My Mother is an Internet Sex Slave!

Part 1: The beginning

Last February my boss got sacked for misusing the firm's internet connection to download pictures of gay men having sex. I was shocked. I had never imagined she was like that. None of the guys in the office had. The graffiti about her in the gents suggested she would have been after gay women. I was shocked again, but in a nice way, when I was promoted to fill her position. And receive her salary.

That gave me some genuinely spare cash for the first time since leaving university. I bought a home computer the day after the first cheque at the new rate (and the new tax-rate worse luck) came through. The salesman tried to sell me one which he said was suitable for a beginner, but I know how businesses like that work and got a more powerful one straight away rather than having to buy two in quick succession. I also got the fastest internet connection I could straight away. Several times my old boss had said to do that. And I guess I trusted her expertise.

Once I checked the actual after-tax monthly salary I was receiving I realised that even with the cost of the fast internet connection I would be able to afford a holiday in the summer. I hadn't been abroad since I went to Normandy with the school when I was 15. Paris attracted me but I would need to brush up my language skills which hadn't been used in the seven years since then.

Someone once told me that the best way to polish a foreign language was to watch news programmes broadcast in that language. Newsreaders use fairly simple language so all of their audience can understand, but they speak it at full speed so if you can understand them you should be able to understand most people. And you know what they're talking about because the stuff is in the news anyway and there are pictures too. I had no knowledge of how to get the stations I would need, but I had a machine to find out for me now, so the first thing I typed into the search engine on my new PC at four o'clock on the Saturday that it arrived was "French TV".

You may well think I was terribly naïve but I was shocked again. Not really by the nature of the material it led to, though that didn't really interest me, but by the sheer volume of it. I knew, of course, that the internet was full of pornography, but the little corner of it that I had accidentally requested went on for hundreds and hundreds of links.

I didn't find a French TV station that evening. Nor did I follow many of the transvestite links, but I did find a lot more pornography and it was half past ten at night when I realised that I hadn't put the heater on, never mind eaten anything, and you'll remember it was pretty cold last April. I had looked at rather a lot of pictures of naked women, and seen hundreds of small, very jerky, adverts showing sex, oral sex, anal sex, ejaculations, and (I was almost sure) a woman having sex with a dog. I'd seen women with huge boobs, women using huge dildos, women in bondage, women being caned, whipped, and subjected to various tortures to the more delicate parts of their bodies, women being pissed on. What I hadn't done was buy anything, thankfully. But that was because I had taken my credit card to my limit buying the computer. My mouth was dry, my trousers and shorts were wet and sticky, my stomach was rumbling, and my eyes were gritty and tired.

I tore myself away and went and got a Chinese meal. Booze Station closes at ten so I had to make do with pop from the chippy. I dived back in to the web while still eating Chop Suey and stayed at it till four. I couldn't stop myself even though most of the models didn't really appeal to me. They tried to follow an ideal which wasn't ideal to me: lip-gloss on enlarged lips, huge amounts of make-up, bulbous enhanced breasts. But they never seemed to have attractive expressions; never looked like anyone you would like to marry; never, really, looked like someone you would like to fuck.

But then I found other kinds of link to follow. There were forums and groups where people posted pictures of real people rather than models. I had to make a profile to join the groups but that was free and easy enough. Again though, you will think me naïve because I used my normal email address ( andrew.phipple@airynet.com) for the profile. I didn't give my real name in the 'Real Name' box and I hid the email address from other members of groups but I guess I should really have used some email account in another name. I didn't have any way of getting a picture in or I would have put my face on the profile too.

Some of the groups were worth it. There were women of all shapes and sizes. Not all of them were attractive of course, but they were all real and they didn't look like the professionals.

Eventually, I realised I was falling asleep at the keyboard. I closed down, dragged myself off to bed, wanked myself off (of course), and collapsed asleep. The next thing I knew the doorbell was ringing insistently. It was my mother.

* - * - * - * - *

The mess was normal for me on a Sunday morning. The smell was (luckily) obviously that of the Chinese meal that came in the component parts of the mess and, thankfully, didn't include any beer. I let her in.

My mother, though, didn't think any kind of mess was normal, even for a 22-year-old single man on a Sunday morning. She breezed in and in between news of her neighbours' questionable doings and complaints about the council digging up the street outside my block leaving her nowhere to park, I was subjected to a constant stream of criticism.

She disapproved of the state of the flat. (I was rushing round rectifying that as she spoke.) She thought I should do something with my hair. (I had just got up. What did she expect my hair to look like?) I needed to improve my sleeping habits. (She meant being still in bed at nine on a Sunday). I needed to eat better. (That's on the basis that I had one take-away Chinese meal and, at half her age, am somewhat thinner than she is.) I should have some calorie-free sweetener in the house. (Okay, guilty on that one – I know she is likely to turn up and need it.)

And what was I doing buying that make of home computer? The kind she had was much more reliable and came with a free two-year warranty. I explained that mine had a five-year warranty for only a small extra charge. She laughed at that. She expected I'd be getting a new one within eighteen months. A five-year warranty was a waste of money. She certainly knew more about computers than I thought she would.

She wanted to see it in action. I can't imagine anyone wanting their mother to see what they do on their computer and I shuddered to think what she might find in My Pictures after I'd had it for less than a day. So I thought fast and told her I hadn't installed the software yet.

Now those of you with good memories will remember the title of this piece and will be screaming to yourselves because I've spent the last five paragraphs talking about my mother and haven't described her. So. She's forty-something, average height for a woman, slightly blonde (naturally – she sometimes used to go blonder but not nowadays), greenish eyes, quite a curvy figure but without anything too outstanding. Sagging just a little nowadays. I do not know her measurements or bra size. She's my mother, damn it! Her round face had a perpetual look of disappointment on it. Of course, I only saw it when she was looking at me. Other people might see another side of her.

What was she wearing? Her track suit and trainers of course. She had called in at my flat on her way home from the gym. Hard luck. She does wear a curious silver and black earring like a yin-yang symbol but with three segments on her right ear though. If that helps.

Anyway, she had to rush. Her boyfriend would be waiting. She'd only called round to see I was alright. The way it seemed to me she had only called to make sure I was still all wrong and tell me all about it. She pointedly took her cup into the kitchen and washed it, and left.

I still thought of the boyfriend as a fairly new thing. Dad had been dead five years when she finally decided to go looking but she found someone she liked straight away and Ike had actually been with her for eighteen months. Ike seemed okay to me if a bit quiet. He was an upholsterer and had made my sofa as a flat-warming present. My mother said he was good for her. He hadn't mellowed her though as far as I could tell.

* - * - * - * - *

As you may imagine I wasn't feeling very good. I made some toast and another coffee and started the computer. Quite unconsciously I assure you, I went looking for stuff on men dominating, beating, and humiliating women. With a side-order of women dominating, beating, and humiliating older women. There was plenty to find. I soon felt a bit better, especially once I had moved the pictures to somewhere a little less obvious in my file structure.

I didn't find my favourite internet group that day, however apposite that would be. It was some time in the following week, though, when I found a group called humiliatingfifi2. This was more attractive than stuff I had found before because it had an interactive element which seemed to make it more genuine. This is what the Home page says:

This a group in which my Master, PrinceZak, punishes and humiliates me, slavefifi, in front of all the members and as anyone with an adult age in their profile can join that means in front of everyone in the world. Inside you will find pictures of my humiliations and punishments, my own accounts of what is done to me, and suggestions from the members for what should be done to me in words and pictures. There is also a competition with a prize for the member who gets the most suggestions taken up by PrinceZak each month.

The picture next to it showed a middle-aged woman kneeling on all fours facing the camera in a purple mask that covered her whole head except for her mouth. Actually it was clear that the eyes were uncovered but a blindfold had been fitted over the mask and the words 'fifi is a suckslut' written in white across the forehead of the mask and the blindfold. There was a leather collar (with a bell) round her neck and she wore purple cuffs with chains on her wrists and ankles. She was otherwise naked and wore large nipple rings on her slightly wrinkled obviously recently beaten tits. Her mouth was wide open and she was drooling slightly. Behind her was a large mirror in which her pussy was visible. It wasn't very clear but she certainly had several piercings there as well. In the mirror, her buttocks were reddened as if she had been beaten there too.

Underneath the picture and home page message they show the headings for the latest five postings. One of them, posted by snarlingdog, was headed 'Show her drinking your piss on the cover, Zak.' Obviously one of the suggestions from members.

I joined immediately (there was no vetting of members) and it fast became my absolute favourite. PrinceZak replied to snarlingdog's message that they might get closed down again if they put something that obvious on the home page, but there was an album among the Files that showed maybe a dozen pictures of slavefifi, in that mask or with the photo cut off just below the eyes, being made to drink several different men's urine. One showed her with a wooden box fixed round her head that just exposed the mouth. The box was attached to a post in a field with some tent ropes visible in the foreground. She was naked with her hands bound behind her. A sign on the post said 'Gents'.

There were over 50 photos of her sucking at least 30 different cocks, and hundreds of her bound and beaten in various ways and in various forms of bondage. There was an album devoted to her public nudity, always with the mask from the home page on. There seemed to be several different blindfolds showing words to complete the 'fifi is a…' message on the forehead. She was declared a pain-slut, a slave, a bitch in heat, a flasher, a tramp, a free cunt. The pictures showed her in various party settings, plus one standing on one leg on a park bench, and one being dragged across a road in an industrial area by a lead attached to her collar.

There were photos of her sleeping arrangements which showed a sort of dog-basket at the foot of PrinceZak's king-size bed equipped with clips to attach to nipple- or cunt-rings. There was a photo of her naked but for her collar (facing away but not in bondage at all) pissing on a flower-bed and captioned "Not allowed to use the indoor facilities". She was shown eating from a dog-bowl on a kitchen floor.

There were scans of her slave-contract and a separate declaration from PrinceZak that while he was the sole judge of the limits on her privacy, he had agreed, after a suitable period of begging, that, given good behaviour from her, her face would not be revealed. Hence, the mask. In the messages about that subject it was pointed out by one member to another more gung-ho one that this also protected Zak's privacy.

There were hundreds of messages, all relevant to the group, no adverts or other spam though there were gaps in the numbers where they had been removed. The total space dedicated to the group's files was close to the limit and whenever anything new was posted, something was removed. Whenever that was done, whatever was removed was attached to a message posted to the group by slavefifi so no-one ever looked for something and just found it missing. They always had a last chance to save it somewhere. The group was obviously well run.

This was early April and it wasn't hard to find the results of the March competition. The results were posted by slavefifi herself. Six members had posted eleven humiliation ideas which PrinceZak had deemed worthy of taking up and two more ideas had been granted half a mark as being good in themselves but ones he chose not to use. One member, probably DDDevilEyes, I don't really remember, scored four and a half and had won. The prize was to have a humiliation of his choice carried out whether or not it appealed to PrinceZak. She asked him to mail it to PrinceZak's personal email. The previous month's winner had sent it to her and she wasn't allowed to know in advance what the prize humiliation was.

I downloaded and kept rather a lot of stuff over the next couple of months. I was fascinated by the things that fifi allowed to be done to her. I suggested some myself and scored one in April and one and a half in May. I didn't post very often but I like to think I was witty and on topic and responsible.

There was a debate on the group about whether Zak should be Safe, Sane and Consensual with his slave or whether her contract gave consent for him to be unsafe and/or insane if he wanted to be. I argued on the SSC side – I had read around the subject a bit by then - though I conceded when someone suggested that, under the contract as it stood, she could be made to sign an amendment to the contract to allow unsafe and insane practices as that in itself wasn't unsafe or insane, it was merely following legitimate orders, however unfair.

PrinceZak stayed out of the debate for a week or so and then pointed out that slavery was illegal anyway and that the contract therefore was not to be construed as a lawyer would. As far as fifi was concerned the contract meant that she did as she was told and had no rights and that was it. She replied to say that she agreed with everything her Master had said as required by paragraph so-and-so subparagraph something-else of her contract and thereby earned herself a whipping for insolence wearing a new blindfold that made her mask say 'fifi is a lawyer'. When she saw the pictures with that wording, she posted a very humble message that said her Master knew what she needed and had every right to do whatever he wanted to her, but she hoped she never had to wear that particular blindfold again.

That's the way it was. The group was fun and witty. The discipline was draconian. The humiliation was total. The competition encouraged us to be original but only really suggest things that Zak wanted to do to her anyway. Her postings were mostly about how right he was to think she needed those things done to her and how long she had been kept close to orgasm before her Master decided she had begged enough and allowed it. Reading between the lines, or between the pixels in the case of the pictures, Zak was only doing to fifi what her personal feelings led her to want, and he was doing it out of love.

Even when rejecting a suggestion of mine that she be tightly bound, gagged, have the little bell attached to her collar, and have the wires for the doorbell of their home connected across her nipples to make her one of the cheapest necessities a home could have, he said that although she loved to be made into an object like that, he wouldn't do it as it was dangerous. All electrical play should be kept away from the heart. He posted a link to an explanation of why it was dangerous. Then he awarded me my half mark and connected the doorbell push to a vibrator in her arsehole for a whole day. He was kind to her in a way.

* - * - * - * - *

Of course, I did other things. I worked hard to get on top of my new responsibilities at work. I did study French for my upcoming holiday. I found a place to download movies free and watched them on my computer, illegally, I suppose. I looked at a variety of other pornographic web stuff, much of it in the BDSM field. I learned a lot about the psychology of dominance and submission, some of which didn't sit well with stuff I'd thought I'd learnt at University, but I didn't get that a good a degree and I guess I may not have listened that well when I was there.

I didn't watch much television though, and as I say, I didn't need to go to the cinema. Somehow, I stopped going to the pub in the evening, too. That did my health a lot of good, I think, which made up for spending all my evenings sat at a computer. I didn't have a girlfriend when this started and I stopped looking for one. I was getting all the sexual stimulation I needed from my web groups, especially humiliatingfifi2.

At work, now that I was in charge of the local office, it somehow didn't seem right to go to lunch with my old co-workers, especially after I had had to reprimand one of them for bad time-keeping. So lunchtime was spent alone and whilst I didn't dare use the firm's internet connection of course I spent time thinking about what I was doing on-line.

I was only 22 but I had never done any of the things that I now read about every night. No-one had ever sucked my cock. I had never tied somebody up, or caned anyone, or been to a party where all the women were nearly naked and led around by their necks. The things I had done, kissing, fondling, normal sex, seemed very boring and ordinary now. Once I came when a girl was stroking my cock, but she hadn't meant me to come and I couldn't even really say I'd had a hand-job.

There is a term among the practitioners of kinky stuff. They call the normal people 'vanilla'. I guess that means I was going directly from vanilla to tutti-frutti. Sometimes I decided to stop before I hurt anyone. It never lasted till I got home, though.

The only visitor I ever had was my mother who continued to appear every Sunday morning. Other people go to church. I had to be ready for her to visit. Sometimes I tried to have the place clean for her, sometimes I didn't. It made not a shred of difference. She got into the habit of criticising me when I was a toddler and never got out of it. Even when dad had just died and she was deep in mourning she took time out to tell me I was scruffy, or my room was untidy, or I was too noisy, or I'd left a mess in the bathroom. I was in mourning too. It never occurred to her.

The visits weren't helped by her constantly asking me what I'd been doing. I couldn't say anything about what I'd really been doing and I'm hopeless at lying to her. I asked her what she'd been up to to try to deflect her but she didn't have much to say either. As the holiday approached, I was able to talk about my preparations for it. She thought it was a great idea. She even suggested I might find myself a girlfriend, but spoiled it by saying that I needed someone to keep the flat clean.

In June, the holiday came around. I was actually worried whether I could survive without my daily dose of humiliatingfifi2. I had got used to following the ongoing soap opera of her submissive life and seeing new pictures of her regularly. I tried to force myself to look forward to Paris but it didn't feel like enough. I was expecting to be lonely. I had trawled around the net to find some interesting clubs in Paris, and would try to make do with them in the evenings and the art and architecture in the daytime. Did I mention I was interested in art and architecture? I hadn't mattered to me for months.

I needed a lift to the airport. My mother was the only person I could ask to do it. She agreed, tentatively, but when the day came it was her boyfriend Ike who turned up. He said Phoebe couldn't get away at the moment. I thanked him for filling in for her and he drove me to Ringway. On the way, we hardly spoke. I'd never really found anything we had in common. What do you say to an upholsterer? All I remember him saying was that it would be best to get a lift even if I had a car of my own. It saved on parking fees. I didn't know whether he was criticising me for not having a car or remembering his youth and sympathising. I know what my mother would have meant, but I didn't know what made him tick.

Paris was marvellous. It is really strange to go to a new place and find that you know it already. All those films I'd watched told me just what it was like. The galleries are magnificent, if crowded, and the architecture is stunning if you know where to look. And I met a girl the first day, a blonde with long flowing hair, a huge smile, and a lovely figure. For those of you obsessed with bra sizes, it was a 90; the cup size was in Swedish so hard luck again but I guess 90 centimetres is 36 inches. She was Swedish too but spoke better English than me with a sort of haughty Oxbridge accent. It turned out that she had learned it that way at school. Her French was better than mine too. (And if you're reading a double meaning there, read on.) She took me to bed the first night and we had regular sex throughout the holiday. Within two days I had had my cock sucked for the first time. But I never got up the courage to tell her of my interests in bondage and domination, and I never took her to any of the kinky clubs on my list.

The sex was good, but it didn't seem enough. The blowjob was good too, but it didn't make me come and she didn't try again. She was a nice girl, Adriana, and very nice to look at, but she didn't really do for me what fifi did. fifi is a … distraction.

* - * - * - * - *

I forgot to ring ahead to get a lift back from the airport so I had to use the train and the bus. The bus was late. I was close to asleep when I got back to the flat but I made a coffee and logged in. I tried to go to humiliatingfifi2 but it wouldn't let me in. I wondered if they'd been closed down again. I checked my email to see if that would tell me why but that took so long to start up that I almost fell asleep waiting. There were hundreds and hundreds of messages downloading. There had been some sort of a spam blitz or virus outbreak or something because hardly any of them were from anyone I knew or expected mail from. I went to bed. I would deal with it in the morning.

Monday morning, I started the computer up while the toast was cooking. I worked through my email deleting the rubbish and found that I hadn't received anything since two days after I left. Those of you who like symbolism may like to consider that Adriana's failure to suck me all the way off must have happened at the same time as the email dried up. But I think it was just an embarrassing coincidence.

That didn't explain why I couldn't get into the group though. I had to go to work so I sent a quick enquiry to PriceZak's personal email address and rushed out to get the bus to work. That one was late too, so I needn't have rushed. Have you ever felt that the world was against you?

I won't go into the disasters that had happened at work while I was away.

When I got home, there was the usual amount of mail in my Inbox and there was one from PrinceZak that said:

Hi Droofy (that's my online name, the one on my profile, long ago it was my nickname at school)

This is embrrasing. Ive found out that your e mail adress was bounceing and when fifi was doing her administrating job instead of suspending you she banned you. Shes not allowedt to do that without my permision so Ill be investigating and someones sensitive bits are going to feel some serious pain. Once I know what hapened she will post a confesion and apology to the group as a hole and a send a personal one to you. In conpensation you will also get a full set of the pictures of her punish ment. Meantime Ive let you back in the group and if your not bounceing anymore youl recive this and know. If t bounces Ill send it again.

PrinceZak, master of slavefifi's unenviable fate.

PrinceZak doesn't type or spell all that well, but you know what he means and sometimes it seems calculated. When he writes of "an apology to the group as a hole" he just might know what he's saying. The signature was done by fifi who is the computer freak in the household and also the one who would use a word like "unenviable".

I checked I could get into the group and then went and made some food. Then I spent an age working on a plan to recover from the crazy place the office had got to while I was away.

About quarter to nine I heard the little plinking noise that means new mail has arrived. I checked and it was fifi posting to the group. This is what it said:

This slave has been very bad and deserves the worst punishment its Master can think of. PrinceZak has instructed it to confess to the group and apologise for its wilfulness and arrogance. it contracted to become a thing with no will and it has broken that promise in this totally public forum. it claims to be submissive to the will of its Master and it has nevertheless done something which it had no instruction to do, arrogantly ignoring its submission and its status as property.

Worse, the slave's action was to the detriment of a member of this group of people who assist its Master. The slave knows that while members of the group are not its Masters, it must treat them with the level of respect its Master receives at all times, being humble and submissive in all interactions with the group.

The slave's duties include the administration of this group and it was dealing with the weekly chore of suspending members of the group whose email was bouncing. To do this it needs to look at the email addresses of those members even if they are kept hidden from the other members. The slave recognised the name of one of those members as someone who knows it in real life, the other details in that member's profile confirmed that the member was that person. The slave was frightened and chose to ban that person from the group, rather than suspend them.

That the slave was frightened is no excuse. The slave should be frightened of its Master, and of other Masters and Mistresses its Master introduces it to. it should also be frightened of the humiliations it must endure at the behest of the monthly competition winners. The slave has no permission to ban people from the group. Banning is disrespectful and forbidden to it. it should have told its Master and awaited His decision.

PrinceZak has reinstated the member concerned and determined this slave's punishments. 1. it will post only in neuter third person until further notice; 2. it will have its tits beaten every day until further notice; 3. it will confess to the group and apologise for its wilfulness and arrogance; 4. it will make a deep and complete personal apology to the member concerned and accept any further punishment that member may decide on in consultation with PrinceZak; 5. PrinceZak has until now chosen to hide the face of His slave from the world – this privilege has now been withdrawn permanently.

This slave apologises humbly and unreservedly to the group and to the member concerned. it urges the members of the group to respond to this post with suggestions for how to increase its humiliation in the face of its failure of obedience and submission.

slavefifi – this slave deserves every humiliation she gets.

There was an attachment. I opened it. It was a picture of fifi standing naked with legs apart and hands behind her neck. Her tits had obviously been beaten heavily. I'd recognise her body anywhere. It had all the right piercings, the right shape, the right imperfections, the right collar with the right little bell. Her face, for the first time, wasn't covered. She was crying. It was my mother.

Just then the phone rang. It was my mother.