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Chapter Nineteen — Dinner is (Submissively) Served
Matt noticed that Janice sat down gingerly for Sunday breakfast, still sore from the invasion of her ass. Since he’d received his final graduation gift, he didn’t want to be selfish. He didn’t need his mother all for himself, and thought the timing was appropriate to introduce his S/M mother to other people. And what better people than family?
Actually, Matt had no idea of his mother’s long-ago history with other people. She had been a very bad teenager, something she assumed he’d never discover.
When they’d finished eating, she stood up to get the coffee carafe and refill his cup. Back at the table, she saw her diary lying at her place. Her throat flushed at the sight of it. “You’ll need to be studying that to prepare tonight’s menu for Darielle,” he said.
“But, but I know all the . . . recipes.” She complained. He looked unconvinced. “I know everything in it . . . every . . . last . . . detail.”
“As long as you’re sure,” he agreed.
Janice spent most of Sunday preparing dinner, which she enjoyed, drinking wine all afternoon. She was excited with anticipation.
She did not see Matt until 5 pm, when he had informed her that she, as a servant, would present herself for an inspection of dress and general appearance, before Darielle’s appearance at 5:30. Janice chafed at this new debasement—being subservient to her sister. However, Janice obediently set the dining room table beautifully, including the pair of antique lead candelabra, so heavy they were an effort to lift. Each place setting had a black plastic napkin ring, three inches in diameter and two inches high.
She stood awaiting him. “Put your hands behind your neck, but not clasped at your waist. I want each hand touching the opposite elbow. In her new position, Janice felt her breasts scraping against the rough, thin muslin of her cheap apron. She wore her new lingerie, short skirt and heels, but he had told her there was no need for her white blouse since she’d be wearing a white apron. Except for her bra strap, her back was exposed. Resting on the shelf bra, her tits were so dark they could easily be seen through the cheap fabric of the apron.
Matt judged her appearance acceptable and ordered her to finish preparations in the kitchen after shutting the door. When Darielle arrived, Matt took her into the living room and made them both martinis. “Matt, this is delicious. I didn’t know you could make such a good martini. You’ve really become the man of the house.”
“Yes, in more ways than one,” he said cryptically.
“Where’s my sister?”
“Finishing up in the kitchen. She’s wearing a new outfit just for you.”
“Well, she certainly acted strangely on our vacation, not to mention leaving early in order to be back with you.” They walked into the kitchen, where Janice froze, her head hanging in humiliation, flashing back on the degrading scenes of submission from her youth. Darielle commented on how “cute” her sister looked, just like a real maid. She and Matt sat down in the dining room, which was lit only by the dozen candles in the candelabra. Janice ladled the soup into small, deep bowls, careful to not make a mistake, and sat.
The moment that Darielle tasted the first spoonful of white soup, she put down her spoon. “This vichyssoise is too thick and too salty.”
“I like it thick,” Janice blurted, defensive about her cooking, their sibling rivalry surfacing. “And I like it salty,” she bragged in a patronizing tone, then blushed at the way her words could be interpreted. Like a cock-slut, she thought.
Matt stared at her. “I was kind enough to let our maid actually sit at the table, and then you have the bad manners to contradict an invited guest—not once, but twice. That sort of rudeness will not be tolerated. It demands correction. And we’ll skip the first course entirely. He picked up his and Darielle’s bowls, held them in front of Janice, and upended the hot bowls onto her apron over her breasts. “Owww!” she yelled, the heat ripping through the apron. She sat there hissing in pain as the soup dripped off the soaked apron, revealing her breasts and their hard nipples, dumbfounded that Matt would treat her like this in front of company—even if the company was her sister. “I don’t think you’ll make that error again,” he said. “Now clasp your hands behind your head. Apologize to Darielle.”
“I apologize,” Janice croaked unwillingly, slightly dizzy from the excitement of being ordered into a slave posture in front of a family member other than her son. Darielle sat back, stunned at the debauched scene but deeply excited to see her sister maltreated and embarrassed. She wondered if she would be asked to participate. She’d always wondered whether or not her sister had a masochistic streak.
“I apologize. . . what?” Matt corrected.
“I apologize, Darielle.”
“Or you may say ‘Mistress.'”
“I apologize, Mistress.”
“Ask Darielle eve gelen escort to discipline you.”
Her face burning, Janice shamefully asked, “Mistress, please correct me.”
“We’re going to teach you, as an example for your son,” Darielle said. “First, we must have clean clothing at the table,” She stood, walked to her sister, pulled the chair back from the table.
“Please don’t do this, Matthew! Not in front of another person!” Janice sobbed.
“I’m not doing anything, your sister is.” Privately, Janice was grateful that this scene was being enacted with another woman. But she wasn’t sure whether she would have preferred a female stranger to her sister.
Darielle untied the apron bow tied at the neck. With the weight of the soup on it, the apron immediately slid off her chest into Janice’s lap, revealing her reddened breasts. “I can see your big tits! The ones you’ve always been so proud about,” Darielle said. ” Did you know that bra makes you look like a common slut?”
“Yes. . . Mistress, I suppose,” Janice admitted, obviously aroused from her sister’s demeaning language.
“And those marks on your tits look like you must have deserved a thorough beating! Apparently it wasn’t enough for you to learn respect.”
“Maybe we should quiet that fresh mouth of hers,” Matt said to Darielle. She removed the soggy crumpled apron as Matt handed her a soft black ball, used by Janice at the gym to develop hand strength. Darielle plugged it into Janice’s mouth. “That should keep you from speaking improperly.” Darielle kept going. “And let’s get off that damp skirt.” She unbuttoned the front and tugged it off. Janice’s long, stocking-sheathed legs looked beautiful in the candlelight.
“Spread your legs all the way for Darielle,” Matt ordered.
“My, my, those panties are completely sheer—I can see your whole pussy!” Darielle said. “Is that the way you like it, you tramp?” She prodded Janice’s mound through the panties. “It’s so smooth, you probably shave your pussy every single day?” Janice nodded reluctantly, unable to explain that she had to. “Jesus, your panties are sopping wet! Do you want to catch cold?”
“No, Mistress,” she mumbled through the gag. Darielle unhooked the garter belt’s snaps from the stocking tops and pulled the panties all the way off, running her hands over the series of marks on Janice’s abdomen. She rehooked the garter belt’s snaps to the stocking tops. “Now get up and serve our entrée. Janice cringed as she stood before them, ball gagged, hands behind her head, wearing only the maid’s white cap and black bra, stockings, garter belt and heels. She turned to the kitchen, realizing she was now exposing her whipped ass and thighs to her sister’s view. She was lost in a swarm of thoughts, wondering if Matthew would force her to suck his cock in front of Darielle, whether he would cum in her mouth or shoot all over her face and tits while Darielle watched, gloating. Maybe he would even whip her and fuck her, with Darielle urging him on. Or maybe Darielle would whip her while Matthew was fucking her. Or maybe Matthew would whip her while Darielle was fucking her with a strapon . . . .
After serving steak, pomme frites and green beans to Darielle, Janice leaned over Matt with the serving dish. “Put it down on the table and lean over more,” he said. He held his hand out to the side and slapped first one breast and then the other. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked in air. He clamped his hand over her pussy and fingered her wet slit. “Now serve me and sit down.” The main course was excellent.
Afterward, Darielle walked to Janice and whispered in her ear. “Since you like to show off your tits, they should be marked all the way around. Slapping will hardly do.” Janice started to perspire. Darielle carefully aimed the bamboo at the outside of her sister’s left breast and tentatively let go. But Darielle was surprisingly strong, and the cane connected to the base of the breast flesh with a solid “Thwack!” making the heavy breast bounce in recoil. Janice’s only visible response was a strand of saliva that escaped from the ball gag and descended to her chest.
More confident, Darielle aimed further outward and released a harder hit, finishing with a blistering blow just beneath the aureole. Agonized, Janice was making mewling sounds without stop, but her hands never moved from behind her head. Darielle moved to her other side and lashed the outside of the second breast with three powerful strokes. More drool escaped the mouth gag. Although the heat lamps had been left in the den, Janice’s body was covered with sweat. “That makes up for only a fraction of all the abuse you’ve shown me as a bratty sister.”
Darielle picked up the napkin rings and forced one down onto each engorged breast, manipulating the tit flesh to fit. Janice whimpered. Her nipples had stiffened. Each was twice the width and three times the length of a pencil eraser. Matt tied a fatih escort shoelace onto each and attached the ends to the lead candelabra. Slowly he rotated the candelabra. Her breasts first rose, then elongated into cones, then stretched obscenely.
“Now for dessert,” Matt announced. On the counter were a mixing bowl and whisking tool, a quart of heavy cream and a device for squeezing icing onto pastry. It consisted of a bag to hold the icing, leading into a funnel-shaped tin tube. Darielle poured the heavy cream into the mixing bowl and whisked it just as her sister had taught her, but not beating it so much that it became stiff. Rather, the consistency was between liquid and solid. She spooned it into the pastry-decorating device.
During Darielle’s preparation, Matt had replaced Janice’s chair with a kitchen stool. He pulled his mother’s arms behind her, tied her hands to the back of the stool and knotted ankle cords to the front feet, arching her stomach and leaving her pussy, with its cane marks, prominently displayed just above the level of the seat. In the table center stood a set of modern salt and pepper shakers. They were soft plastic, with bullet-shaped heads. The salt shaker was nine inches high and two inches thick, while the pepper was six inches tall and one inch wide.
Matt and Darielle dipped strawberries into the bowl of whipped cream and enjoyed them.
“This could get messy,” Darielle said as she removed her blouse and skirt, revealing a gorgeous set of black lace bra and panties. She knelt in front of Janice’s stool, her face at the same level as her sister’s pussy. Darielle inserted the metal point of the decorating device into her sister’s cunt and, accompanied by her sister’s groans, squeezed in some whipped cream. She paused and looked up at her sister’s shamefully aroused face. Since Darielle was doing all the work, Matt removed his pants and briefs, pulled the gag from Janice’s mouth and replaced it with the full length of his cock.
Watching her nephew face-fuck her sister, Darielle pushed in several more inches of the funnel and squeezed the sac. Without warning, cream shot out of Janice’s cunt with so much force it landed on Darielle’s hair, face and chest. She laughed, but stopped squeezing and removed the funnel.
Matt placed the salt shaker in her palm and increased the tempo of his thrusts. Darielle, using both thumbs, nonchalantly shoved all six inches of the bullet-headed cylinder into Janice’s cunt. Janice thrashed in the chair, chanting “Ugh! Ughhh! Unngghh!” over and over as Matt’s orgasm released a load of semen into her mouth and she succumbed to her own first cum of the evening.
He pulled his cock out of her mouth, her cheeks bulging to the utmost with his load. “I’ve trained her not to swallow without permission,” he explained to Darielle. “This dessert is very rich, so let’s take a break,” he said.
He and Darielle took two candles from the candelabra. He dripped white wax onto one of Janice’s breasts as Darielle did the other, making sure to aim the wax at the fresh welts on the outside of the breasts. Janice’s stomach sucked in, raising her pussy as if she needed it to be coated as well, so Darielle knelt and poured wax onto her big clit. Janice bucked and thrashed in transcendent pain, reflexively projectile-spewing the mouth load of cum. It exploded onto Darielle’s hair and face, as well as on Janice’s front. Janice orgasmed for a second time.
Darielle didn’t miss a beat. Astounded at the amount of her nephew’s cum, she wiped it off her face, and as soon as Janice became aware of her surroundings, Darielle shoved the ball gag back in and said, “This is for spitting cum all over me.” She slapped her sister’s cheeks twice, leaving them smothered in cum. Then, Janice felt her asshole prodded as Darielle inserted the point of the pastry implement, filling her sister’s chute with whipped cream. Darielle took the pepper shaker from Matt and forced its six inches up Janice’s ass, Matt handed her one of two narrow metal cheese graters. He struck Janice’s wax-covered breasts with one hand while pumping the salt shaker dildo with the other, while Darielle beat her sister’s clit with the other grater, using her other hand to move the pepper shaker back and forth in her ass. Chunks of white wax broke off her nipples and clit as the graters simultaneously smacked them. Janice’s third orgasm rocketed her to a new intensity.
She looked spectacular: gagged mouth, cum-smeared cheeks, whipped belly, breasts bulging out of the napkin rings, stretched nipples roped to the candelabra, and cream dripping from the gleaming silver salt and pepper shakers still wedged in both of her holes. The maid’s cap, hanging at an angle on her head, was the crowning touch.
Darielle pulled the salt shalt out of her sister’s cunt and collapsed in a chair. She yanked off her panties and drove the dildo right up her cunt. While she was bringing herself off, Matt halkalı anal yapan escort started shooting Janice with the camera, knowing how well the photos would turn out to be. But he decided against making a move on his aunt. It was just too much, and he figured Darielle was probably satisfied with this much humiliation and punishment of her sister.
When he was finished with the camera, Matt turned to Darielle, who was recovering from her own orgasm. “Shall we take our after-dinner drinks out on the terrace?” Darielle wiped her head with a fresh dishtowel, rubbing Matt’s cum into her hair, leaving it shining and lustrous. They left Janice hanging from the stool, her hips slowly rocking back and forth in the aftermath of overwhelming climaxes. The evening had gone so well that Matt was already planning a second session with somebody else, another close relative, but this time a male.
Don’t miss the next chapter, where the secret of the Black Diary is revealed! Plus, Janice’s future sessions are outlined and she’s visited by her nephew.
Chapter Twenty — The Black Diary and Familiar Relations
Upon finishing breakfast with her son Matt, Janice found a new black journal book on the kitchen table. The obedient mother gulped, for the book was twice as thick as the original. For days, she’d been developing in her mind an elaborate, lengthy new recipe. She could barely wait to record it. She opened the new book, shocked to see that several pages were already filled with Matt’s writing.
“We’ve completed all the ‘recipes’ in your original book,” he said with a smile, “which was easy. As you suspected, I read your diary while you were on vacation. I also photocopied it. When you returned, all I did was follow every detail of your ‘recipes,’ although the proper word is ‘scenes.’ It was all there on the page. He closed his eyes to recall the details: “The baby doll, air conditioner, lingerie, the pool where you bared your tits, gave me a hand job and fucked yourself with the cigar tube. The mister, tea clamps, flyswatter, and perfume bottle you rammed up your ass. The hair blower, bolster, massage, and injector. The bamboo cane, the creamsicle and martini glass. The cream of wheat and binder clips. The clothes hanger and pestle. The maid’s uniform, napkin rings, candelabra, pastry decorator and hot wax. Amazing. Almost all of it. Even the liniment and mouth gags.”
She sat mutely, cringing with shame yet thrilled to hear him review their scenes. “Well, it’s all there on the page,” Matt continued, “except for those first nights in my bedroom and graduation night – although you did give me some ideas with your perfume bottle at the clubhouse and the spatula on the counter. However, I take full credit for what comes next.”
His smile evaporated. “Now get started reading.” By the bottom of page one, she looked up at him, panic-stricken. “I tried to include as much detail as you do,” he said. She read page three, riveted. His “recipes” were incredibly humiliating and took her far beyond their latest experience. At the bottom of page two, she again looked at him, stunned. “No! I beg you—anything but this! How can you?” Had he learned about her sordid past? Did he know about her subjugation as a slut teen to the former Headmaster and priest?
Matt was unconcerned by her strong reaction. “You know very well that, with my marginal grades and test scores, I would never have been admitted to such a prestigious college without the Principal, as well as others, looking after me. I owe them.”
“When you say ‘the Principal,’ do you mean Headmaster Knowles?” He nodded, noting how her breathing had quickened. She dared not mention the hot sex scenes of bondage and discipline she’d undergone with the previous Headmaster when she was a hormone-tormented teenager. Or how powerfully and helplessly she had been attracted to Father Hood (yes his actual name). The tall priest’s magnetic air of authority, his stern expression had been overpowering. He had always taken care to give her special attention. She recalled the degrading detention class she’d served, when she’d shamelessly exposed herself to him and suffered the humiliating consequences, followed by a series of lurid, intimate confessions she’d made with his assistance in the sanctity of the confessional.
How she had always worn her shortest skirts and tightest blouses to confession. How he’d always demanded that she describe all her sexual contacts in great detail. How, at his urging, she’d sit with her legs splayed wider and wider, her skirt raised, until eventually she was stroking her sopping pussy through tight white panties. How she began embroidering her stories, making them increasingly lurid and debauched, until she was no longer enhancing them – she was completely fabricating them. How he’d declared that the standard penances would no longer work with her. How he’d asked if she’d ever submitted to corporal punishment to cleanse her soul and ordered her to appear alone at the Rectory late one night.
Flushed with the lurid memories, Janice continued turning pages under Matt’s gaze, skimming the section about private board meetings at his prep school and the pages about the class below him, who would be seniors in September. Perspiration broke out on her chest.
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