The Winning Ticket Pt. 4

So, there we were, my mom and I sitting on the dank mattress, entirely naked and taking turns sucking my son's big cock. It was already past midnight, and the three of us had been engaged in this taboo debauchery since about nine o'clock. My twenty-two-year-old son Bobby, has the sexual stamina of a rabbit and his ability to maintain his erection and to continually produce and launch obscene quantities of sperm, should be used as an advertisement for those impotent men looking to recapture their youth.

In the course of the evening's adventures in depravity, Bobby herded us into his bedroom dressed in our frilly finery and compelled us to strip for him. Even myself, being in my mid-forties and my mother who is eligible for social security, may not be centerfold material, but we both can fill-out a large-size bra and those men, (and women,) who are into MILFs and GILFs would be drooling to see either of us in sheer outfits and sexual postures. In the process of entertaining our new master, we were told to lewdly and loudly, display our voluptuous curves for his inspection and also to pronounce to him, why it would be our absolute pleasure to be used and enjoyed as his incestuous sex-sluts. Tonight was my mother Addie's introduction to this particular brand of perversion, while I have been a "volunteer" for almost two full days.

We had entered into a "devil's deal" of allowing my son to take full control and sexual domination, over any and every part of our anatomy for the period of one year; in exchange for the opportunity of living free of charge with generous monetary allowances, in the new mansion that my son provides with the winnings of his lottery prize, that has been estimated to be roughly one-third of a billion dollars. Does this make us whores? We try not to think about it.

We both entirely debased ourselves by our reluctant but not-exactly unwilling, performance of following him to his room and disrobing, then crudely and almost proudly squeezing our full breasts and splaying the lips or our moist labia, then lasciviously "offering" to masturbate, suck or fuck him, whichever vile deed or in whatever order of defilement, that our new Dom requested. Last night, I conquered most of my inhibitions concerning incest, threesomes, and mother/daughter sexual servitude. That libidinous liaison was a monstrous MFF tryst, with the initial "partners" being my son and my nineteen-year-old daughter Tish, where I was the older woman and by far the most reserved and reluctant participant. I was schooled in the lewd arts of bi-sexual seduction, oral sex on either gender and being satisfied from each end of my body at the same time.

On this night, the lascivious scene before us had been recreated with my mom playing my role, and I was the more "experienced" player. My son's depravity knew no bounds. As embarrassing and humbling as it was to enter into a three-way sex orgy with my kids, being required to act-out those vulgar and deviant manipulations with my own mother would be entering the final circle of Hell. But the Ringmaster simply smiled that crooked, Machiavellian grin that has haunted me for most of my adult life. It has hooked me in, on many occasions and left me on the hook, for so many more.

As we split the duty of taking his firm joint between our lips and stroking the solid shaft to its terminal point almost like playing Russian Roulette with a loaded cock; something dangerously eerie and bewitchingly competitive seemed to slip into our tortured sexual-psyches and we found ourselves, both eagerly trying to coax the creamy cum from his full balls and up the throbbing column of twitching flesh, anticipating the shower of semen soon to fill the yearning mouth of atleast one of us, if he doesn't choose to spray his sticky seed on both of our lusty faces.

I spied my daughter leaning against the door jamb and plunging her fingers swiftly and deeply into the fiery hole of her starving vagina. She was lost in her own lusty imagination, with a sloe-eyed countenance and a trickle of drool slipping down her chin. In her wildest fantasies, (a world that I am now eager to explore,) she could never have imagined being a voyeur, and an active accomplice to the vision of her mother and grandmother, sucking the solid and throbbing cock of her older brother. Her sex-crazed moans of lascivious desire joined the chorus of wails coming from our own hungry throats and alerted my son that he had one additional playmate to fulfil the lewd dimensions of his growing incestuous harem.

He only smiled as though he were sitting in the catbird seat, (which ofcourse, he was,) and continued to flog his potent weapon as he would rack the slide on a shotgun. He was starting to shake and his hand was a blur, stroking his long hard rod. And just then, as his throbbing pole was alternately sawing a powerful arc into the far recesses of our straining mouths; he was deep into the waiting throat of my sixty-five-year-old mother, and with a great shiver of his strong torso, his sturdy tool plastered its viscous stream against her surprised tonsils, awarding her the honor of "tonight's best blowjob," and baptizing her virginal mouth with its first generous dose of her grandson's creamy sex-juice. She knew what to expect as the general theorem, but when the gusher struck, it exploded on her tonsils like a bomb.

Bobby held his grandmother's head in his steady grip and was pummeling her naive lips with his thrusting pelvis. His slippery lance, dripping with her unconscious slobber, slid forcefully into her mouth, extending the sides of her cheeks or causing convulsive choking and would then reappear shiny and huge, only to plunge in again, over and over until the momentum and the slight friction caused the hot cream to rise in the sturdy column. I was mesmerized, just watching as his tumescent tool reached its final stage before lift-off. Addie was slobbering obscenely and moaning with the intoxication of a feeling that she knew to be taboo and terrible, but that excited her and warmed her pussy at the same time. There could be no doubt that this was not a strictly "just following orders," type of ordeal. I saw that look in my daughter's eyes the first night and as much as I wished to hide the fact from my own horny torso, it was painfully obvious that the three generations of women in this family had inherited a gene of submissive sexual behavior, that was now bursting to the surface. And we would never be able to force it back to its regressive phase again.

He would occasionally reach down to her sagging breasts and tug or squeeze each one as he filled her gaping mouth, asking her in a malevolent, domineering tone if, this is the way that she always dreamed of having his giant cock in her mouth. "Do you like it hard and deep, Addie? Is this what you've wanted? To be naked and at my bidding, while I fill your horny holes with my flavorful juices?" She was staggered by the liquid volume, choking and coughing as the first forceful spurt of the slimy sperm shot straight down her esophagus and the remainder filled her cheeks and drizzled out between her stunned lips.

Through teary eyes and cheeks puffed-out from heavy exertion, she could only look up at him hovering over her, and continuing to pump his syrupy load into her fearful mouth. Her only reply was to nod unceasingly and to use one moistened palm to keep serving his sticky shaft into her yearning lips, while with the other, two digits searched and scraped at the raw insides of her volcanic cunt. It was this action, my mom playing with her pussy, (maybe for the first time in years,) as her grandson slammed his huge erection into her receptive mouth, that caused me to reevaluate the situation. My mother seemed to be getting-off while sucking my son's cock! She showed no outward signs of sensual ecstasy, such as when I've sucked his massive pole, but this crude oral sensation that she was delivering triggered a resultant and reflexive orgasm of her own.

I had warned her of the possible danger of "crossing" my son when he was in such a mood, so she understood to never say "NO." But I don't think she took it as seriously as I meant it, ofcourse who would? Nothing about this illicit experience would be in anyone's sphere of possibilities. But she accepted his harsh admonitions and derisions while seeming to be turned-on more fully, by his deliberate intent to place her in submission. Right before my stunned eyes, I watched my mother play with her dripping cunt as she was being force-fed, his gargantuan cock, and there could be no hiding the look of carnal lust in her wide, blue eyes.

And I probably failed to mention or maybe didn't emphasize it enough, because sometimes he could be funny and surprisingly affectionate, but there was always the underlying factor of humiliation and dominance to be proven, and Bobby intended for us all, to remember that he would forever be incharge. Even if we stick with this incestuous and demeaning routine for a year, fulfilling the agreement and entitling us to the rewards, there could be no remedy or therapy that would ever wipe the slate clean. Bobby was claiming us as his own and conditioning us to perform at his beck and call. And I for one, was willing to accept the challenge and I have to admit, was looking forward to the intense and illicit education.

We were roped-in to this hornet's nest of debauchery under duress and the siren-call of easy living but still were sane and reasonable enough to find alternatives that did not involve sexual depravity and incest. It was our collective subconscious minds that each, at her own time and of her own volition, chose to dig deep into our repressed level of perversion and leave morality and sanctity in the dust, so that we can pretend to our whorey selves, that we have been coerced or Shanghaied into a life of personal submission and sexual degradation. When actually, we concluded that in the privacy of our own home and the secrecy provided by keeping it literally, in the family, we were all, (even my son,) being offered the chance to explore and act-out every dark and obscene sexual image that has fascinated and stimulated our wet-dreams from the very moment that we understood puberty.

But even as my mom gagged and nearly strangled through the crude ordeal, Addie held the surprised grin on her face and continued to suck on his spouting shaft, taking as much of his salty load as she could manage and using her tongue to lick the remaining goo from the cylindrical sides of his slickened stem. For an older woman, engaged in her first sexual escapade in decades, sucking and fucking her much younger Dom, Addie held-up well and performed to the highest level of sexual perversion that either of us could have possibly expected.

I don't understand how she dodged the tricky moral issue of incest, or if that seemingly benign addendum even entered into the forbidden realm of sexual deviance that she had agreed to take a very active part in. She performed her role as if it were a routine chore in her everyday schedule, keeping the pliable smile on her face as her grandson thrust his steely organ against the back of her throat, allowing him to fondle and squeeze her bouncing tits as she trembled through the anticipation of what was about to pour into her mouth and holding it all together as Bobby finished his sperm shower by rubbing his cock along the busty contours of her sweaty chest. But she experienced a noticeable and thunderous series of orgasms as Bobby's cum settled into her belly, that sent spasms of energy jolting through her entire anatomy and she appeared as if the sensual exertion only set the stage for more. Though in minutes, her exhausted and thoroughly sated frame slumped back on the dampened sheets and slipped into a blissful and probably darkly-imaginative slumber.

Bobby's reddened rod was still semi-hard and leaking a whitish trail of his salty fluids, when he motioned for his half-sister to enter the room and obediently drop to her knees to perform the ritual clean-up of his slick organ. As my son is prone to remark to his growing stable of sex-sluts, she was told to, "put a shine on it, because I may want to use it again." And she dutifully slid between his thick thighs and taking his tackey tool in her grip, she fed the rubbery length of his semi-limp pole into her warm cheeks and not only bathed it in her saliva but managed to revive the hardy organ back to its usual formidable dimensions of girth and length. If he is not currently mainlining Viagra, I would hate to see the menacing ramrod that emerged from his loins when provided with some chemical stimulant. His cock just never gets soft!

He didn't need to tell Tish to strip-off the rest of her clothes, his standing rule was that a woman's tits should be available to him at all times, so she slithered naked until her tongue could slide up and down the length of his turgid tool and once having watched as her brother's organ grew to it usual gargantuan proportions, she let the firm pole slide between her lips and ease gently to the back of her throat. She grabbed his fat cock and pumped its rigid length in and out of her hungry mouth, pausing only to slather sloppy, wet kisses along its veiny frame and to wipe the excess slobber from her chin and continue to inhale the fat column as its speed and pressure increased. Her exercise in oral sex was energetic, I think partly due to the mere fact of her being youthful and having only considered sex to be a recreational activity. The taboo moral judgement of incest was only a distraction to her, she had a body that men craved and a sexual hunger that needed filled. I hate to think it, especially after favoring her over her brother for so long, but she was practically just a cunt with a face.

Having taken this brief interlude of not having anyone's genitals shoved into any of my body's orifices, I was able to compare and contrast the approaches taken by my daughter and mother to the subject presented to them both. Addie had done what she needed to do, simply to survive and keep the peace in the family. Tish was a step away from being a "gold-digging harlot," who believed her sins could be washed away by a sizeable bank account. I was starting to think that I was the only one of the three of us, who actually enjoyed sex. And I was realizing that Bobby and I had much more in common sexually than we probably wanted to admit.

My sixty-five-year-old mother was sleeping beside me, her pudgy, well-rounded body coated in the flaky residue of my son's semen. Laying on her back with her silvery-blonde hair tussled and tangled with sweat; the big, floppy tits sagged to either side of her chest and her plump pubic triangle was puffy and reddened from experiencing three decades worth of rough sex in three hours. She slept with her mouth open and a thin layer of saliva- probably mixed with her grandson's cum- seeping from the corner of her mouth. She dutifully and patiently stripped, sucked and fucked my son, but I couldn't tell if she felt any emotional connection, whatsoever. It was like a mailman delivering the mail.

My daughter on the other hand, who was also winding down from an emotional high and probably an alcohol-fueled evening, was fading just as quickly on the other side of me. She too was naked, her taut little body was by far, sexier and more compact than her mother's and grandmother's. Laying on her back, the firm tits stood proudly at attention and the perky nipples still pointed toward the ceiling. Her muddy-blonde hair lay like a tarnished halo, surrounding her pleasant face like the billowy mane of a lioness. Her legs were parted, displaying the shaved mound and the gaping entrance of her battered labia. I'm quite certain that my son had not been the one to steal her virginity, and I know that though they have been having sex for atleast a week, his cock was not the only one to have caused the obvious wear and tear on her nineteen-year-old-anatomy. She was even developing a worn, haggard look to her young face. I hate to be judging her so harshly, she is my daughter, but I'm going to need to make certain that she takes birth-control and venereal disease seriously.

It was getting to be early morning and my son had managed to break-in and wear-out every member of his family, which I guessed and I hoped, would mean that we met every condition of his "offer," and this was the last night that we would be spending in our old apartment. Bobby reached for my hand and we walked down the hall to my bedroom, where we spent the rest of the night cuddled like lovers, our legs intertwined and his strong arms wrapped around me, caressing and fondling my boobs while I held the warm, drooping organ that had brought-on the multiple, shuddering climaxes felt by three generations of his family's horny women.

The first day in the new house surprised me. Mostly by its lack of sexual activity. Even Bobby appeared amazed as we took our initial tour of the huge mansion, now that it officially belonged to him. It was the creation of an excentric millionaire, who didn't realize that even very rich people could make dumb decisions and run through their wealth. The mansion sat on top of a steep rise, with a long driveway coming off from a private road. A low wall surrounded the property and from that elevation and the distance from other properties, we had complete privacy. There were swimming pools both inside and out, each with hot tubs, that my son determined would be for skinny-dipping only.

There was a complete rec-room in the basement next to the pool, stocked with video games, wall-to-wall TVs, leather couches, a fully functioning bar, and most other amenities that you could think of. There was also available in rooms to the sides, a sauna, a work-out room, a library and small study. The main floor held a formal dining room that could seat twenty, and a kitchen that any chef would find generous. The living room had a cathedral ceiling with a walk-in fireplace and was the centerpiece of the home and from a formal vestibule, formed the axis of the home.

This was the "great-room," and sat at the tip of a "U-Shaped," design, with the outside pool in the center courtyard. Down the left corridor, were the laundry rooms, storage areas and garages. To the right were guest rooms. Spiral staircases at both ends led to the main sleeping quarters. The master bedroom was in the middle and had a glass wall that looked over the living room on the inside and more glass that allowed a view of the pool and also of the surrounding countryside for miles around.

The master suite- my son's room- had a bed that you could land a plane on. Televisions flanked one wall and the other opened to a bathroom that would make Emperor Nero blush. "My room" was on the other side of the bathroom along the same wall, with a conveniently connecting door. It was only slightly-less luxurious for when I would be in it, but I was already secretly informed that I would be my son's preferred bed-partner. Tish and mom had rooms across the hall and down the corridor, the inference being that Bobby slept alone, but the connecting passageway to my room, would be like a revolving door.

That first day, we all swam naked in the pools. We watched television shows ranging from sports to soap operas and alot of pornography. There was no longer any pretense necessary to cloak the fact that we all engaged in incest and that a mere nod or wink from Bobby was all that was needed for the recipient or one or two others, to amble over to wherever my son was, peel-off whatever clothing that you may have on, and start the process of "putting a shine on it, so that it could be used later."

That first day though, was like a holiday. Swimming, exploring the many rooms, enjoying for the first time, three full refrigerators, satin sheets and just lazing on the acres of lush lawns and secluded porch furniture. I think also that my son finally needed to recharge his batteries and to decide just how he would control his new harem. He did find time later in the evening after the first night's sumptuous dinner, while "showing me the view" from the upstairs lookout, to bend me over the railing and push his sturdy erection into my hungry hole. We stood by the upper railing, literally joined at the hip, his firm cock exploring the deepest recesses of my yearning cunt. We looked-out over the lush estate and as he massaged my tits, he whispered in my ear that he wanted to fuck me in every room of the huge home. I was anxious to help him inaugurate the new place, and I was also hoping to present myself as first among equals.

Over the next few weeks, we had our orgies and my son was never shy about walking in on any of his relatives as they showered. He just loved to see us naked and he particularly liked having his cock sucked. I found it to be refreshing and exhilarating, for the warm shower water to cascade over my soapy back as I sucked his stiff tool, then he turned me around and filled my pussy as the spray washed my blonde locks. All three of us would compare notes sometimes, on what happened during our showers and how we worked to entertain our Dom.

And something strange happens when women are continuously housed together and are presented with the opportunity to see and evaluate the torsos of their "competition." Every woman wants heads to turn as she walks into a room, no matter how old she is or whose eyes she is hoping to capture. And while men are easily pleased with a bouncing rack or a jiggly rear-end, women are a bit more critical of another woman's body. I can imagine that the same phenomena occurs in sorority houses, nursing schools, even in the military.

We each began to eat a little better- being careful of sweets and snacks- and the exercise room and pools saw daily activity. We did wear clothing around the house and property, even though it would take a telescope and a high-rise building, to spy on us. Though bras were "forbidden," even for my mother, we dressed in comfortable clothing for meals and preparing for excursions, always with the understanding that our bodies should be available for my son's inspections and gratification at a moment's notice. The funny thing was, that as we quietly set-out to one-up the other, our health and appearance was actually improving. Eating right, exercising and even having more sex, tended to trim down and shape-up our feminine figures. And my son even convinced us that the proteins ingested while swallowing cum was a natural rejuvenator for our hair and skin. Jealousy can drive you to do strange things.

When passing by any one of us, Bobby felt entitled, (which I suppose, he actually was,) to grope us or have us drop to our knees for the occasional "quicky," and strangely enough, it got to be a crushing feeling when you watched him pass you by and go to one of the other two. It could be a real blow to the ego if you were not intimately involved in the action. And he knew of this weakness and particularly, how it tormented me. The humiliation and torture that struck me hardest, was anytime that my son chose one or both of the others for a sexual adventure and made me just watch. If he felt the need to put me in my place for any reason; he would have me strip and sit on a nearby chair, then he would grab one of the others and make her suck his big, beefy cock right before my eyes or bend her over my bare lap, so that he could insert his turgid tool into their expectant opening and I could only sit by and rub my cunt wishing that it were me. I was forced to listen and feel the heat of the libidinous action while being sorely tempted to masturbate or plead to be taken as a part of this taboo tryst.

Crazy as it may sound, I began to feel a bizarre sense of jealousy when I wasn't included in the current debauchery and even when paired-up or in a threesome of the women in my entire family, I wanted to be the center of his lewd and lusty attention. I pushed myself to get into better shape. Gravity and the drain of years have taken their toll, but I wanted my son to notice my dedication to this depraved endeavor. I enjoyed when he fucked me and I liked the way that I could make him feel, when I took his stiff cock in my warm mouth. So, I let him know just how good he made me feel.

I would see my daughter and remember myself at her age, knowing now the things that I would do differently. I looked at mom and saw someone that allowed her life to pass her by and now given a second chance, she simply went through the motions. I was given a chance- the kind that most people wouldn't understand- and I've learned that I like sex, so if I have to use vile language and literally lay myself bare, to achieve a tremendous orgasm and share it with the one man who can provide it for me, I am willing to be my son's sex-slut.

When alone with Bobby, I took the time to tease and kiss his full erection until he was twisting and writhing on the damp mattress, just like we endured, before his ultimate release and then we would fuck with abandon until the sheets were soaked. But when the others were in the same naked and shivering grouping, I tried to jerk him off and bring him to climax as quickly and powerfully as I could so that the others would reluctantly recognize that (in my mind, atleast,) I provided the wettest blowjobs and the tightest pussy. I even dropped hints that he preferred to "sleep" with me on most nights. This is what often led to my punishing lessons in restraint.

This carnal contest was never openly talked about, but the mirrors were never lonely while tighter and more revealing clothing became a staple in each woman's wardrobe. Tish was already a step ahead with her curvaceous build and taut body. But coming from our previous economic stratum, her clothes tended more to the plastic and slutty side of sexy. As young and cute as she was and with an obvious front-porch that would look enticing in any outfit, most of her attire made her look like a "biker chick." And her vocabulary and figures of speech were rough without being sensual. She could now afford better quality material but her "sense of style" was from "Streetwalkers Illustrated." It was almost as if she was being paid for sex and so, she just deliberately played the part of a whore. I understand that I'm judging her as almost a rival for my son's sexual attention. And that's not only crude and deviant, its practically ignorant. I don't want to "lose out" to my daughter, but how do I account for wanting any of us to be his sex partner?

Addie was still not comfortable with the entire situation, and I felt like a pimp, whenever I tried to talk her into being more creative and seductive. Bobby liked explicit and licentious language, and only when he was upset or wanting to exert his obvious dominance, would he say something that sounded hurtful or mean. Otherwise it was just crude words that made us hotter for his cock and at times, "angry sex" would really get the juices flowing. So, we generally accepted being called sluts or other descriptive and vulgar terms for our sexual favors, as being a turn-on and preamble to heightened primal activity. And he wanted us to speak in the same manner- not around company or when out socially- when we were engaged in any form of foreplay or stimulation.

Addie understood now that when Bobby motioned to her, that she was to drop her top, and slide down between his legs. She accepted her role as being the live-in cook and maid "with benefits." She would follow the house rule about bras but then wear undershirts or even sweaters. When her grandson reached under her shirt or told her to take it off entirely, she never resisted or squirmed away. But to me, she was like tits without a soul.

She followed his commands and would repeat any phrase that he told her to use, but nothing came freely or friendly. And her clothing choices were as conservative as can be. She showed more cleavage because her tits looked bigger and rounder, and she often wore heels when told that it made her ass look nicer. Addie would completely strip when told, but then cover-up as soon as the deed was done. I just didn't understand that when she agreed to be fucked on a daily basis, and she admitted that she experienced stronger and longer orgasms than ever, why not do more to enhance the scene. We were all in the same boat, and this trip was going to last for 365 days, so why not get some exhilaration out of the lewd gymnastics.

It didn't appear as if either ever had fun, even when they both had screaming orgasms. Maybe I was dead-wrong! Maybe they were simply fulfilling the "letter of the contract," and couldn't bear the thought of sexual relations with a close relative? Hoping that the year would fly on by. Maybe they saw me as an obscene panderer by encouraging my son in his gross, indecent sexual supremacy over his sister, mother and grandmother? I couldn't help but to notice, and I would guess that they did too, that a routine was quickly developing. My son and I spent more time together and took much more pleasure in our incestuous encounters, while those two were just essentially used for sex.

Bobby knew that my mom was much more of a morning person than the rest of us. She would clean and cook meals for us but generally be in bed before 9:00 pm. When he wanted a blowjob from her or to have her with one of us, it had to be in daylight hours. She obligingly "offered" her services and would perform any act when told, but other than reaching climax or moaning her grudging satisfaction, she was a small step above a blow-up sex doll. It hurts my feelings that I want my mother to be more sensuous and physically beguiling with her grandson.

Tish also rose early, but usually with a hangover. My daughter was too young to drink legally but we had two full bars in the house and even if we could monitor her, she was attractive with big tits. I remember the condition well. She would normally lay by the pool and tan, for most of the day. When her brain and balance stabilized, she would hop in her new convertible and go shopping or run around with friends, some of whom I'm sure, enjoyed her sexual favors. Bobby usually fucked her in the evenings, and she was always good for a lusty blowjob. Then she would disappear into all hours of the night, sometimes returning in time to join in a threesome, but often as a merely annoying drunk. I sensed very little passion in either one of them.

That left my son and I to while away the hours in the big house. We talked and ate late night meals infront of a TV, or played video games, sometimes taking a midnight swim, and some ordinary mother/son interactions that we hadn't practiced in many years. On one of those occasions, alone at night infront of a ten-foot television screen, laying together naked and sipping cognac, we switched on a porn video as a diverse form of foreplay. A few men were having their way with an older woman, there were various scenes where she sucked and fucked each one but there was one constant theme.

The "lady" was always in some form of leather gear. She would have her clothes ripped-off and be left standing in a black bustier or be wearing a collar and chain. In some scenes, there were whips and leather crops. An assortment of dildos, butt-plugs and strap-ons appeared in every open drawer. As my son grew a little more rambunctious, fondling my tits and rubbing between my bare thighs, he casually mentioned that I should wear something like that, some night.

I said that first of all, I didn't own anything like what that actress was wearing and that secondly, I thought that the idea was for me to be naked. He simply laughed at my naivete, replying that we should look into it and climbed on top of my moist, trembling anatomy. The movie had done its job and we fucked for the rest of the night, but before I lost all sense of proportion, I did spy that wry smile on his face and that familiar crooked grin that always somehow led to my seduction.

A month or so went by, one afternoon new packing cartons were delivered to the downstairs game room. Boxes were arriving everyday as we needed to fill the house, so this wasn't unusual until I saw the company name on one of the cartons. It was from the "Don't Ask Questions," company and there were boxes of all sizes to be opened. Addie paid no attention, simply directing the movers where to place them. Tish never cared about anything but dress boxes and jewelry. My curiosity was peeked, and I couldn't wait for Bobby to come home.

I was with him downstairs when we started the unpacking. He grabbed some tools and as each box was opened, I was curiously excited by the whiff of leather and then suspicious of the hooks, chains and shackles that spilled from the containers. He worked to assemble what appeared to be a large wooden "X" which I thought was some sort of lawn decoration, until I saw him attach cuffs and straps to the frame. It then satisfied my curiosity that this item would be used for bondage sex.

Another box held the parts to a sturdy bench with a padded leather top, identical to one that I had seen before in his workout room. This one though, was a bit longer and at the base of each leg, were those ubiquitous shackles and chains. Again, another devise for imprisoning or restraining subjects for the purpose of sex. I was beginning to sense a pattern and then I remembered that dirty movie that we watched about a month ago. When I quietly whispered "Ah-oh," I saw him turn to me with that crooked grin and for the rest, I could fill in the blanks.

The next box held a series of wooden slats that when joined, formed a solid wall about four feet high but with cut-outs that would just allow a person's head and arms to pass through and with a locking, hinged top slat, that would secure the (presumably naked) person in place. The polished wood and cool leather looked sexy and exotic, but the intention of the new instruments was not to be discounted. These erotic devices were straight out of the Marquis de Sade's playbook.

Smaller boxes held an array of whips, feather dusters and dildos of all sizes and colors. There were satiny blindfolds, ball gags of various design, and assorted Velcro wraps and harnesses. Plus a box of art supplies that seemed out of place until I had a closer look. There were drop-clothes and tubes of lotions, oils and dyes. Candles of all types and modeling clays in many colors. As he tore through the boxes, he smiled at me after each one, "You're going to like this," he would say.

Or picking up a suspicious-looking object with large, bulbous heads on both ends and flicking a switch that caused them to rotate, he'd show that wry smile and say, "Ah, perfect for mother/daughter bonding."

My eyes grew wide and a thin layer of perspiration moistened my body, as I scanned each object and made a mental note of the ones to be most wary of. He was busy fastening padding and tightening bolts but would occasionally turn my way, and like a fox in the hen house, he would eye my shivering torso from head to toe, and flash that devilish smile. Then he said that tonight, he and I were going to take a drive to the costume store, so that I could find "something appropriate" for our new toys. And he suggested that I wear something that will be easy to change out of. I wasn't certain that I would be looking forward to this little shopping spree.

It was a warm, calm summer's night, the evening lights were just taking effect as we motored down the highway in his convertible sports car. My long blonde mane fluttered in the breeze and the flimsy tee that I wore clung to my moist chest, the perky nipples jutted forward like a second set of headlights. Bobby allowed me to wear a light jacket, covering my almost translucent top, proclaiming that "Those tits are for my eyes only." We were permitted to wear bras in public, but I know that he liked to show me off, and I actually took a little pride in the way that he announced that I belonged to him.

As we drove, I was thinking that we were never going to find a costume shop in the middle of July, when we pulled into a roadside mall where the only lights came from a seedy, old porn store. I should have known. Bobby almost needed to push me through the door and I was only dissuaded from screaming when I saw that we were the only customers. There were stacks of dirty books and shelves of pornographic movies. Glass top tables held all manner of vibrators and silver studs. A young lady, only a few years older than Tish was behind the counter. She looked as if she had just outgrown a Gothic stage but had to dress for the crowd that populated the business. With ebony-dark hair down to her waist and a black band shirt, strategically cropped just below her small, firm breasts and carefully sliced sections barely covering those tits. There were a few tattoos and her makeup tended towards dark eye-liners and lips.

I got the idea that Bobby knew her but not in "that" way. As I watched her eyes follow him up and down the aisles, it occurred to me for the first time, that my son was well built and ruggedly handsome, along with being one of the area's newest multimillionaires, and many young women were interested. Thier goal was not that much different from the women in my family. Her name was Tiffany and learning about our purpose there, she guided us to a room behind a curtain, where the outfits made famous by strippers and porn starlets hung from the rafters. At first she flirted with my son, sort of edging her way between us. Then she got the message that we were shopping for an outfit for me.

The young hostess had probably seen more about sexual perversion in her short career behind that counter than I would have seen in forty years of my darkest fantasies, and I guessed from the way that she approached this sale, that Bobby was my manager or pimp, and I needed help to sell the "goods." Bobby told her that he wanted to see me dressed in some revealing and erotic outfits, without being totally sleazy. I was directed to the corsets and push-up bras, then the mesh stockings and the fuck-me-pumps.

Bobby was busy picking-out leather bustiers that I would poured squeezed into, with panty-and-bra sets consisting of about six square inches of see-through material. I was beginning to wonder just what his definition of "totally sleazy" was. Tiffany was asked by my son, if she would wear any of these outfits. She replied that she liked things a little more stylish. I was shocked and Bobby was intrigued. He asked her if she would be willing to model some of her choices, but she declined, claiming that the store was still open and that it would be embarrassing.

My son noticed her hesitation and remarked with the signature curl of his upturned lip, that he could make it worth her while. There was a glint in his chocolaty eyes that I had always fallen for but never actually put two and two, together. And young Tiffany began to bat her eyes. This wasn't the first time that I saw him blatantly using the power of his new fortune and considering what happened with my family, I wasn't completely surprised when he pulled a roll of $100s from his wallet and suggested that she lock the door. She bit her lip and looked around the squalid surroundings. In a minute, the door had a "closed" sign in the window and all the lights were turned down low except for the curtained room in the back.

Tiffany gathered a selection of gauzy nightgowns and silky underwear of good quality and nice detailing, earning my son's approval as he told her to put five of the Benjamins in her purse, and then slip out of her clothes. I shouldn't have been amazed at the influence of money and its conquering of morality, but it was the manner in which this young woman just seemed to follow his dictates, that made me wonder about the influence that my son commanded. He was learning how to use his power. Not just the money, it was his way of giving orders without raising his voice and always having that knowing grin on his face, like you would be crazy to go against his wishes. It was not just intimidating it was erotically seductive.

I was instructed to undress, too. Soon, I was completely naked and Tiffany was down to a sheer pair of pink undies and was standing before us bare-chested. Considering her dark hair and makeup, even the lipstick and fingernails, as she stepped out of her dampened panties, the pale white flesh of her anatomy gave her an ethereal quality and it was shocking to see the small pink nipples as the only real spot of color to her skin.