Family Ties

Miriam was in the kitchen when she heard Simon's faint, panicked shout from upstairs. A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face. Her pussy felt a little tender after the thorough fucking David had given her the previous night, a performance for the cameras that had been both necessary and enjoyable. She thought their little show-and-tell had gone perfectly; the final video and Simon's shamed, horrified orgasm was a masterpiece of psychological warfare.

She hummed to herself as she prepared. She set a cup of tea on a tray, then added a bowl of warm water and the shaving equipment—a sharp razor, a brush, and a small tub of cream. She draped a clean white towel over her arm, the picture of a caring nurse. With everything ready, she went upstairs to enact the next stage of their game, ready to play the part of the savior once more.

She could feel the silk of her deep-red negligee brush against her nipples, turning them into hard bullets as she pushed open the door to Simon's bedroom. He lay there, a desperate, terrified look on his face. He had woken to find his wrists and ankles tied to the bed, a horrifying mirror of the nightmare he had just endured. He didn't notice that soft scarves held him in place, not the rough rope of his dream.

"Mum, what's going on? Please untie me," he pleaded, his voice cracking with fear.

Miriam set the tray down and approached the bed, her expression a perfect mask of maternal concern. "Calm down, Simon. It's for your own good. You woke up last night screaming and thrashing like the girl in that Exorcist movie," she said, her voice soft. "I was afraid you'd hurt yourself. This was the only way I could think of to keep you safe until you calmed down.”

"It took both Chloe and me to hold you down. It was pretty scary," Miriam said, her voice a carefully calibrated tremor of feigned fear.

"Where is Chloe? Is she ok? Are you ok?" Simon asked, his mind still reeling from the vivid nightmare.

"Yes, we're both fine," Miriam told him, her voice dripping with feigned concern. "Why on earth wouldn't we be?" She let him stew in his confusion for a moment. "I've sent Chloe to pick up a few things from the house. I think it's best if we stay with you for a few days." She set the tray on the bedside table but made no move to untie him.

"Mum, that's not really—" Simon started to protest, his sense of independence flickering weakly.

She shushed him, pressing a finger to his lips. "Don't be so silly. What kind of mother would I be if I left you to handle all this on your own? We'll talk about it later. First, we need to discuss a little matter."

"When I was examining you last night, I noticed an infection just down by your little man," she said, her voice a low, conspiratorial whisper. "It looks like a scratch, or maybe the end of the whip caught you. Either way, I think I need to treat it, and to do that, I have to shave the hair off around it."

"What do you mean?" Simon asked, his voice a panicked squeak.

"I mean, I have to shave your pubic hair so that I can treat the infection, before it gets worse. Don't worry, it will all grow back," she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"Can you untie me first?" he pleaded, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"I think it's better if you stay like that while I'm shaving you," she replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We wouldn't want any accidents."

She picked up the bowl of warm water and the shaving brush. She dipped the brush in the water, then lathered it with the cream. With a deliberate, clinical touch, she began to work the lather into the hair at the base of his cock and over his balls. Her touch was intimate and invasive, and Simon's body tensed, a mixture of shame and a traitorous, unwanted arousal. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pretend this wasn't happening.

Miriam picked up the sharp, gleaming razor. She stretched the skin of his scrotum taut with one hand, her fingers cool and firm. With the other, she began to shave. The blade scraped against his skin, a sound that was terrifyingly close. She worked with slow, methodical strokes, clearing away the lather and hair with each pass. She was careful, almost gentle, but the act itself was a profound violation. She pulled and stretched his sac, turning it over in her hands to catch every angle, her control over his most private area absolute. When she was finished, she took the warm, wet towel and wiped him clean, leaving his skin bare and smooth, and feeling utterly exposed.

Miriam was enjoying how bright red her son's body was with embarrassment. He lay tied to the bed, his five-inch cock erect and twitching as she busied herself tidying up the shaving equipment, taking her time to prolong his humiliation. She took the top from a tube of Germoline and slowly massaged his balls and the base of his cock. The cream's comforting wintergreen smell did nothing to dispel his erection. She wiped her hands on the towel and slowly pulled the red silk panties they had "found" for him the night before back up his legs. She deliberately pushed his hard cock into the front panel before letting go with a sharp snap, creating a ridiculous-looking tentpole in the panties.

She then moved to untie him, but instead of walking around the bed, she leaned over him, her full breasts brushing against his cheeks as she reached for the scarves on his wrists. The proximity was intoxicating, a final, intimate act of control as she freed his hands, leaving him with the lingering scent of her perfume and the overwhelming shame of his exposure.

As soon as his wrists were free, Simon pulled the covers up to his chin, trying to hide his body and the ridiculous silk panties. Miriam sat on the bed beside him, her weight making the mattress dip. She handed him the mug of tea, her fingers brushing his in a gesture that felt both motherly and possessive. She chatted about nothing in particular—the weather, the price of tea, the state of the house—yet touched him often, a hand on his arm, a pat on his leg, each small contact reinforcing her authority and his dependence.

They heard the front door open, and Chloe called out, "Mum, I'm back!"

"Up here, love, in Simon's room," Miriam replied cheerfully.

Simon shifted in bed, pulling the covers tighter around himself. Chloe burst into the room, her face flushed. "Mum," she said, her voice laced with manufactured alarm, "there's this big guy sitting in a black car by the gate. He gave me the creeps. He was staring at me as I came in." She didn't mention that it was David or that he had just helped her carry her bags in.

Simon sat up straight, almost pushing Miriam off the bed. "What's the matter?" she asked him, a note of artificial alarm in her voice.

"It's them," he breathed, his eyes wide with terror.

"Who, Simon?"

"The people who did that stuff to me."

He jumped out of bed, forgetting all about his embarrassment and the ridiculous red silk panties, and ran to the window. He threw the blinds open just in time to see a black Mercedes pull away from the gate and disappear up the street. He turned in anger, his fists clenched, and was stopped short when he saw Chloe, her hand over her mouth in a perfect display of shock.

"Simon!" Miriam shouted, her voice sharp with scolding authority. "Cover yourself up!"

He looked down, his anger instantly deflating into a wave of hot shame. His hard cock had come free of the silk panties and was now standing out, completely exposed.

Miriam and Chloe left an embarrassed Simon to shower and dress while they went downstairs, smiling at each other, pleased with how things were progressing. "I gave him a little something in his tea this morning," Miriam told Chloe in a low voice, “A little something to keep him horney. If you can stay close to him today, we can really keep the foot on the gas." Chloe nodded, and Miriam went upstairs to change into something more appropriate for the day's games.

Simon was in the shower, the hot water cascading over his bruised body. His hand went to his hard cock, which stubbornly refused to go down. He soaped his hand and began to stroke himself, feeling the familiar, shameful build-up of pleasure. To his horror, the picture of his mother tied to the kitchen table flashed into his mind. He remembered how helpless she looked, how strangely beautiful. Then he could almost smell her perfume, and he touched his chin, recalling the soft brush of her breast against his cheek as she untied him.

The image in his mind shifted as he felt his climax approaching. It was Chloe, tied to the chair, her face and body glistening with the driver's come. With a groan of pure self-loathing and ecstasy, he exploded against the shower wall, the image of his violated sister burned into his mind.  

Chloe was sitting in the kitchen when Simon came down the stairs, moving stiffly. "Hi," he said sheepishly, trying to put the shameful image from his shower out of his mind.

She stood and hugged him tightly. He winced as the pressure hit his bruised back, but he felt himself harden instantly at her closeness. "I'm sorry. Does it still hurt?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

He nodded, indicating it did.

"You should probably leave your shirt off, like mum said, just for a few hours," she suggested gently.

"It will be ok, I think," he mumbled, wanting to cover his chest.

"Don't be silly, there's only us here."

"No, it's fine."

"Okay," she said, her tone shifting slightly. "But Mum might get a little upset. She needs to feel like she's helping you. Wait, I've got an idea. Come with me." She took his hand and led him down the hallway. "Can you grab a couple of them?" she said, pointing to the pile of suitcases by the front door.

"How long are you guys staying?"

"Until mum thinks it's safe enough for you to be on your own," she replied, her answer vague and final.

He grabbed two of the overstuffed cases, noticing Chloe hadn't picked up any as she led him to the room she was staying in. "Just put them on the floor over there. We can sort through them later," she instructed. He did as he was told, his compliance growing more automatic.

She went to a bag in the corner and pulled out a delicate silk blouse, holding it up against him. "If you don't want to be without a shirt, you could put this on. It will be easy on your back."

He looked at her, hesitating. "I don't know."

"Don't be silly, just try it on," she coaxed.

He let out a breath of resignation and slipped off his t-shirt, taking the soft, feminine blouse from her outstretched hand.

The silk felt cool and soothing against his tender back. He started fumbling with the small pearl buttons on the opposite side of his shirt's buttons, a confusing detail that made him feel clumsy and foolish. Chloe stepped forward to help him, standing as close as she could without touching him, her proximity a silent, charged presence.

As she reached the last button, her fingers brushed against his chest. Instead of stepping back, she smoothed the fabric out over his pecs, her touch lingering. Then she leaned in and kissed him lingeringly on his cheek, her lips soft and warm.

"Good boy," she whispered, her voice a low, intimate murmur that sent a shiver down his spine.

His cock reacted with an undeniable twitch, a traitorous response that filled him with a fresh wave of shame and confusion.