A Mother in Law's Visit

 What happened next was perfect. He nearly toppled as I wound the belt around his thighs, yanking it tight. When he steadied himself and pressed his legs together, I seized the opportunity to pull it tighter still, until the leather bit into his flesh. I fastened it with a sharp click. The look on his face—dumbstruck, bewildered—was exquisite. I stood, reaching down to stroke his cock, then kissed him gently on the lips. I pulled away, smiling as he leaned into me like a begging dog. I walked around him slowly, my warm hands stroking his chest, gently tugging on the hairs. I kissed his shoulder and neck, biting ever so gently. I stroked his back, letting my nail lightly scratch.

 I slid my hand down and squeezed his tight ass cheeks, feeling him flinch under my touch. He was already in a haze as I reached into my bag, watching the confusion bloom on his face when I pulled out the scarf and tied it tightly around his eyes. The jingle of the cuffs made him stiffen; I tightened the cold steel around one wrist, pulled his arms behind him, and secured the other. I circled him slowly, pinching and poking his vulnerable flesh just to hear him wince. I squeezed his balls hard—delicious how he nearly doubled over. Holding his shoulders, I gave him a gentle push. He shuffled forward as best he could with his thighs bound. I stopped him in the middle of the room, positioning him exactly where I wanted. He stood there, blindfolded and cuffed, completely mine.

 "What the fuck is going on?" he dared to ask.

"Shut up," I told him.

When he opened his mouth to protest, I slapped him hard across the face—the crack of palm against flesh echoing in the room. "I said shut your fucking mouth."

While he was still reeling, I crammed his own boxers into his gaping mouth, gagging him effectively. "That's better. No more stupid questions."

I took my phone and snapped several photos of him—bound, blindfolded, gagged, and erect—then sent them with a few deliberate taps. The whoosh sound was the message being delivered to Emma.

I moved behind him, pressing my breasts against his back, pinching his nipples hard enough to make him flinch. I leaned in close to whisper in his ear: "I just sent those pictures to Emma. She'll see exactly what you've become."

 "She knew," I whispered, my hand stroking his cock with slow, deliberate movements. "Emma knew all about those pathetic little kinky sites you used to visit. She told me how it turned her off completely. She wanted a real man, David. An Alpha man. Not whatever... this is."

I squeezed his balls for emphasis, feeling him shudder.

"We talked about it for weeks. I told her she should use it against you, make you her slave. She could have had anything—your money, your obedience, your complete submission. But she wouldn't have it. The more we discussed your... proclivities, the more disgusted she became."

My thumb swirled around the head of his cock, smearing the pre-cum.

"Then one day she came to me and said she'd met someone. This Greek man, Dimitri, wanted to take her to dinner. And do you know what I told her?" I leaned closer, my breath hot against his ear. "I told her to go. I encouraged her to find out if this was what she really needed. I actively helped her explore it."

I felt his knees buckle, but I held him tight against me.

"We planned it all, David. Every detail of her leaving you. How happy he's made her. How he's everything you never were." I tightened my grip on his cock, stroking faster.

 "And when I asked for her blessing to take you as my slave, do you know what my daughter said? She said, 'Do whatever you want with him, Mother. Just keep me posted. I want to see my pathetic husband broken.'"

I felt the last of his resistance drain away as the truth settled in. His ex-wife hadn't just left him—she'd handed him over.

 The final piece of information broke him completely. His knees buckled, and I held him tight against me as he sobbed through the gag of his own boxers. I held him until the sobbing subsided, kissing his head and neck. Perversely, his cock remained rock hard against my thigh.

He breathed heavily through his nose as I began gently stroking him, kissing his neck. "I'm going to take care of that for you," I whispered in his ear. He groaned pitifully as I let go and walked away.

I rustled in my bag, found the device I'd been waiting to use, and returned to him. I guided him to a sofa and sat down before him. He could feel my breath hot on his cock. He jumped as I tightened the first ring painfully around the base, then the second just below the helmet—it made his cock twitch violently.

"This will stop any accidents," I told him, giving the rings a final tug. "From now on, I'm in control of it. Only if you're a good boy will you be rewarded.”

 "I need to show you what happens when you disobey me," I announced, my voice cold and clear. I stood up and guided him around the back of the sofa, turning him to face away from it. I placed my hand firmly between his shoulder blades and pushed.

His bound thighs hit the low back of the Chesterfield, and with continued pressure, he had no choice but to bend over it, his ass presented perfectly. I took the polished wooden paddle from my bag and pressed it against his exposed behind, letting him feel how hard and cold it was. I rubbed it over his skin in slow circles, tapping lightly—just enough for him to understand.

"This is only necessary if you fail to make me happy," I told him, my voice a low threat. "Or if you disobey me in any way."

He struggled then, trying to push himself upright, but I simply placed my forearm across his back and leaned my weight into it. With his thighs bound and his arms cuffed behind him, he couldn't get any purchase. He was completely immobilized, bent over and helpless, exactly where I wanted him.

 "Struggling is misbehavior," I told him, watching him lurch and shout through his gag. "And misbehavior has consequences."

The first blow landed with a sharp crack against his ass, the sound echoing off the walls. He jerked forward, muffled screams vibrating through the fabric stuffed in his mouth. I didn't pause—another strike, then another, then another. I lost count after ten. My arm was burning, my breath coming in sharp pants from the exertion. Tears pooled in the corners of his blindfolded eyes.

I left him bent over the sofa while I fetched a cool, damp towel. When I returned, I draped it gently over his reddened skin and rubbed it softly. "There, there," I murmured. "That's what happens when you don't listen."

After a few minutes, I pulled him upright and guided him to the front of the sofa. I removed the gag and pressed a water bottle to his lips. "Drink."

He drank heavily, gasping. I began stroking his cock again, watching his face contort with pleasure that made him forget the pain. I squeezed his balls gently.

"I'm more than a little excited," I whispered in his ear, my voice thick with arousal. "A little bird told me you had some skill with your mouth. Which means you may not be entirely useless."

That particular nugget came from my dear Emma, who'd been all too happy to share details about her pathetic ex-husband's talents before she left for Greece.

 I stood and walked behind him, letting my dress fall to the floor with a whisper of silk. I placed my hands on his shoulders and pushed down firmly. "Kneel."

He dropped to his knees with a grunt, wobbling as he struggled to balance with his thighs bound and arms cuffed behind him. I stroked his head like a good pet as I moved back in front of him and settled onto the sofa. My fingers tightened in his hair, pulling his head down and forward with deliberate force.

He smelled my arousal—hot and thick—before his mouth even made contact. I watched his tongue dart out, eager and practiced. Good. Emma had mentioned his proficiency, and I intended to test it thoroughly.

"Slow," I ordered, my voice sharp. "Long licks. Flat tongue."

He obeyed, dragging his tongue up my slit in broad, wet strokes. I guided him with tugs to his hair, positioning him exactly where I wanted. "Now flick my clit."

His tongue found my bud, fluttering against it with practiced precision. I lifted my hips. "Now my ass. Give it attention."

He worked obediently, his tongue probing and lapping as I pulled him tighter against me. I came hard against his face, grinding my hips, using his mouth exactly as I pleased. Three more times I took my pleasure, each orgasm rolling through me as he lapped and sucked without pause.

When I was finally sated, I pushed him away with my foot. He toppled sideways onto the floor, bound and helpless, my juices drying on his face. He looked utterly broken. Perfect.

 I let him lie there for a while—long enough to have a little nap myself, stretched out on the sofa, enjoying the afterglow. When I finally stirred, I pulled my dress back on, smoothing the silk over my curves. I walked over to where he lay crumpled on the floor and undid the belt around his thighs. He groaned and stretched his legs out to relieve the cramp, pathetic and grateful for the small mercy.

I left him there and went upstairs, rooting around in what had been their bedroom. I found exactly what I was looking for in Emma's lingerie drawer—silk stockings, a garter belt, a pair of lacy panties. Perfect.

When I returned, I nudged him with my foot. "Left leg up."

He lifted it, trembling, and I slid a silky stocking over his foot, rolling it up his leg. "Right leg."

I repeated the process, then told him to stand. He struggled to his feet, and I could hear the nylon swishing as his thighs rubbed together. I reached around him and clipped the garter belt around his waist, then attached the stockings, pulling them taut.

"Lift your leg again."

I pulled a pair of lacy panties up to just under his erection. I took a small silk ribbon and tied it just below his bulbous head, then drew his cock upward, flat against his belly, and secured it around his waist. I released the cock ring at the base, and his trapped erection throbbed angrily as I pulled the panties up over it, tucking him away.

"There," I said, stepping back to admire my work. "Much more appropriate.”

 More photographs were taken—click, click, click—documenting him in his new attire. I couldn't help the little giggle that escaped as texts flew back and forth. His body cringed when I read Emma's reply aloud: "She sends her love. Says she had no idea you were this pathetic."

I forced his mouth open and shoved in the panties I'd been wearing all day, pushing them deep until he gagged on the sour taste and musky odor. I tied a stocking around his head to secure it, knotting it tight at the back.

"Stay," I commanded, leaving him standing there while I busied myself tidying up. I washed the coffee cups in the kitchen, listening to his muffled sounds of distress.

He probably thought I'd left him for a moment, until he felt the cold leather of his own belt wrapping around his neck, cinched tight as a makeshift leash.

"There," I whispered, giving it a sharp tug. "Now you're properly leashed. My pet. My slave.”

 "We're going for a drive," I announced, giving the leash a sharp tug. He tried to hold back, planting his feet like a stubborn mule. I yanked it tighter until he choked, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Do you want another beating?"

He groaned and took tentative steps, following my lead like the obedient pet he was becoming. I led him through the house to the garage, his stockinged legs shuffling awkwardly. I guided him to the back of his own car.

"Lie down," I ordered. "And behave yourself, or you'll ride in the trunk."

He complied, folding his bound body onto the leather seats. I closed the door firmly, then hit the garage door opener. The motor whirred to life. I slid into the driver's seat, started the engine, and backed out smoothly.

In the rearview mirror, I could see him lying there, blindfolded and gagged in lingerie. The windows were nearly blacked out—very difficult to see inside unless someone pressed their face directly against the glass. Perfect for transporting my new property.