Diet
by Pan
Chapter 43
I waited until the next day to try anything. Normally I’d give it a few days for the idea to truly sink into her subconscious, to prime her for the real thing...but it had come from her subconscious. Or her sub subconscious, whatever the next level down was.
It was her idea. This was something she’d suggested.
Something she wanted.
“How long did you plank for today?” I asked.
“Two minutes,” my mother replied, her eyes downcast.
“Oh, Mom...”
“I know,” she said balefully. “I’m sorry. I really did try.”
“Did you stick to your diet, at least?” I asked, and she nodded.
“Well then,” I said, gesturing to my lap. I’m always impressed by how quickly my mother can move to my lap. I swear, she likes being spanked more than I like spanking her.
No, that’s obviously ridiculous. I don’t think anyone likes anything as much as I like spanking her.
I’m yet to spank my mother while she’s both naked and conscious, but it feels like I’m getting closer by the day. As part of another punishment, she was wearing a short skirt, black panties, no bra, and nothing on her feet.
She crawled onto my lap, shivering as I gently stroked her bare skin. “I have a new idea for a punishment,” I said, allowing a note of levity into my voice. A bit of trial and error had told me that she’d only accept the suggestion if it was coming from a place of mischief—the first time I’d gotten her naked, she’d done it because I treated it like a prank.
Just a few short months later, she spent more time at home naked than clothed. What a goof, hey?
SMACK.
Mom’s entire body tensed as my hand landed on her ass. “One,” she croaked—unless told otherwise, I’d ordered her to always count how many smacks she received.
It was fun seeing the numbers get a little bit wobbly as she got more and more turned on.
“I think this punishment will be really effective,” I continued.
SMACK.
“Two.”
Mom’s breathing was already growing heavy. Not even she could explain why she liked being spanked as much as she did. Even by her son.
And, as time went on...especially by her son.
SMACK.
“Three.”
“It’s going to be so embarrassing,” I crowed. “Maybe this will finally work, and allow you to stick to your fitness program.”
SMACK.
“F-four.”
I did the math, and I think it would actually be possible for every exercise I set Mom to be completed. She’d just have to hire a full-time employee to do half of them for her.
SMACK.
“Five!”
“You don’t like the embarrassing punishments, do you?”
“N-no,” Mom stammered, forgetting that she was supposed to claim she didn’t like any of them.
Of course, we’d both have known she was lying. Maybe she didn’t consciously like it, but some part of Mom craved any punishment involving pain.
SMACK,
“Oh! Six!”
Mom normally came anywhere between twelve and twenty spanks, depending on how worked up she was beforehand.
“Do you remember the South Park episode you watched with me and Cynthia?“
“Y-yes,” Mom said.
SMACK.
“Seven!”
“You remember what the fat kid—Cartman—made the other kid do at the end of the episode?”
Mom’s eyes widened.
“Yes...”
SMACK.
“Eight!”
She clearly knew where I was going, but she didn’t want to let herself get there. She didn’t want to believe that I’d do that to her. Her own son.
She had no idea it was her idea.
SMACK.
“Nine!”
“Wasn’t that embarrassing?” I asked, trying my best at a giggle. Like I’ve said before, I’m no actor, but it was good enough to fool Mom.
“Uh huh...” she said, her breath catching as my hand met her ass once more.
SMACK.
“Eleven!”
See what I mean? I can tell she’s getting close when she start losing numbers.
Although in this case, she might just have been distracted by what I was saying.
“Just, like, completely humiliating.”
“Yes...”
SMACK.
“Twelve!”
I think Mom’s “Yes” was intended to be warning. Like, trying to be the stern Mom I once knew her as.
That effect is kind of lost when you’re mostly-naked, bent over your son’s lap, happily letting him spank you to orgasm.
SMACK.
“Thirteeen!”
“So that’s going to be your punishment!” I said, delivering it like the punchline to a joke. “Isn’t that hilarious?”
SMACK.
“F-fifteen!”
“You’re going to suck my balls. God, I can’t wait to see your face.”
SMACK.
“Sixteen...oh! Oh!”
SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.
I kept raining down blows as my mother’s huffed and heaved her way through an intense orgasm. I swear, no matter how many times I see her cum—just from being spanked!—it never gets old. Her whole body shook as an orgasm ripped through it.
“Oooohhh...”
“That’s right, Mom,” I said, my hand moving faster. “Suck my balls. Suck your son’s balls!”
“Oh, god...”
This climax was definitely amplified by the knowledge that as she came, she was thinking about what we were about to do. About what I’d tested in the previous day’s hypothetical. About what had been running through her subconscious mind all day.
My mother was going to kneel down in front of me, lower my pants, and bring my hairy testicles into her mouth. I knew for a fact that the image was in both of our minds as she came.
It took her several minutes to calm down, but eventually she was back with me.
“C’mon Mom,” I said, gently sliding her off my lap. Before she knew what was happening, she was kneeling on the kitchen floor in front of me, that hazy post-orgasmic look in here eyes. “It’s time!”
I tried to maintain a prank-y, bro-y atmosphere as it happened. I tried not to act like this was a sexual fantasy come to life as my mother looked up at me, slightly dazed.
“D-Daniel...” she began, but I shook my head.
“C’mon, Mom. This is your punishment.”
She opened her mouth for a second, before closing it, resigned. I’d made it clear to her subconscious that if she didn’t do this, if she backed out at th elast minute, there was a worse punishment in store. Apparently that had filtered down (however these things work) to convince her that this wasn’t worth pushing back on.
That instead, she should just open her mouth and take her punishment.
I don’t think she wanted to want it. I think she wanted to be a good mother, a mother who takes care of her family, and puts her children above herself.
But deep down, she wanted to be spanked. She wanted to cum, night after night. She wanted to feel the powerful orgasms she’d denied herself for so long, even though it was me giving them to her. Her own son, her flesh and blood.
She didn’t want to want me, but she did. I’d given her countless orgasms, I’d unlocked a side of her she’d kept buried for most of her life. And so she couldn’t help herself—as wrong as it was, as sick and twisted and utterly fucked up, she’d found herself wanting me.
My mother had found herself wanting her son.
“Okay,” she said, staring intensely at the floor. “If this is what you think is best.”
I couldn’t help but grin smugly as Mom reached up and began unbuckling my jeans. Even if she’d looked up, I think I could have passed it off as a look of childish glee—not that there was anything childish about what we were about to do, despite the cartoon inspiration.
She didn’t say anything when my hard cock came into view. It’s probably not the first time Mom’s seen me erect—even little babies get hard-ons, did you know that? Super weird.
But it was definitely the first time as an adult. It was definitely her first time witnessing my, um, “full-size” member.
And believe me, the situation had me very full-size.
She didn’t say anything, not out loud. But her expression said everything. It was like she forgot that I could see her, or that she was my Mom. It was like she forgot that she was supposed to be the grown-up.
Instead, her eyes flared with lust as she stared at my cock.
It was, I realized later, the first erection she’d seen since my father’s. Like, I know she doesn’t watch porn, and she hasn’t slept with anyone since Dad. And I can’t work out where she would have ‘accidentally’ seen a dick—it’s not like she sits around watching HBO or anything.
So after more than a decade, mine was the first engorged male member she’d laid her eyes on. And based on her expression, she liked what she saw.
Neither of us said a word as Mom stared longingly at my dick. I would’ve given anything in that moment to know what was running through her mind. Was she imagining herself on top of me, riding my cock? Was she fantasizing about what it would be like to take my cock into her mouth, and give me the first blowjob she’d given since the dick that made me?
Or was she just admiring it? I’m not going to claim I’m porn-star size or anything like that—if I was, Cynthia would definitely have known something was up when I woke her up. But I think I’ve got a pretty nice member...not that I’ve got too much to compare it to.
But I didn’t know what Mom was thinking, and I didn’t know if I’d ever know. Mom clams up about the weirdest things when I put her under, and I completely expected this to be one of them.
She didn’t say anything, but she did stare. And stare. We stood there for a long time, my mother staring longingly at my boner, me not wanting to interrupt the moment.
For a second—just a second—I thought she was going to take it in her mouth. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part, or maybe she really was tempted and I’d picked up on some extremely subtle body language.
But just as soon as the thought appeared, it was gone, and it was like the spell was broken. Mom looked up at me guiltily, and I did my best to act like...y’know, we hadn’t just spent the beter part of a minute with my hard cock in her face.
“Go on,” I prompted, trying to sound nonchalant. “Five minutes, like we discussed.”
We hadn’t actually discussed a time, not while she was conscious. But Mom, if she even noticed, was too flustered to say anything. And so she leaned forward, and tentatively moved my testicle into her mouth.
I’d never gotten a blowjob before. Erin Murphy and I had never gotten this far, and while I’ve fucked my unconscious sister dozens—if not hundreds—of times in the past few weeks, she’d never given me head.
After the way she’d reacted to my cum in her mouth, I could probably try, but I don’t think getting a blowjob from someone who can’t move is going to be the best experience. I mean, especially when compared to...y’know, PIV intercourse.
Even when Cynthia is just a fuckdoll, it’s still pretty damn hot. I mean, people pay good money for those dolls, y’know?
And don’t get me wrong, I know that Mom sucking on my balls isn’t a blowjob. But fuck, it gave me some idea of what getting head would be like.
Her mouth was so soft, so warm. Her tongue was so gentle as it explored my scrotum, and she slowly, slowly worked her way up. I felt my cock throb as she licked my balls, and then her lips parted and she took my entire sack into her mouth.
Mom gently sucked, her tongue playing with my wrinkly skin. I could feel her breath on my shaft, and the sound of her sporadically swallowing, and it was like I was watching a porno. She was still topless, her nipples hard as rocks as her mouth explored my nutsack.
I had expected her to look away, to resolutely stare at the floor, or the ceiling, or anywhere that wasn’t me. But to my surprise, she kept eye contact the entire time, staring directly at me, her eyes filled with silent desire.
It was a mixed blessing, in a way. On one hand, it was hot as hell—so much of the most sexual time with my family has been while they’re unconscious; the main exception is Mom’s spankings, but the positioning means that she’s never looking at me while we do that.
So getting to look into Mom’s eyes as she literally drooled over my junk...it was awesome. I could see the raw longing in her eyes. It was like I was looking into her soul. I knew she was turned on, and I think she knew I knew, but neither of us were allowed to acknowledge it. All we could do was enjoy the moment; enjoy the taboo intimacy of Mom’s mouth on my sack.
On the other hand, with Mom staring at me, I felt like I needed to keep up the charade. Boyish prank, y’know? So as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t groan with pleasure, or let my eyes light up with lust like hers were. I had to keep on acting like this was normal, that it was nothing more than a joke.
Y’know, that classic joke where your topless mother sucks your balls after you’ve spanked her to orgasm.
I could feel her mouth widen, and she took my balls deeper into her mouth. I’d never thought of my testicles as a, like, erogenous zone, but they were sensitive enough that the sensation of Mom’s mouth on them was almost enough to make me cum.
I’d jerked off twice that day, because I knew that making me cum was crossing a line for Mom. And I mean, like, she was awake—it wasn’t like when she was under, where there was a threat of her coming to and realizing that I’d done stuff to her while she was under.
Everything she was doing, she’d done of her own accord. She was a conscious, grown-ass woman—I’m pretty sure that even if I’d cum, it wouldn’t’ve suddenly broken her brain. Like, that’s a pretty natural response to someone slobbering on your nutsack.
But I wasn’t completely sure. Maybe she would’ve suddenly broken (and not in a good way). Maybe she would’ve realized that what we were doing was wrong—not just the ball-sucking, but all of it. The nudity, the spankings, the punishment.
I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to risk it. Even the least-worrisome option, that she’d just never agree to do this again...why take that risk?
So I’d jerked off twice that morning. Now I stood there, an idiotic grin on my face as Mom lovingly, tenderly sucked my balls.
“Mom?” I asked, after God knows how long had passed. I hadn’t thought to set a timer, and I had my back to the clock: it could have been two minutes, it could have been twenty.
“Mmhmmm?” she mumbled, concentrating on bringing my ball sack as much pleasure as she could with her mouth. A few times I’d seen her hands twitch, like she wanted nothing more than to reach up and grab my cock, to pump it until I came all over her face, coated her with my cum as I had her daughter just a few days prior...
Not that she knew that, of course.
“That’s five minutes,” I lied. Or, y’know, accidentally told the truth. It was possible.
“Oh!” she said, leaning back. She blinked twice, and it was like the spell had broken. A surge of power ran up my spine as I realized: she’d truly lost herself in what she’d been doing. Sucking my balls, her face just centimeters from my erection. Mom had completely disconnected; she’d forgotten that I was her son, that this was supposed to be a punishment. She’d just lost herself in the moment, and now I’d brought her back to reality.
She flushed red as she realized how close she was to my boner. To her son’s boner.
“Pretty embarrassing, hey?” I said with a chuckle, and Mom nodded, immediately accepting the out. “Hey—maybe that’ll be the push you need to keep to your fitness regime.”
“I hope so,” she said shakily. We both knew it wouldn’t be, of course.
And we both knew how much Mom would be looking forward to doing it again.
The scene in front of me was hotter than the hottest dream I’d ever had. My sister was dressed in a tight pair of black panties and a tiny white tank-top, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. My Mom, in an inversion of the outfit she’d worn while sucking my balls for the first time, was wearing a bra and a short skirt, but no panties. They both had stockings on—Mom’s were black and sheer, the kind that you’d see on a secretary in a movie, whereas Cynthia’s were white, and matched her tank top.
I’d been making myself a sandwich for lunch when Cynthia had entered. It was never more than a few minutes from me leaving my room to my sister joining me; she was like a puppy sometimes, just happy to be around me.
“Hey sis,” I’d said casually, pretending not to notice her shiver of pleasure at my greeting. Just hearing me call her ‘sis’ was apparently enough to give Cynthia a sexual thrill.
“Hey,” she’d said in response, before falling to her knees in front of me. “Please,” she begged. “Please, Daniel, can you help me log back into my Facebook account? I’ll do anything you want, if you’ll just help. Please, I need you. God, I need you so bad...“
I let her go on for a few minutes before grumblingly agreeing to help. She gave me a thank-you hug (making sure to press her tits against me), before letting out a long, happy sigh.
As she stood there, watching me scroll through my phone as I ate, Mom entered. Without a word, she approached Cynthia, grabbing her ponytail and roughly forcing my sister’s mouth to hers.
I pretended to still be paying attention to my phone as the two women breathily made out, Mom reaching down to firmly grasp her daughter’s ass, Cynthia moving one leg between Mom’s legs to tease her naked pussy.
When they finally broke apart, Mom stared into Cynthia’s eyes.
“You’re disgusting,” she spat. “I’m not attracted to you at all. “
I managed to mask a chuckle at my mother’s overly-specific denial as she continued.
“No one is. You’re fat. Your tits are too big. Your stomach has stretch-marks. You’re past your prime, and no one will ever be attracted to you again.”
Subtly adjusting my erection, I continued watching out of my peripheral vision as Cynthia’s eyes filled with tears.
“Your cellulite is disgusting, your skin is wrinkly, and you’re not attractive. Dressing like that is just embarrassing; you should be ashamed.”
Mom paused; I could tell she was worried that she’d gone too far, but I’d made sure to emphasize how dangerous it would be if Cynthia suspected that she was attracted to her daughter, and so with a loud CRACK, she slapped the crying teenager across the face and left the room.
As soon as Mom left, I looked up, thrilled by what I saw.
Cynthia’s face was a mixture of deep emotional hurt...and intense arousal. Mom’s abusive words had cut her deep, but turned her on at the same time.
It was an expression I’d seen countless times before: on my mother. Whenever I spanked her, or whipped her, or tied her tits up until they were throbbing with pain, that was the look Mom had on her face.
Pain and pleasure. Pleasure and pain.
For Mom, it was physical. For Cynthia, it was emotional. I couldn’t decide which one I liked better.