Message-ID: <29780asstr$986883003@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: PinkBette1@netscape.net (Pink Bette) Mime-Version: 1.0 X-Original-Message-ID: <1BC9C395.0BC38E5B.0C630F53@netscape.net> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" Subject: {ASSM} Mom Finds New God, part 1 of 2 (mF incest d/s) Date: Tue, 10 Apr 2001 02:10:03 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, dennyw This never happened. It's a story, right? -- I made it up. I don't even have a son. But I'm often turned on by the mother-son incest stories I see here, and I thought I'd make a contribution to the genre. I had to split this story in half due to space limitations in my mailer, but part 2 follows close behind. As labeled, this is an incest story, son and mother, with domination/submission, a hint of BDSM, and one of my all-time favorite sexual elements -- blasphemy. Standard disclaimers apply. This is a story for adults; if you're a kid, close your eyes and go away. If you think the story will offend you, ditto. ------------------- MOM FINDS NEW GOD (mF incest d/s) "Look at this filth!" I said with disgust. My son smirked. A stupid remark, I realized: he'd already looked at this filth. Had probably jacked off to it. I pushed the thought aside and pulled another magazine from under his mattress. This one's cover featured a woman in a nun's habit on her knees with her hands held together in the attitude of prayerful devotion. The object of her worship was not Christian in nature. It was a fully erect penis jutting out from the crotch of a young roughneck, perhaps a construction worker, who stared arrogantly down at her. His shirt was open so one could see his well-muscled chest and toned belly and the thin line of hair below his belly button that led down into thick black pubic hair, from which his manhood seemed to spring out. "Nun finds new god!" the headline blasphemed. "Like it, Mom?" my son said. "You can borrow it if you want." "That's enough out of you, mister!" I snapped back. I reached under the mattress to see if anything else was hidden there, but I seemed to have gotten it all. "I don't know where you got this filth, but this is the last you're going to see of it." He shrugged indifferently. It was maddening. This was the second time I'd discovered a porn stash in his room, and he seemed unaffected by my outrage about it. "And you're also on restriction for a month!" I added. I picked up the pile of magazines and walked out. "Get ready for bed!" I said harshly. I needed to try to understand this. Now more than ever I wished there a man in the house. When he was younger, Matt hadn't been as badly affected by the divorce as I'd feared, but now he was 15, in the full throes of adolescence, and he needed a man to talk with. So did I. A man would know what it was like to be a 15-year-old boy trying to sort out his sexual feelings. He'd know how to talk to Matt about this. I cast about in my mind for someone who might be able to help. But all I could think of was our priest. I sighed. Father Wadler would _really_ get a kick out of "Nun finds new god!" He'd probably recommend excommunication on the spot. I took the magazines into my room, determined to figure out a solution. Last time I hadn't even looked at them, I'd just piled them in a car and driven to a dumpster outside the neighborhood to make sure there was no chance any of my neighbors would accidentally discover them. Just imagine if Eileen from next-door, or her self-righteous husband Al, found out that my son was turning into a perv! I would NOT allow my son to turn into a perv. That was my thought, anyway. It was hard to know how I could stop him from it, given the kinds of things I'd seen on those covers. Matt wouldn't buy such magazines -- or however it was he acquired them - if they didn't turn him on, now, would he? And if that was the case... was he going to turn into one of those whipwielders, one of those weirdos who dressed all in leather and tied up their girlfriends and spanked them? Or worse yet, who let their girlfriends tie _them_ up? I dumped the magazines onto my bed and switched on the bedside lamp. I heard Matt go into the bathroom and shut the door. Maybe he did buy these magazines. He was only 15, in his freshman year in high school, but he was already pretty big, maybe even big enough to fool someone at a newstand or an adult shop into thinking he had a right to be there. He'd make a good showing on the football field, I reflected, if he'd been interested in sports. As it happened, he wasn't. He preferred the computer and books... and magazines, I thought sourly. He did use his weight set religiously, and by now he'd developed quite a nice build. He often lounged around the apartment with his shirt off, and it was difficult not to notice how handsome he'd become. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the "nun" magazine. The strange thing about it was, the woman really looked like she could be a nun. She didn't have the garish make-up or the airbrushed model look I'd have expected from a dirty magazine like this. She wasn't even wearing lipstick. She was nice-looking, but in a normal every-day way. And so the look in her eyes -- what kind of look was that? yes, a _hungry_ look -- didn't seem like an act. It seemed real. She was hungry for that man's penis. No, not his penis -- his cock. His hard cock. She wanted to suck it. She wanted to take his stiff manly prick full in her mouth. She wanted to go down on him like a whore. Whew. I looked around, but it was only my bedroom. Keep yourself under control, I scolded myself. All the same, it wasn't difficult to see why the nun would want that man's cock. He was very good looking, strong, virile. His arrogant stance only added to his attractiveness. His chest and belly, so nice -- you couldn't help but want to run your hands up and down it, to feel those muscles, to bring your hands down again and wrap them around that full stiff prick. God, it had been a long time. I sighed and opened the magazine. It was called "D/s," whatever that meant, but it was obviously one of those sick S&M magazines that Matt unfortunately seemed to like. There were little pictures on the table of contents page to illustrate what the articles and stories were about, and there were lots of whips and handcuffs and people in weird leather outfits. The little picture for the "nun" story now showed her looking up as though asking the construction worker if she could suck him off. A caption read, "Sister Mary submits to her Lord." They were really pushing this blasphemy routine. But I had to understand this. I turned to the story. There actually was a story -- text, that is -- but pictures were enough to provide the pertinent details. Sister Mary sucking cock. Her working class Lord standing behind her lifting the skirt of her habit to reveal her naked buttocks. Her Lord spanking her. A close-up of her face as she cried out in pain. A close-up of her bright-red buttocks. Her Lord kneeling behind her with a latex-gloved hand, inserting a finger into her asshole. Her Lord kneeling behind her with a condom on his dick, inserting it into her asshole. A side shot that gave the full effect: a habited nun, her skirt thrown over her back, her face turned toward the camera to show her closed eyes, her mouth open in a cry, as her Lord sodomized her. "Enjoying the filth?" I almost jumped through the roof. I had been so intent on the pictures that I hadn't even heard Matt come out of the bathroom, much less heard him come to my bedroom door. He leaned nonchalantly against the door, clad only in pajama bottoms, his arms folded across his chest. How long had he been there? "How -- how can you look at this stuff?" I managed to choke out. He frowned and shook his head. "It turns me on, Mom." Duh, his tone said. "But _why_? Why this -- these handcuffs, and whips? Do you want to tie women up? Do you want to whip them?" He looked at me. "Well, actually, Mom, yeah. I especially want to fuck 'em." He paused as though to gauge the effect of his words on me. "But the rest of it... yeah, I'd like to try that too. Already have, in fact." I was shocked. When had Matt ever tied a woman up and -- and fucked her? "What do you mean?" He shrugged. "In the chatrooms. It's not 'real,' of course, but _you_ know." He shrugged again. "You can still do quite a lot there. You just need to have an imagination." "Chatrooms?" He sighed heavily. "On the Internet, Mom. They're these places you can go and talk with people anonymously. You know, you just make up a name, not your real name. And you go to this place that's like a room and talk with people. And if you and someone else get interested, you can go into a private room and do -- well, whatever you want." "Like 'fuck,'" I said. He grinned. "Yeah. Like fuck." "And I'll bet you have to lie about your age, because 15-year-old kids aren't supposed to be there." He shrugged again. "At least I'm not getting anyone pregnant." No wonder he liked the computer. Here I'd thought he was spending all his time playing violent computer games, when what he was doing was "fucking." Not that it could really be fucking, not over the Internet. "So you said you've done some of that other stuff too. Like what?" He seemed hesitant. "Whips? Chains?" "Well," he said slowly. "I'm learning about what I like." "And what do you like?" He hesitated again, then gathered his courage. "I like to submit to a strong woman, and have her play with me and humiliate me and use me how she wants. I like to dominate, too. I like to find a strong, self-assured woman who wants to be a slave and make her beg for me to hurt her and fuck her." He lifted his chin, as though challenging me to scold him. "Just last night I had a woman who pinched her nipples when I told her to, and put on nipple clamps, and called me Master, and begged me to fuck her, and when I said she could, she fucked herself with a big silicon dildo, just as hard as I would have fucked her if I'd been there. And then she begged for me to let her come." "Did you let her?" He grinned. "Only after she'd earned it." "And when did she earn it?" "After she acknowledged that I was her owner, and she was my whore for me to use however I wanted." I snorted, shocked and disbelieving. "A 15-year-old boy?" He heaved another long-suffering 15-year-old-explaining-well-knownfacts-to-Mom sigh. "It's not the age, Mom. It's the attitude." "It's all just imagination. It's not real. You're not really fucking anyone." He shrugged again. "Then it's harmless, isn't it? I'm just imagining. And she's imagining with me. So what's wrong with it?" He sighed. "So I suppose you're gonna yank the computer now, huh?" "Just think about how I'm a strong woman, and submit to the punishments I give you." He smiled widely. "I'd like that very much, Mom." "Huh?" He unfolded his arms and put them down to his side. "I'd like very much to submit to you, Mom." And to my shock and astonishment, he then and there sank down to his knees, with his knees spread wide, his hands behind his back, his head bowed. "What are you doing?!!!" "I submit to you, Mom. I await whatever punishment you deem just." "Get the hell off the floor, Matt. What in hell is coming over you?" "Yes, ma'am." He obediently got to his feet, but he kept his legs spread wide. I hadn't heard him use the word "ma'am" since he was 11. His hands were still behind his back, and the positioning of his arms made the muscles of his chest stand out prominently. He was a handsome young man -- but this perverseness - "Would you prefer to submit to me, ma'am?" he asked politely. "I am fully prepared to take over, if you so desire." Even as he said this I noticed that the action of getting back up to his feet had caused his pajama bottoms to ride down on his hips. I could see the lines from his hips that curved inward to descend to his loins. I could see the topmost curls of his black pubic hair curving over his pajama bottoms. I could see the tenting forward of his pajamas that could mean only one thing. I looked at his face. He didn't seem at all embarrassed. But I was. Flushing, I snapped at him, "That's enough of that. Out of my room. Go to bed." He bowed his head. "Yes, ma'am, as you wish." "And no computer," I warned. "I will obey." He backed out of my room, his head still bowed, his pajamas still tented forward at the crotch, and dissappeared. This was even worse than I thought. That hard-on he was wearing -- did that mean he was -- was - I could barely bring myself to think it. But I had to be realistic. I remembered back through our talk. He said something about submitting to me, and then about me submitting to him. It seemed like a joke, but - when he stood up -- he was hard. Was he excited by the thought -- of me? I sat there on the bed, the picture of the nun being sodomized by the construction worker in my lap, and thought about that. My son's cock, hard. Was he in bed now, his hands strapped around his stiff prick, rutting into his hands, imagining that he was rutting into me? His mother? The very thought was -- was -- was there any word for it? Upset, I spent the an hour distractedly thumbing through the filthy magazines I'd found under his mattress. Erect penises and glistening pink vaginal openings; women, or men, tied down with ropes or chains or leather bindings in humiliating and vulnerable positions; men, or women, standing over them with leather whips or evil-looking metal implements; people of whichever sex crawling on the floor on hands and knees, being led around by leashes like dogs, even bending down to drink from bowls on the floor. Leather collars with studs. Men fucking women. Men fucking men. Women sodomizing men with strap-on dildos. Women fucking each other. Faces grimacing with pain or open-mouthed in the throes of orgasm. I dreamed that night of being naked except for a black leather collar around my neck. I was being led naked, on hand and knees, and whoever was leading me halted me before a water bowl and made me lap from it like a dog. Then I felt someone spreading my labia, felt myself being entered, felt the muscular thickness and warm heat of a hard cock pushing slowly into me, then pulling out again and thrusting in, hard. I panted like a dog and pushed back against his next thrust, felt him inside me, powerful and dominating. I was a bitch in heat, mounted by some unknown man, virile and strong, who was fuck, fuck, fucking me like a dog. "Bitch," he whispered harshly in my ear. "Who owns you?" And suddenly the water bowl from which I'd drunk like a dog changed shape and grew into a mirror, and I could see behind me the man who was hammering into me now with savage force. It was no man. It was a boy. It was my son. He grinned at me cruelly and fucked his rock-stiff prick into me. [continued in part 2] __________________________________________________________________ Get your own FREE, personal Netscape Webmail account today at http://webmail.netscape.com/ ------- ASSM Moderation System Notice-------- This post has been reformatted by the ASSM Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+