in the background for stretches that felt like an eternity because there were usually wriggling and vibrating sex toys stuffed into me doing his work for him while he was off having a piss or drinking a beer or whatever. Or so I thought. In reality he was using that time to play around with the cameras I had no idea were in the room. Sometimes after leaving me at the mercy of his toys for a while Frank Jr would untie me and take one of the machines out, but leave the blindfold on. At that point I was more than ready for his meat in me, and grateful not to have to look into my son’s eyes while he was doing it.
I did and I said whatever he wanted then because truth be told, he made me love it. But it was always carrot or stick with him, so any hesitation to obey brought on terrible consequences.
The first time he showed me what he had been doing with his devices I was leaning on the kitchen counter gossiping on the FaceTime with my only friend left from the church. In walks Frank Jr who plunks his iPad down on the counter playing a video of me – blindfolded on my back on my bed, legs spread wide and backward by leather cuffs on my ankles and straps attached to the bed posts behind me, hands cuffed behind my back, big fat nipples clamped between clothespins that wiggle painfully with every jiggle of my sloshing breasts. While I’m groaning in mechanized pleasure, pelvis hunching into the undulating machines trapped in my vagina and anus by the latex panties that encased my middle, he was silently circling the bed filming my orgasms.
I’m sure my friend must have heard my distinctive voice in the video moaning repeatedly, “Momma’s cumin Junior,… Momma’s pussy is cumin,” Even though I didn’t know he was in the room at the time. Just in case, I suppose.
Standing there, I could only gape at it for several seconds, too stupefied by seeing myself like that to react. I stuttered something at my phone about the bathtub overflowing and abruptly hung up on Mavis who I was sure I would never hear from again.
He tossed the iPad onto the kitchen table and sat down with a mean grin. He patted his lap for me to come over and sit on him like he was my daddy, and I knew I was in for it. I didn’t have no choice anyway, so of course I did it. Then, while he’s grinding himself into my fanny and feeling up my tits, gettin me all hot, he shows me another, edited video that turned my blood cold. In that one all you see is a blindfolded and cuffed, but otherwise free, willing, and wanton woman allowing her son to have her in every way while thanking him for the honor. Never mind that significant parts of my body are already beet red from a beating.
Until that moment I had allowed myself to believe that I was simply a helpless victim. That if we were discovered I could claim that I had no choice because of how he hurt me. But that’s not the woman I saw on the iPad. *That* woman was a straight up whore.
Even the parts where I’m being whipped. Sure it’s torture, but you can plainly see that I’m getting off on it. Anyone looking at it would know what I was.
That’s when I knew that I had no way out – that I was his slave for real. For as long as he wanted. And if I’m being honest here, part of me was devastated, but at the same time part of me was relieved that it didn’t have to feel like a choice anymore.
“Where is your son’s cock, mamma?” he growls in the video as he pounds himself into me from behind.
“In Mommy’s pussy!” is my dutiful reply.
“Who owns that pussy, whore?” he shouts later while he’s lifting me up in the air with his arms under my spread thighs, big hands under my ass, bouncing my relatively tiny body up and down on his pole like I weigh nothing to him. You can see I’m endlessly cuming on that giant dick, not just because I’m screaming in pleasure, but because creamy white rivulets of my juice drip from his balls as he uses me.
“You do, Junior! You own me!” With my bound hands clasped behind his neck helping him support me I scream, “My son owns me! Take it! Take what you want! Take your mamma!” and plenty more.
Sometimes when I start to cum you just can’t shut me up.
And you can tell I mean it, too. Sans the begging and the tears, I knew that anyone seeing what I let him do to me wouldn’t believe that I was being coerced. I mean, who’s gonna believe it’s rape when my unbound legs are spread wide, my boy is licking me, and my hands are gripping fistfuls of his hair as I pull his mouth harder against my thrusting vagina? So what if my wrists are cuffed? At that point, even I couldn’t tell anymore.
I would challenge any red blooded woman to feel differently if he was doing it to them. He’s just so big, and hard, and absolute in his will. It is just overwhelming to be taken so forcefully that all you can do is surrender to the pain, the pleasure, and the confusion of it all. Like, you can’t stop him so really it’s not your fault when the child you gave birth to makes you cum so much that you feel you might go insane if it doesn’t end.
His upward curving horn of a penis fits in me like it was custom made by God himself to fill me to my utter limit. He’s always been an angry boy, so to Junior it is a weapon that he punishes as much as fucks me with. Every time I see him hard I’m sure he’s going to hurt me with it. And it does usually hurt a bit going in, but after the shock wears off it always seems to fit – front and back.
The first few times he had me back there it was horrible. He was thoughtful enough to prepare me with his mouth and fingers before he did it, but even so it felt like being split in half when he put his dick in. Now though, not only am I used to it, but after the initial shock, I just cum and cum like a little slut when he takes me with violence like that. Especially if I’m high.
After he’d been home a few months from that awful place his daddy sent him to he got work roughnecking with all the other rough and tumble losers willing to sell their brawn and sometimes a limb doing the dirtiest, hardest, and hottest job on earth. For a while he had been landscaping which I had thought was a decent job for a boy with his background. But he met some people and started going out nights and apparently got into a fistfight with an oil boy that for some damn reason got him a job afterwards.
That’s around when he started bringing home things called X and Molly, and some that were just a bunch of letters.
Most days he uses me hard like I was an appliance just there to service him. He won’t even roll out of his bed when he wakes up, just yells for me to come in and service his erection with my mouth. Or I’ll be doing the dishes and he walks up behind me and pulls down my pants, moistens his dick with saliva, and has me from behind with no thought for my pleasure. Even so, I cum uncontrollably on that big dick every time he’s in me.
But on those days when he feels like torturing me, he makes me take things before we do it so that I am good and fucked up. If you can believe it, it makes the sex even better.
I had never understood drug addiction before then. Was so certain that it was just a symptom of moral weakness. But now I do. Good God, it feels amazing. Or maybe it’s the combination of drugs and my son’s cock that I am addicted to.
He’s posted the videos on a site where people are into sex with family. He’s blurred our faces on the computer but you can still tell it’s us because not only are we constantly using each other’s real names, but all the crying and mom/son dirty talk makes it obvious we aren’t acting. And like I said, my voice kind of stands out.
Back when I had friends they teased me about it all the time because they thought I sounded real cutesy. But also, the joke went, that my body must have been drawn by a cartoonist cause I have exaggerated features. Their nickname for me was Bettie Boop, if that gives you any idea. I used to be a little proud about being like a human cartoon because it made me noticeable. Now I fear it will be my downfall.
He’s also chatting with people online about us doing a live show together in front of the computer where people pay to watch you fuck or diddle yourself. Which would make me a prostitute. It’s not like we need the money.
He says we’ll have on masks, but he showed me some of the women who do it like that and you could still probably tell who it was if you already knew them. I’m terrified of the neighbors or the church community finding out what’s happening in our home. I would rather die.
I feel helpless and afraid all the time, now. But I also feel alive in a way that I wasn’t before. It’s like my life means something more than it did because I’ve got this big secret.
I walk around the grocery store looking all normal, but underneath my summer dress I can still feel the tenderness on my tits from his last whipping and it makes me drip with lust. Though I don’t dare look down, I can feel my abnormally large nipples harden in the air conditioned air, and pretend not to notice. It both shames and excites me that people can see them through the immodestly sheer lingerie he makes me wear now.
Whenever I’m out in the real world I imagine that anyone could tell from just looking at me that I was corrupted. That I must look like the kind of woman who will definitely be on her knees sucking her son’s cock when I get home. How could they not see that when that is what I am?
I guess you could say that I was more free before Junior made me his slave. But you could also call the way I live now a different kind of freedom. I hadn’t known it was possible to feel this much until my son came home from the residential treatment center and *made* me feel it.
I’m like those color blind people on YouTube who try on the special sunglasses that makes you see all the colors for the first time. How could you ever go back to the way it was after being shown what was possible? If it were me I would never take them off again.
I’m not sure what the future holds, but when he does get tired of using his poor old mom for a sex toy and moves on to greener pastures, there will be a hole in me that will remain empty for the rest of my life. No pun intended.
Chapter 2
Owned – Chapter Two – A lonely mom learns to love enslavement by grown son and his domineering girlfriend … Rape, Incest, Humiliation, (lots of) Forced Orgasms, Alcohol, FFM, BDSM, Long from eroticliterature
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/rsdoqt/owned_chapter_one_a_lonely_mom_learns_to_love