My Mother is an Internet Sex Slave!

Part 3: The end

I opened the door. She was standing naked in the walkway outside, holding her tracksuit and trainers and looking hunted.

"Mother, get in here." I grabbed her arm, ushered her in, and closed the front door quickly. There's a sort of small vestibule where you come in with a second door, so you can hide the living room from callers, I suppose. I looked at her in exasperation. I knew what had happened. She'd been ordered to go naked whenever she was at my flat, so she had made sure she was naked before stepping in. Slave girls obviously think ahead to make sure they don't disobey by accident.

"Okay, let's deal with this. For the purpose of the orders Ike gave you on Monday, we will say that the flat begins here." I indicated the vestibule door.

"You can use the vestibule as a dressing room. Leave your clothes there. I'll give you a key. You can let yourself in to the vestibule, undress, and then knock on the vestibule door and wait to be let in, okay?"

"Yes, Sir. That's very kind of you, Sir." She dropped her clothes on the doormat and came in to the flat.

I was surprised how blasé I was about her nudity. Two days ago I would have been shocked and embarrassed to catch a glimpse of a nipple. I would have thought several times before mentioning it if I noticed her nipple rings through her clothes. Now I could look at her almost as easily as I had looked at photographs of her as slavefifi these last few months. Once I'd got her indoors.

"What were you thinking of, stripping off out there? There must be a dozen flats that walkway leads to. Everyone on this side of the other two blocks could see you. If you'd stood any further back they would have seen you from the street!"

"Sir, I am not allowed privacy or modesty. How many people can see me is not a consideration when I have orders. I am sorry that this upsets you." She looked away, took a deep breath, and knelt. "This slave will accept any punishment you might decree, Sir."

I looked to the heavens. Okay, she chose to be a slave, but did she have to be so abject? "I've dealt with the matter without punishing you. We're not going to get on when you're here if you're that quick to seek punishment."

I had to meet her somewhere near halfway if we were to get on any kind of even keel. I had spent Tuesday thinking about how to deal with this and I'd decided I couldn't be strict with her like Ike was. That was for him to do. But it wouldn't be fair on my mother if I was too lax. Hence, she gets a key and can undress indoors, but she has to knock and wait to get out of the vestibule.

"On the other hand I guess kneeling in front of me is an appropriate posture for seeking instructions about cleaning the flat." I considered. I wanted to make sure we got time to talk as mother and son as far as that was possible. "I guess the kitchen and bathroom will be the big job. Do them and then come to me for instructions. The cleaning stuff is in the cupboard under the draining board."

"Yes, Sir." She had some difficulty getting to her feet. Her knees must have still been feeling bad from Monday's apology. The bruise on her stomach looked bad too. I remembered not to help her up.

As she went through to the kitchen I noticed that while her tits were red and raw, her buttocks were healing quickly. "Not had your bottom beaten again?"

She stopped and turned. "No, Sir, I corrected my signature and Master said that was enough. DDDevilEyes is unhappy, but Master says the suggestion was worth a point in the monthly competition. The," she hesitated, "respected junior member already had four this month and he'll probably win again."

"Lucky kid."

* - * - * - * - *

I sorted out the key for her, watched some TV, checked my bank statement, even picked up a book I was reading. I could hear her clattering round in the kitchen. Eventually I could smell the various cleaning products she was attacking it with. After rather less than an hour, she came looking for me. I was lying on the bed reading my book. The computer was on but I wasn't doing anything with it. The picture of her pissing in the flowerbed was still on the desktop background. She'd asked me to treat her with contempt and cruelty. It wouldn't be right to take it down.

She came in and knelt beside the bed. "Please, Sir, I do not know where you wish the various things I have washed to be put away. Rather than cause you annoyance by getting it wrong, I choose to ask this time and be able to get it right from now on. I apologise for interrupting your reading and will accept any punishment you wish."

"Mother, you are going to have to stop asking me to punish you. I have never punished anyone in my life. This isn't coming easy to me, you know. You will get to know when I feel you need punishing, but when I do I will probably ring up Ike and get him to do it. I understand, I think, how you want to be treated and I can do some of it, but not necessarily all. In any case you did right to come and ask about where things go."

I stood up and we went through to the kitchen. "My guess is, last month you would have put them away how you thought they should go and rearranged my other stuff to match. I wouldn't have been able to find anything for weeks." She was standing with her head bowed. "Am I right?" I was stern. I knew I was at least half play-acting. Was she?

"Almost certainly, Sir. Arrogant. That's what it really means. Making other people's decisions for them without consulting them." She paused, thinking. "Ordinary people shouldn't do that. Slaves …" She was lost for words. She wiped away a tear with the tea-towel. "I'm really ashamed, Andrew, Sir. I shouldn't be forgiven easily." I let that pass. She was punishing herself, really. Seeing my mother in that state made me want to hug her, but she wouldn't have wanted the comfort. Also she was naked, and her breasts had been beaten the last three mornings, and I was afraid one of her nipple-rings might catch in a button-hole.

I showed her where everything went. She put things away. The kitchen was spotless, but smelled distressingly of lemon, pine, bleach, soap, and chlorine all at the same time. The rubbish had gone.

"Did you take the rubbish out?"

"Yes, Sir." It was getting on for ten o'clock. I guess nobody saw her.

"When it's dark or darkish that's alright I guess, if you're careful. But you are not to take the rubbish out naked on a Sunday morning in broad daylight. Understood?"

She looked amused in a coy sort of way. "Understood, Sir. Shall I do the bathroom, Sir?"

"How long?"

"Fifteen minutes."

"Okay. When it's done make a drink. I guess I should give specific orders?"

"Please, Sir."

I put on Ike's manner. "I will have Earl Grey tea, no milk, one sugar. You will have ordinary tea, no milk, one tab of sweetener."

She usually takes milk, but there wasn't any. I'd run out. But she didn't get to hesitate about what she wanted to do about that, she had the decision made for her. "Yes, Sir."

That's all her life was in day to day decisions. She said, "Yes, Master" and did as she was told. An easy life if you think decisions are hard. A hard one if you think you know better. I think she had chosen it because it was hard.

I went and sat on the sofa to think. According to the people at head office, I was put in charge of the local branch because I made good decisions quickly. They were 'tracking my leadership potential,' which I interpret to mean they were planning to move me further up the ladder in time if I didn't make mistakes. This was a situation they weren't going to find out about, but if I had those qualities it was a situation I should be able to deal with.

* - * - * - * - *

By the time my mother brought the tea through, I was feeling confident. She handed me my Earl Grey and stood holding a tray with her cup on it.

"I guess you wouldn't be comfortable sitting on the sofa with me?"

"No, Sir. I am usually kept on the floor."

"But your knees are obviously still feeling the exertions of the other night and your bottom hasn't fully recovered from the beating that evening. What if I gave you a cushion? Would you be able to get comfortable?"

"Sir, there is no need … "

I wasn't having any more of that. "Some slave girls do as they're told without arguing, or so I'm led to believe. They respect the wishes of the person in charge and don't keep arguing for harsher treatment and total disregard for their comfort. You get a cushion." I took one of the seat cushions off the sofa and put it where we could have a sensible conversation. "And you will make yourself comfortable on it. Sit, kneel, or whatever. Something in between might be best. And drink your tea at normal speed."

She put the tray down and arranged herself on the cushion leaning more on her thigh than her buttocks. She made sure she wasn't hiding any of her body from me and sipped tea.

"Right. That wasn't too hard, was it? Now, to understand the way you are, the way my mother is, properly, I'm going to need more explanation than I got on Monday. I've re-read the history files on the group but they start when you persuaded Ike to put you on the web. Have you always been like this? Did you sub for Dad?"

"Not really, Sir. Your father ran the household and made all the decisions about money and things like that. He always had the final say in decorations and furniture, anything big. But he didn't really dominate me sexually. He started fucking other women as soon as I was pregnant with you. Fucking me tailed off." She had a look of resignation. As if Dad's behaviour was understandable.

She looked up and straight at me, not quite in the eye but close. "You know I'm not allowed to say anything but the most direct words, don't you, Sir? I'm not allowed to call fucking anything but that." I nodded my understanding. She looked down again.

"Eventually, he'd fuck anyone but me: neighbours, my friends, your cousin Hayley. I begged him on my knees to fuck me, somehow, any way he wanted. And he refused." She sniggered girlishly. "With Prince Zak it's the same, but that's teasing. Your father genuinely didn't care about my frustration. The way he saw it I could find someone else to fuck me, so long as I didn't get pregnant again."

"That was the big deal was it? He wouldn't risk you getting pregnant again."

"At first …" She tailed off into some fearful reverie. Her shoulders hunched and shook as if she was being beaten. "And then after the crash they all turned up at the funeral as if it was they who had loved him. Hayley wasn't even eighteen years old. I remember you lusting after her."

"Sir!" She'd suddenly realised she'd stopped calling me 'Sir' every sentence. The look of fear on her face was devastating. She feared the punishment I could give her for telling me all the things I didn't know about my childhood.

"After that I was on my own. I couldn't get well-paid jobs, I had no experience. And with every respect, Sir, you were no help, staying on at school, going to University. I started mistreating you then, I think." I reckoned she'd started earlier, but now that I knew about Dad I wasn't about to blame her, especially when I knew how she would want to be treated for it. But I looked sternly at her to stop her offering some dire penance anyway.

"And I was still dreadfully frustrated, Sir. But you know what got me out of that eventually? Women's magazines that I couldn't really afford. Very soft porn and teach-yourself-wanking articles." She was sitting there, naked, with crop marks on her tits, and with her legs carefully apart so that I could see the five rings arranged round her cunt, telling me she had learnt to masturbate more recently than I had! I laughed like a hyena.

She smiled. It was a full unguarded smile as if my mother was there and not slavefifi who probably wasn't allowed to smile without a direct order. "They said to think up the most exciting fantasies and use them to wank with. I did and it worked, Sir." She smiled again when she said that. "At first my imagination was very limited, but it got more elaborate very quickly. You probably won't believe this, Sir, but within a month of my first wank I was imagining suffering tortures and humiliations that I couldn't begin to handle in real life even now. Amputations, being impaled on spikes, red hot pokers, all sorts. They all helped me come more often and more heavily for a while."

She had finished her tea. She put the cup down on what I laughingly call the coffee table. (It's two clusters of three catering-size coffee tins with two planks laid across them. It's the nearest thing to art I've ever produced.) "Would it be alright if I got on with cleaning this room while talking, Sir? It will save time."

"Well, okay. Leave the hoovering till Sunday so we can still hear each other."

"Thankyou, Sir." She tripped off to the kitchen like a schoolgirl to get the glass-cleaner and a duster, then attacked the television with the spray.

"Where was I, Sir?"

"Wanking."

"Oh, yes." She giggled. She was enjoying finally being able to tell me this. "I saw this documentary about the internet pornography industry. You were at University by then, Sir. And I had that lottery win."

"The twelve hundred pounds?"

"Mm hmm. I spent most of it on the computer and went off looking at what was on the net, much like you seem to have done, Sir." She was wandering round the room dusting and had come to the window-ledge. "Excuse me, Sir, what should I do about the windows?"

I had closed the blinds before she came, to hide her from passers-by on the walkway. On Sunday, I was going to leave them closed till she left. "Nothing. Not your job. If that's all here you could do the bedroom." She glanced around checking her work and went through. I followed her.

"On the web, I found out just how many other people felt like me. It was hugely liberating, Sir." She obviously didn't have any idea of the contradiction inherent in that sentence. "I couldn't get enough of it. I got involved in cybersex with plenty of domination." She disturbed the mouse while dusting the computer. Windows came out of its power-saving black-screen mode and there she was pissing in the flowerbed again. She blushed, her nipples visibly tightened and the rings moved. I began to see how simple humiliations like that affected her. Having her here naked was a help to understanding her as well as an embarrassment.

"You were concerned that I had taken your rubbish out, Sir. I had tasks set by on-line Masters that would make that seem like going to church fully dressed. One had a thing about," she indicated the screen, "public pissing. One night he said I should take my clothes off, go out into the garden, climb over the fence and piss on a neighbour's flowerbeds, then come back and tell him all about it and I did it, Sir. There were no lights on at the Jamesons' over the back fence, so I went that way. Pissing was difficult – physically – but I did it and it was exciting. When I was climbing back over the fence, their car turned into their driveway and the headlights shone on me. I fell off the fence and got splinters all down one leg and scratches all over from the roses and had the best humiliation come I've ever had bar none." She was breathless with the memory. "But that's partly because Prince Zak doesn't let me come during the humiliations now. I have to wait till later, Sir." I think she was proud of that.

She turned to the bed. I opened the wardrobe and showed her that the clean sheets were on the top shelf. She got one out and started making the bed. "I met my Master online about three years ago. He'd just split with his previous slave and was looking for someone new. I liked his picture and the way he checked whether or not I still wanted to do certain things before each cyber session. And then he only gave me orders to do things I'd agreed to that day."

My bed is a bit awkward. It doesn't move easily and one side is against the wall so she had to sprawl about on it to get the wall side of the sheet tucked in. If she'd been a girlfriend, the cleaning would have been forgotten very quickly. I thought of Ike's mind game with her. Was I supposed to play too? When she pushed herself up onto all fours and started crawling backwards off the bed, she saw that I was looking at her body. I could see her swallow and hesitate.

She stood up and started dealing with the little cupboard unit I use as a bedside table. "He was really sweet. I agreed to meet him and fucked him on the first visit. He was the only man I'd actually, you know, physically fucked since your father, Sir." She was bent forward moving all the things on top of the unit about so she could dust it. There was a packet of condoms there. She tensed and I saw her deliberately move her legs further apart. Her breathing was very shallow.

"Have you finished cleaning now?"

"Nearly, Sir. Just the pillow and duvet to do." She turned round to face me with a strange frightened look. "Sir, you do know that I will obey every order you give, don't you. My Master says I must remind you every time because you're not used to it. And I am a slave and I don't get to say 'No.' Whatever you might want. Whether I would want it or not." She was fidgeting tensely; her head would turn suddenly to one side and then return to looking at my chest; one leg would turn inwards in front of the other gradually and then firmly move back to a legs apart position, as if part of her was open and part closed.

"I know what being a slave implies."

"Yes, Sir. But I have to make it clear. You can ask anything of me. And you will get it. I swear. Whatever you want." The hand carrying the duster strayed in front of her crotch and when she noticed she rushed it back behind her. I decided that I would never enforce her never-hide-your-body rule.

My mouth was dry. I cleared my throat. "Just finish the cleaning, Mum" I had to clear it again.

She relaxed and much of the hunted look went from her eyes. "Yes, Sir. I'll tidy up and, with your permission, I'll go if I may?"

I went through to the lounge and adjusted my jeans. I could hear her plumping up the duvet before she followed me. "I wanted to talk to you today about a lot of things, but I didn't realise what you'd gone through with Dad, Mum. Auntie May tried to tell me at the funeral but just said you'd 'been through a lot'."

"She may just have been embarrassed, Sir, about Hayley." She collected the cups from the living room, took them to the kitchen and rinsed them out.

"Just leave them to drain," I called. "What's the hurry, anyway? Ike want you back by a certain hour?"

She stood in the doorway between kitchen and living room fidgeting from foot to foot. "No, Sir. He said to take my time."

"Then what's the rush?"

She sank to her knees. I sighed. "Please, Sir. This slave needs to piss, Sir."

"And you're not allowed to use my toilet?"

"No, Sir."

"Even if I say so?"

"In that case, I'd have to take the punishment from whichever Master I did not obey, Sir. And with all respect, I am more afraid of my Master's punishments than yours." Obviously, in any conflict of orders I was going to lose. That made sense.

"Okay, stand up." I got the key I'd sorted out for her from the mantelpiece and handed it to her as she walked to the door. "So, are you going to be able to hold out driving back?" I was talking intimately to my mother about pissing. Good grief! I needed to piss as well.

She put her track-suit on and sat on the door-mat to put her trainers on. "No, Sir. I'll go in the little park round the corner. There's some thick shrubbery there."

"There's a Ladies there!" She looked up. "But you're not allowed to use it." She nodded and stood up.

Now she was dressed I stepped into the vestibule and hugged her. Carefully. She didn't resist. In fact, she relaxed again slightly. "Look, be really careful. Okay, Mum? Don't get yourself arrested."

"Of course not, Sir. My Master would be very angry."

I kissed her on the cheek, and opened the door. She left. I watched as she walked to the stairs down to the street. Someone came out of the stairwell as she reached it. I ducked back inside quickly.

* - * - * - * - *

I had spent my whole childhood thinking my mother and father were a loving couple. There was obviously no reason for my mother to lie about it. And I'd never until now imagined that my mother masturbated. So the fantasies she used were a double shock. Impalement? Red hot pokers? Made the orgasms better? There was something really distressing there. At least what she was doing now wasn't that bad.

Wait up! What she was doing right now was squatting in the park with her track-suit bottoms down! Pissing! Not as bad as red hot pokers, I suppose. I would have to understand her a lot better before I would know what to do.

Over the next few days I used the internet as it was meant to be used: as a way of exchanging information. I looked at as many BDSM resource sites as I could find. Previously I'd felt that most were principally about how not to get abducted and murdered on a first date. A worthy aim indeed but no use to me.

Most of them also said that being a sub was not the same thing as being a doormat. My first thought was that no-one had told my mother that. But when I thought about it, I realised the web group had been her idea, and the monthly competitions. I remembered reading that she had written the first draft of their contract. And she had told me that she begged him to accept her as a slave. No-one had forced her to take this on. She was a grown woman. Shouldn't she be allowed to live as she wanted so long as it didn't damage anyone else? The only person I could think of other than herself that it might damage was me. Well, possibly DDDevilEyes, who was probably getting a very skewed idea of womanhood at an impressionable age.

* - * - * - * - *

Friday I got an email from Adriana. I had forgotten I gave her my address. She said she had enjoyed our time together and hoped we could be friends in the future. I replied that I would love to be her friend and talked about some of the places we'd visited in Paris.

Saturday she sent me some photos of Paris, including one I hadn't known about of me sleeping naked on the bed in her hotel room. I hadn't imagined our relationship continuing beyond our holiday romance. So I was flattered when she wrote that I was dark and enveloping and she felt safe in my arms. I'm not sure what she meant. She may have had the English wrong. But it felt good and I wrote back to her.

Also on Saturday, I visited the group. There were lots of new pictures of fifi with her face showing: pictures of her apology to me, pictures of her sucking her Master's cock, one (which looked at least a year old judging by her hair) of somebody holding a lit cigar to her breast which had obviously been included because of the serene, almost smug look on her face, and a whole new folder in the pissing section of various men and women pissing on her face.

All the posts from slavefifi were still in neuter third person but the latest did report that "it" was no longer having "its tits" beaten daily. The sound recording was there too so I downloaded and played it. She never let on through that whole apology that I was a relative. All you could tell was that I was male and should have been told of her slavery from the beginning. And she had kept that up through the torture (I could think of no other word for it) that she had been subjected to. Someone had asked what the effect on her clitoral hood had been, which Ike apparently anticipated because there was a posting from PrinceZak with a close-up. There appeared to be a little stretching of the piercing in the picture but as far as I could remember there had been nothing visible by Wednesday evening when she came to clean. Of course I hadn't really been looking quite so closely. According to one of the resource sites, piercings can take a lot of pressure but where there is stretching there's a risk of tearing.

I went to other sites too, to relax. It was worrying to find that one of them already had one of the fifi-sucking-Zak pictures, one very recognisable as my mother. Anyone could download those pictures and post them elsewhere. As the front page of the group said, that meant anyone in the world. She would be humiliated. I was humiliated.

* - * - * - * - *

I was late getting to sleep after that, so it took her a few knocks on the vestibule door before I woke up. I rushed shorts and jeans on and headed for the door, expecting to see an improvement in "its tits". But when I opened the door, the tits were not what I looked at. She had a shocked look and was shaking.

Her hair had been butchered. I don't think I've described it except for the colour but it had been a fairly nondescript chin length blondish perm the last I saw. Now it was a wreck. There were shaved bits, bits where it was short and spiky, some very straight bits at the full length it had had before, frizzy bits, and bits where scraps of newspaper had been tied into it. And there were random colours as well: acid green, royal blue, fluorescent pink in some parts of it, though the edges of the colours didn't come at the edges of the styles. One of the shaved areas was at the hairline above her left eye, a two-inch wide strip running up and back for about three inches, then continuing raggedly for half an inch more. There was a splash of the blue dye across it.

She screwed up her eyes and burst into tears. I hugged her hard. She sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes, her nipple rings hot against my body.

Eventually I calmed her down. I led her to the couch, but couldn't persuade her to sit. She clung on to me tightly. I said, "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday evening, Sir."

"Who did it?"

"One of the people from North West DS. She owed my Master a favour. She's a hairdresser, Sir." North West DS is the local club for people who like to have their BDSM fun in public. Most of the other people in pictures of fifi on the group were from NWDS, though of course, they had their faces obscured.

"Hair by Jackson Pollock, no doubt."

"Sir?" I let it pass.

"Well if it's to punish you for criticising my hair," a nod and a sob against my chest, "she did a really comprehensive job."

"Yes, Andrew. I'm really sorry, Sir."

"Yes, Mum. I'm sure you are." I disengaged from the bear-hug. 'Its tits' did look better than they had been. The bruise from Ike kicking her was nearly healed too. "You'll just have to make the best of it till he lets you change it, I guess."

"Yes, Sir."

"Suppose you don't feel up to cleaning?"

"No, Sir. I mean, yes, Sir. I'm here to clean."

"Sure?"

She sniffed hard, shook her head as if to clear it, little twists of newspaper rustling against each other, and sank to her knees. "This cleaning slave awaits her instructions, Sir." She was lightening up. That was almost satirical.

"I want to talk some more. So, start with the hoovering and get it over with. It's in the cupboard outside the bathroom." She rose and went to get the Hoover. 'My' Hoover is actually her old one from before I went to University. She pushed it about briskly just as she had always done when I was a teenager. The only difference was that she didn't have any clothes on. And the hairstyle of course.

I went to the bedroom to finish getting dressed, and then got myself some breakfast while she breezed round hoovering. Without thinking about it I made myself a coffee. Should I do that? I had a slave girl here to do that kind of thing. I stayed in the kitchen to drink it and washed my cup. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

* - * - * - * - *

The sound of the Hoover juddered to a halt and I could hear her putting it away. Then she came through with last night's cup from the bedroom. She had a look of disapproval on her face. I couldn't understand why. "Something not to your standards?"

"I'm sorry, Sir. It is normal to dust before hoovering. When I come to dust, I'm going to feel I need to go over the floor again, Sir. But you are in charge here."

"Right. Get on with cleaning in here. You were telling me about meeting your Master and sleeping with him on the first date."

"Actually it didn't seem like a first date at all. I'd known him a long time through the internet, Sir. And it was a long time since I'd been fucked. He was really nice. We agreed limits for that first night and one of his was that he wouldn't fuck me until the rest of the scene was over. He didn't want to tie me up and then rape me; he wanted me free to refuse him, Sir."

"But my guess is you wanted to have no choice."

"His limit. I respected it. I asked not to be tied up for too long because I hadn't really done it before. He respected that, Sir. But we went a lot further very quickly. Two weeks later, he awarded me a training collar and had my nipple piercings done. After that I was still free to refuse to fuck him but I would have had to give the collar back.

"He taught me about all the kinds of fucking I'd never had before. I had to learn fast, Sir. The first time he buggered me I came without permission, Sir. From the shame of it, I think. Then I learned what the punishment for that is. I've only done it one other time since and hope I never do again."

"What about the other piercings?"

"They were in the contract, Sir. My Master had several slaves before me and he always insisted they had their cunts pierced." She had collected all the dishes and cleaned some surfaces but now she needed to run the tap. "Excuse me, Sir." She filled the sink quickly and the room began to smell of lemon from the washing-up liquid. "So I had to get those done before he would consider a real collar. I wanted a contract, Sir. It gave me a feeling of permanent irrevocable commitment." Her shoulders shuddered with the pleasure of it. "So when I drew up the first draft I put the piercings in as a precondition so that I would have to get them done in advance. Before they had even begun to heal properly, I threaded ribbon through them as if they were chained together and swore to be chaste in my cunt and clitoris until we had agreed the contract and signed it. My Master liked that and drove a very hard bargain. I gave in to several demands because I knew I wouldn't get to come till we had agreed."

"I can see that hard bargain in the contract. You're property to treat and dispose of how he wishes. It says when you get too old he can sell you for scrap!"

"Yes, Sir, but that was in the original draft. I wanted it to say he could just let me die, but Master wouldn't have it." She started drying and putting away the few dishes there had been. In the right places.

"So sometimes you get reined back from your dangerous desires, do you?"

She hung her head shamefully. "I go over the top sometimes. My Master makes me be more sensible, Sir. I still get the thrill of imagining it, but not the risk of it actually happening."

"You stand there with that haircut and say that! And he wasn't making you be more sensible on Monday. That torture with your …," I couldn't say 'clit', I just missed it out, "ring was really dangerous. What if you had fallen? And how many drinks did he have before I arrived? The person in charge shouldn't do any sort of drug. It's in the Safe, Sane, and Consensual rules that he champions on the group." I was angry with him. The kick was the least of the things I was angry about.

She went and got the mop to do the floor. "Well, Sir, I don't think my Master thinks of alcohol as a drug. And with all respect, Sir, you drank beer."

"I needed it to survive that scene, or else I would have been screaming at him to stop torturing my mother and get out of her house."

She stopped mopping. She swallowed. "Actually, Andrew, Sir, it's his house now. Property doesn't own property. I signed it over to him."

"Jesus Fucking Christ, mother!" I'm not religious, I just swear that way. She was on her knees immediately, head bowed, legs wide apart, arms behind her, shoulders back, breasts forward, ready for punishment. The hair was the only difference from a dozen pictures on the web group. If I had had something to whip her with I might have. I hope not, but I can't be sure.

There's another rule they have in the BDSM Community like Safe, Sane and Consensual. A very sensible one. You can criticise a slave for being wrong, or disobedient, or incompetent, but you never call her 'stupid'. It's a bad idea to say that to your parent or child or spouse in the wider community for much the same reason. It affects them psychologically. But, as I say, I was angry with Ike for letting her do dangerous things, and now I was really angry with her for doing them.

"You stupid slut!" She cringed as if I had kicked her in the stomach and tears flowed down her face. "You will finish this floor and clean the bathroom and then come to see me for further instructions. If you are very lucky I will have calmed down a bit by then."

* - * - * - * - *

I went and sat on the sofa. It's not as if I was looking forward to inheriting the house or anything. She was still young, really. But it was her home. Dad's insurance had paid off the mortgage. He really had looked after the finances well, whatever else he had neglected. Without that foresight he would have left her with not only no job experience but no house either.

I was clenching my fists again. It hurt. My nails needed clipping. It would be something to do to help calm me but the nail-clippers were in the bathroom. The irony helped calm me anyway. But if she stayed much longer I would lose my cool again.

She crawled and cringed her way across the room to the spot in front of the sofa were her cushion had been on Wednesday. She had the most hang-dog look I had ever seen on a human being. She didn't say anything. After a while I realised she didn't have permission to speak.

"Well?" It came out rather angrier than I actually was by then.

"This stupid slut has finished cleaning the kitchen and bathroom and awaits your orders, Sir. It is aware that it must obey any order you may give and expects that to calm your anger it must suffer severe punishment and degradation. Sir." Even in this cringing state she was trying to control what I did to her. I was amazed by her persistence.

"I think that hairstyle is punishment enough, frankly. As to degradation …" I understood the kind of thing she meant. And that if I told her to she would co-operate to make sure it was just right for her. "I'm going to send you home soon to get you out of my sight. You need to piss, slave?"

"Yes, Sir. If Sir will allow it to."

"Well I'm not going to let you piss in the park in broad daylight but I do have an idea for what you can do. You're not allowed to piss in a toilet, right?"

"Not allowed, Sir, no."

"What if I made you piss in my bath and wash it out afterwards? Would that be allowed?"

"Its Master would allow that if there were other humiliations involved."

"Well, I guess you'll have me watching. What else?"

She thought for a moment. "The slave knows what its Master would require. May it be allowed to prepare the bath?"

"Sure."

She surprised me by crawling to the vestibule and getting her tracksuit, and then headed for the bathroom. When I followed her in she was arranging the track suit top in the bath on top of the trousers. Her idea was clear. I wondered whether Ike would have put her through that or whether it was just her idea of what she should go through. This wasn't going to be play-acting, though, that was clear.

She was waiting again. "Okay, climb in. I guess you sit on the side of the bath, the far side, facing me, legs wide. Wide! Now, you'd better aim right, I want it all in the bath. Get on with it."

"The stupid slut thanks the Sir for this degradation. It deserves it." She found it difficult to get started, but after a few seconds she succeeded. I'm sure you'll not be surprised to know that I'd never seen a woman piss full-frontal before. It was … informative. And they complain about our aim! She was pretty lucky. Not enough came over the edge of the bath for me to have to complain about it.

"When she was down to a few drips and blushing like, there's no other word I'm afraid, a beetroot, I said. "Right. Clean up the bath. Get an old towel from the airing cupboard to carry your clothes to the door in." I walked back to the living room and waited for her.

She came through, hurrying to avoid the tracksuit dripping on the carpet. "Thank you, Sir. The stupid …"

"That's enough of that. You've been degraded enough."

"Yes, Sir."

"Put your clothes in there and come here." She put the towel and wet track suit on the doormat and returned. "We are going to resolve all this at your next visit. I am going to have to live with the idea of you giving your own home away. It's done; I can't do anything about it. I accept your sexual needs, I think. But putting yourself in crazy danger has to stop." I thought a bit. "Do you actually have any other clothes you can wear in the street?"

"No, Sir." I thought I'd only seen the same tracksuit for months.

"So those last few months when you came round Sunday mornings straight from the gym?"

"I hadn't been to the gym, Sir, and I was naked under the track suit."

"Did you enjoy that? Fooling me?"

"No, Sir. There was nothing else I could do."

I looked at her, at the state of her hair, at her healing breasts, her fading bruise, the tears welling up in her eyes. I couldn't stay mad at her. She was my mother. I hugged her hard, harder than I had when she arrived.

She hummed like a purring cat and relaxed in my arms, cool and soft against me. "Andrew, Sir, may I speak?"

I eased off on the hug. "Always."

"I said last time my Master has given me instructions about these visits." She snuggled and stroked my back. "I told him what I'd said to you and I'm off daily beatings now. He is very kind, Sir. But each time I am here I am to make it clear to you that his orders stand." Her hands strayed inside the back of my shirt. "I am to treat you with more respect than any man but him, and obey any order you give that doesn't conflict with my standing orders."

"Yes, Mum."

"You make it very hard for me, Andrew, Sir." She breathed in, smelling my body. One hand came round to the front. "Please, Sir. This slave is presumptuous but she liked it when you hugged her when she arrived. May she hug your bare body, Sir?"

"Ike tell you to do that, too?"

"He told me to make sure you understood and give you every opportunity to give me orders, Sir." She was unbuttoning my shirt.

"You do not have orders to do that."

She carried on with a desperate look on her face. "Please, Sir. This slave needs comforting." She snuggled into my chest. I could see the shaved patches on her head and took pity. I let my arms go round her again.

"Please, Sir. This slave wishes to make you happy. Is there something she could do for you?" She rotated her shoulders so that her breasts moved against me. I could feel her nipple rings moving slowly downwards. They caught against my belt. I grasped her shoulders and lifted her back to a standing position. She grimaced. "Please don't push me away, Sir. Your father …" Her face was hard; a tear fell down her cheek. She put her hands on my hips and made as if to kneel again. I pushed again until she couldn't reach me. She became distressed, her hands shaking . "Please, Sir, is it the way I look?"

"No, Mum. You get off home. Do you want to take the towel to protect your car-seat?"

She stepped into the vestibule looking rejected. "Thank you, Sir."

"Bye, Mum." I closed the vestibule door. That way I wouldn't have to watch her leave again. After a bit she let herself out. I thought of her walking to the car with her piss-soaked track suit. I had made 'it' do that.

When I opened the blinds, someone was walking past. I wondered if they had seen her.

* - * - * - * - *

I made a coffee and fired up the computer. I would have to remember to get my cleaner to do those things before leaving. As a student, then a young single man, you get used to doing things for yourself; it's a bit of an adjustment to have a domestic slave.

I had mail. Adriana had sent me some new photos of herself naked on a beach somewhere in the islands near Stockholm. If she is to be believed, hardly anyone bothers with clothes in the islands in the summer. Must cost them a packet in sunscreen. A naked photograph isn't a naked woman, but I could remember how she smelled and how her body felt.

I lay down on the bed to remember, as it were, physically. I had a good erection at first, but gradually lost it. I couldn't get off. It had been the same all week, but I had thought Adriana's picture would have helped. fifi is a … chastity belt. I had to find a way to at least stop the visits and Ike had given me a way to stop them. I began, then, to think about a suitable task for her to complete her punishment with.

On Monday, I had a new problem at work. One of my subordinates, a former co-worker, had become increasingly unreliable, turning up late, taking long lunch-hours. I couldn't allow it to continue. When he didn't turn up until half past ten and had no excuse at all I had to do something. I rang head office and checked with them and they said I had full authority.

I sacked him. He used to be my friend. We used to lend each other beer money, hold each other up on the way home from a club. But I was a boss now. There was no room for friendship with subordinates when the business suffered.

That evening after eating I steeled myself to ring Ike on his mobile. He asked if I had any complaints about her behaviour. I said his mind-games were driving her to distraction and the haircut was a terrible punishment. He laughed. She needed taking down a peg. His slaves had respect for men. I hoped he would let her shave the lot off and wear a wig soon. He was already picking a wig out.

I asked about the group. How long would her face be up there? He said it had taken a lot of begging to get him to start the group with her face hidden and she hadn't started to beg again yet. I told him that the pictures were out in the web. He was concerned for his copyright not her visibility. He suggested I go back and look at the photos on the group and get some ideas for humbling her. It was what she would want. I told him I might have trouble with some of them. He laughed and said I'd think of something. He praised the punishment I'd given her. I didn't tell him it was her idea. I mentioned the torture the previous Monday. He found it amazing to have a slave that inventive about her own punishment. So I guess that was her idea too.

I asked about the house. He had the document she signed. He wasn't sure it was legal. There hadn't been a solicitor involved. That was good. I didn't think you could transfer a house legally without a solicitor. He said it was just for her really. I mentioned her clothes. They were in the attic hidden. I wasn't to tell her. I said okay.

Somehow I hadn't really managed to tell him what I felt about him.

* - * - * - * - *

On Wednesday evening, I was sitting watching television when I heard the key in the lock, the door opening and closing, the bumps and rustlings of tracksuit and trainers being removed in a restricted space, a pause, and then a firm knock at the vestibule door.

I went over and opened the door and stepped back to let her in. She curtseyed deep and said, "Good evening, Sir." No falling to knees and begging to be punished. No tears. A smile. Most of the dye had washed out of her hair at least. The shaved bits wouldn't look right though till everything was shaved.

"And good evening to you, Mum. Tonight we are just going to talk. Go through the flat and check if it is clean to your satisfaction. It should be, I've worked hard on it. Then make drinks. I'll have a coffee, milk, one sugar; you will have tea, milk, one tab of sweetener." I smiled at her and she headed off to check the flat.

I turned the TV off, put her cushion on the floor for her, and sat back down on the sofa. I could hear the kettle heating up in the kitchen.

Very soon she came back with the drinks and handed me mine. "Cushion," I said putting on Ike's accent. She smiled, and arranged herself on the cushion to her demanding standards of exposure. "Clean enough for you?"

"There were hairs in the bath, Sir."

"I didn't see any."

"In the plug-hole, Sir. I removed them. Otherwise it's fine, Sir." She paused, uncertain. "May I ask, Sir?" I nodded. "Is that intended to humiliate me, Sir? Cleaning the flat yourself. Because I think it has. Thank you, Sir."

"My pleasure." I was sarcastic. What twisted logic! "Right, I have more questions about your life, I guess. Is the description on the group of how you live realistic? I mean, do you really sleep clipped to that dog-basket by your rings?"

"Mostly, Sir. If I'm in trouble, I may not be allowed to sleep in the house. There's the old coal bunker. It's dirty and sometimes cold, but rain-proof. If my Master is very pleased with me after fucking me, he may allow me to sleep half the night on his bed and the rest in my basket with no bondage."

"That happen often?"

"He likes me to beg to come when he is buggering me. If I beg for long enough and then come at the same time as him, he always lets me stay in the bed. Occasionally I come up with a new way to please my Master and get to sleep with him then too."

"And you have regular sessions with other people?"

"Almost always with the North West DS people. I suspect I know what you're thinking but we all have medical exams on a monthly basis. There are two doctors who are members, Sir. All guests have to have up-to-date certificates. We are all afraid of diseases."

"Did one of those doctors examine you after last week's torture?"

"Not immediately after. But I have had my check-up since then, Sir." She thought of it as torture too. And it had been her idea.

"And these doctors are both active participants?"

She smiled. "Oh, yes. He screams in falsetto, Sir. Really, really high. The other one is the Indian woman you'll have seen pictures of on the group." Oh, yes. Pissing on fifi's face, her own face blurred out.

"And the other members of NWDS … use you?"

"Oh, yes, Sir." She was grinning and her eyes sparkled. I recognised my mother the most in this naked slave right then. Like when I told her I'd got my University place. "But different events have different rules, Sir. At the Christmas party no-one has to do anything they don't want to, to encourage as many as possible to attend. But there are smaller events. At some of those I have to obey everybody else. Even other slaves."

"They use you in every way?"

"Every hole gets fucked, Sir. Women get to come, too." She was matter-of-fact. For her this was just normal and she wanted me to know and accept that.

"And they beat you?"

"Sir, I'm not really a pain person. Pain is punishment for me, Sir. It makes me want to be a good slave. So I don't get involved as much as the ones who actually like it. But obviously, sometimes I'm punished at a meeting, Sir. Occasionally my Master likes to hurt me for his pleasure. Plus some of the humiliations on the group are painful."

"Oh yes, what was the prize when DDDevilEyes won the competition? I've wondered for ages."

She smiled again. "He wanted photographs of me with really heavy weights hanging from my rings. My master faked it up a bit so it looked like the weights were heavier than they really were."

"So he cheats, then?"

"Not often, Sir. But he knows what I can take, and what I need. He's been angry recently, justifiably so. I've deserved these punishments, even the hair." She touched it and grimaced.

"And the kick?"

"He says I deserved it and he says he shouldn't have done it, Sir."

"And you say?"

"What I'm told to, Sir. And no more." I understood that from the beginning.

"I sometimes can't tell whether you are genuinely humble or whether you're play-acting, pretending to be a slave."

"When I did cybersex, I started off thinking of it as fun and pretend. But by the time I met my Master online I had two kinds of scene: ones where I was pretending to be someone I wasn't and just making it up; and ones where I really was doing what I said I was doing, and wanking and coming when I said I was wanking and coming. Actors have real lives, Sir. Sometimes they're acting but the rest of the time it's real."

I sat back and thought about it. If she was acting, it was method acting and she had become the character. Was there even a distinction?

She put her cup down on my 'coffee table' and slid off the cushion until she was kneeling on the floor facing me almost touching my knees. "Sir, you said I may always, speak?" She cringed very slightly as if she wasn't sure I had meant it."

"Yes, Mum, you're my mother."

"I've been thinking about what you said about crazy danger. It seems to me that I must follow my Master's orders but otherwise I have an order from you to avoid recklessly putting myself in danger. I must respect you more than anyone but my Master and must obey when in this flat."

"On a cleaning visit."

"With respect, Sir, there was an order to always go naked in this flat and to obey you as if you were my Master when I'm here. And both apply until I complete the task you have not yet set me. Orders you give carry over between visits, where not in conflict with my Master's."

"I guess you must be pretty adept at keeping track of the orders you've been given."

"I have to be, Sir." She stiffened into a more formal kneeling posture and spoke quickly and breathlessly. "As you know, my Master requires me to make it crystal clear that I will obey any order you give me, even ones that I don't want to get. It is very hard to do this, Sir. You know that sometimes the worst things that happen are my ideas, but once I've set them in motion my Master ensures that I don't chicken out. He won't tell me whether it's his idea or yours to make me have to offer this every time." Her determination was wavering. She whimpered softly and started rocking back and forth slightly. "If you can't decide, Sir, please let me decide for you by volunteering. I don't want this but it would be better than not knowing, which is torturing me."

Her shoulders rose and fell, not with sobs, though she had tears in the corners of her eyes, but as if she was thinking 'Ready, steady …'. She stopped talking, licked her lips as if smoothing out lipstick, and suddenly reached towards my crotch. I was so surprised that my zip was half-undone before I knew it.

I stood up and that pulled the zip all the way down. "Mother!" She reached inside my jeans and leant towards me. I could feel her hands on my cock; she pulled it out of my shorts and it responded to her touch, her hot breath stroking it as she opened her mouth. "Stop! Now, slave!" She was gibbering in fear but she didn't stop. I gripped her wrists and forced her hands away. She wailed as if in grief and pain and horror all at once and, when I released her, she collapsed into a sobbing heap. My so-called coffee table came apart flinging her cup across the room, and the corner of one of the planks scraped across the side of her breast drawing blood.

I think she said, "Please, Sir," but she was such a mess that I couldn't really tell.

I fixed my clothes and went and helped her to her feet. I held her by her shoulders and said "Look at me, Mother." She kept trying to turn her face towards me but something else in her was trying to turn it away. "The slave will look at the man she respects more than any man except her Master." That worked.

"You are going to calm down. We are going to go to the bathroom and clean you up. Then we are going to get some things straight."

I led her through to the bathroom. She cleaned her face up then we wiped the blood off her breast. It was a long scratch but only a couple of little bits of it were bleeding, and it didn't need a plaster. I dabbed a bit of disinfectant on it and she yelped. "Serve you right, Mother."

"Yes, Sir."

"Let's get things straight now you're yourself again. Listen carefully: I am not going to fuck you. I am not going to let you suck me. And you are to keep your hands out of my pants. I am very insulted that you would think I would allow that. And I am going to punish you for it."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. This slave is very ash…" That set the tears going again. I hugged her till she stopped sobbing. "I'm very ashamed, Andrew."

"So you should be, but your Master put a lot of pressure on you. You're not the only irresponsible one, you know. You need to watch him." I let go and stepped back to see if she was alright. "We can't go on meeting like this." She laughed slightly. I'd always said that since I was a young teenager. "So, I have a task for you. Just like your Master wanted me to. I don't think I can go back to the idea of vanilla sex after all I've seen on your group and with you personally. If people aren't reckless, this can be a very exciting way of life. It does turn me on, Mother. So, to replace you as my cleaner, your task is to find me a slave of my own. Not a collared, contracted one like you, but a suitable candidate for, let's say, domestic and sexual slavery. Okay?"

She looked at me in wonder. I'd figured that if I were a Master myself, that would get her respect. "That's marvellous, Sir."

"Thank you, slave. Are you ready for your punishment, now?"

She sank gracefully to her knees and said, "This slave awaits the Master's just punishment."

I grinned. I said, "Well, shut up, get up, and kneel in the bath with your back towards the taps." She did it. I unzipped my fly again and got my cock out. She looked confused, hadn't I just said I wouldn't do that? "Look at it, fifi!" She swallowed and looked. "Mouth open." She pouted, then opened. And - if her doctor thought it was safe to do I wasn't going to argue - I pissed in her face.

Her humiliation was perfect. She looked suddenly ecstatic, the picture of a saint, her eyes closing involuntarily, her chin raised so that her mouth could catch the entire stream. I saw her attempt to swallow as much of it as she could. That was probably a standing order. But piss foamed out of her mouth, flowing down her face and pouring over her body. Some of it got in her poor hair and made it look even more ridiculous, scraps of damp newspaper drooping. Her chest heaved with the humiliation, her nipples taut and engorged. She flinched when the piss reached the cut on her breast.

She opened her eyes and tried to hold her mouth in the stream, but it was beginning to lose force and fall onto her tits. She closed her mouth and smiled, a satisfied slave.

When I had finished, I said, "Whatever her standing orders, the slave does not ever have to clean my cock after I piss."

"Thankyou, Sir." I put it away.

"She will piss herself, then clean the bath and have a wash. No wanking." I left her there. I didn't check up on her. I trusted her. She was my mother.

Epilogue: Another beginning

Five weeks later, in late July, I was on the sofa reading the used car ads in the Manchester Evening News when I heard the key in the lock, the front door opening, muffled shufflings of two people fitting themselves into the vestibule, the door closing, then an inordinate amount of rustles and bumps, a zip, whispers, and giggles, followed by a firm knock at the vestibule door.

I knew who it was. It was my mother bringing me my new slave.

"Come," I said.

There was some more giggling and the door opened.