Family Ties

"Let's have a look," Miriam said, her voice laced with convincing sadness. "Stand up for me, Simon dear." He hesitated for a moment, his shame warring with his desperate need for comfort, then slowly stood. He turned and lifted the back of his shirt. Miriam smiled to herself as her fingers ran over the bluing welt she herself had inflicted with the cane, the mark a source of deep, personal satisfaction. "Bitches," she said angrily, the performance flawless. "If I ever get my hands on them." Chloe stifled a laugh behind a well-timed cough.

"Take your shirt off so we can get a proper look, Chloe. Help your brother, please," Miriam ordered.

Chloe stood close to Simon, her body brushing against his as she helped him pull the shirt over his head. Miriam squeezed her legs together, a thrill of excitement coursing through her as she looked at the road map of bruises she and Chloe had left on his back. She noticed the dark bruising spreading from his buttocks to his lower back, a masterpiece of their shared work.

"Oh, my poor dear," she said, her tone pure maternal pity. "Take your jeans off as well. I need to see what those bruises are about." Chloe gently rubbed his neck, a comforting gesture that was anything but, and he slid his jeans down to his ankles. His hands automatically went to cover his erection, a final, pathetic attempt at modesty.

Miriam noticed immediately. "Your undies as well, I'm afraid," she said, her voice firm yet gentle. "I need to look at the damage." Chloe stepped in front of him, a gleam in her eye. She wanted a front-row seat to his complete and utter humiliation.

Miriam's hands worked their way over his beaten body, her fingers tracing the lines of the bruises with a tender, possessive touch that made her inwardly glow with pride at her own handiwork. Chloe joined her, their fingers moving in gentle, soothing caresses, being sure to stroke his neck and inner thighs, sensitive areas designed to inspire both comfort and confusing arousal. Simon was hot with embarrassment, his body a traitor to his mind. They soothed him with their words, telling him he was safe now, that they were there with him and would protect him.

"Sit down and drink your tea, Simon dear," Miriam said, her voice a soft command.

He bent to pull his underwear and jeans back on, but Miriam stopped him with a hand on his arm. "It's best to leave them uncovered," she said gently. "Let the air help the healing process." She looked at his plain cotton briefs with a critical eye. "Do you have any underwear other than those? You need something soft and silky."

"No, that's all I have," he mumbled, his face burning with shame.

"Oh, dear. Chloe dear, could you have a look around to see if you can find anything? Is that ok, Simon, if Chloe looks around?"

"Er, yes, sure. Thank you," he replied, his voice barely audible.

Miriam picked up his discarded T-shirt and handed it to him. "Just to cover yourself for a while," she told him gently, a thoughtful gesture that only deepened his confusion and dependence on her.

Miriam sat on the sofa, as close to Simon as she could get, savoring the role of the caring mother, slowly reeling him in and sowing the seeds of his complete dependence. Simon relaxed into her embrace, the warmth of her body and the soothing tea a welcome balm to his frayed nerves. He grew a little concerned when he heard his sister banging around upstairs, the sounds coming from his father's bedroom. He sat upright, his body tensing, but Miriam eased him back against her. "It's all right, dear. She's just trying to help."

A moment later, Chloe came back down the stairs. She was waving something in her hand, a look of triumphant discovery on her face. "I found these," she announced. "I think they will work." She handed them to her mother.

Miriam examined the item, her expression one of feigned curiosity. "Where did you find these?"

"In father's bedroom," Chloe said, her voice carefully casual.

Simon sat up, puzzled. His father would never have anything like that.

Miriam held them out for him to see. They were a large pair of red silk panties with delicate white lace trim. She turned them around, and there, embroidered in gold lettering, was the phrase: "Mistress Genevieve's Bitch."

Miriam put her hand over her mouth in a perfect display of feigned shock, but her eyes smiled at Chloe over Simon's bent head, thinking of the treat she would give her daughter later for being so creative. Chloe had, of course, brought them along, just in case they were needed, and the perfect opportunity had just arrived.

"I'm so sorry," Miriam declared to Simon, her voice a masterful blend of sympathy and revulsion. "Is there no end to this man's perversions?" Simon just sat there staring blankly, his mind unable to process this final, damning piece of evidence.

"Simon, I know this is difficult," Miriam continued, her voice softening, "but I really think you should put these on; they will help your poor bottom feel more comfortable."

His limbs felt heavy, each movement a monumental effort. He didn't really want to move, to participate in this bizarre ritual.

"Here, let me help you. Stand up," Miriam coaxed.

He had no fight left in him; this was all too much. It seemed he hadn't known his father at all. He stood, and Miriam helped him step into the panties, gliding the red silk up his legs with a practiced, maternal touch. "There, doesn't that feel better?" she said as she smoothed the silk over his bruised flesh, her fingers deliberately brushing against his cock, which was still half-erect.

Simon was surprised; the silk's coolness felt better against his tender skin. He sat down heavily, suddenly feeling exhausted, the weight of the last few days crashing down on him. Mirian handed him his cup of tea and encouraged him to finish it. He barely had enough energy to hold the cup, his hands trembling slightly.

"Let's get you up to bed, you look done in," she said.

He didn't fight as Miriam and Chloe helped him up to his bedroom, their arms supporting him. They pulled back the duvet and put him to bed like a child, his last conscious thought being the strange, soft comfort of the silk panties he now wore.

Simon awoke with a jolt of pure adrenaline. He tried to jump out of bed, but his arms and legs wouldn't move; they were secured to the bed frame with rope. Panic set in, a cold, primal fear. He tried to call for his mother, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate; something was forcing it open, and he tasted the foul, suffocating rubber of a gag. He thrashed his head from side to side, a useless, panicked motion.

Then a face appeared above him. No, not a face, a mask. It was the same black domino mask from his ordeal. "Hello, Simon," the voice purred, a low, triumphant sound. "Did you think we had given up on you, silly boy? I told you you belong to us." Cold hands cupped his balls and squeezed, twisting them brutally. He screamed into the gag, a muffled, helpless cry of pure agony.

"Did you think mummy could protect you, fool?" She picked up the remote for the TV in his room. He looked over to the screen, his eyes widening in horror. His mother was tied down over his kitchen table, her arms and legs bound to the legs. She was naked, a gag in her mouth. The driver who had picked him up was there, dressed in a leather waistcoat and leather jeans. His huge, erect cock stood out against the black of the leather. Without warning, he thrust his cock hard into Miriam. He could see her panicking, trying to escape, but there was no way; she was tied down too tightly.

There was something else in the corner of the screen. He squinted, his heart seizing. It was his sister, Chloe. She was tied to a chair, naked and gagged, mascara-stained tears running down her face. Simon panicked even more, a desperate, animalistic urge to help them surging through him, but he was completely immobilized.

Miriam smiled behind the mask as she took Simon’s cock in her hand, expertly manipulating it to a full, throbbing erection. "Look what you have done," she whispered, her voice dripping with venom. "This is your fault. You shouldn't have told them." Her hand worked him with a practiced, relentless rhythm, and he groaned involuntarily as he looked at his mother being brutally fucked by the driver.

"You've brought this on your poor mother," Miriam continued, her words a poison in his ear. “First, your father fucked her by throwing her out, and now look what you've done." He groaned, a sound of shame and unwanted pleasure, as she brought him to the edge. On the screen, the driver had pulled out and was spraying his come all over Chloe's face and naked body. At that exact moment, Simon came all over his own stomach, a shuddering, humiliating release.

The mask lady let go, and the screen went black. Something was held under his nose—a cloth with a sharp, chemical smell. It burnt as he breathed it in, and then blackness surrounded him, pulling him down into a void.