Bitch Mother's Karma

byKIMCANCER3040©

Bitch Mother.

As the name suggests, my mother is a fucking bitch.

Everything she ever did or said to me was to put me down, criticize, castigate, humiliate.

Nothing was ever good enough for her. Nothing could dare attain her imprimatur.

She was like that to everyone. Everywhere. Always complaining, always angry, frowning, inimical...

I don't think I ever saw her smile or laugh about anything.

It's probably why my father came to his senses and ditched her, when I was a teenager and able to fend for myself somewhat.

And I didn't blame him for leaving. He'd always been a solid provider, hardworking, and while he wasn't around much, being a high-ranking corporate type, he did the best he could, gave us a big house, plenty of everything and took generous care of Bitch Mother in the divorce settlement.

Not like it appeared they were in love, my mom and dad, so it was no surprise when they split...

Since I can remember they'd looked miserable and distant. Our sporadic family gatherings a painful theater of cold shoulders and silent dinners.

But I could see why she married him, with his cash, and he, her, with her looks.

For as much of a fucking harridan cunt as my mother is, nature did bless her aesthetically.

With the sleek Russian features of her lineage, Bitch Mother was a true Siberian beauty...

5'10, long legs, a perky ass, creamy white skin, perfectly symmetrical oval face and big round crystal blue eyes, golden blond hair flowing to her picture-perfect hourglass waist; her figure basically flawless, especially her firm C-cup tits and taut belly.

Bitch Mother maintained it, too, into her middle age, becoming a fitness fanatic, in the gym every day, eating kale, fruits, veg, the California diet. Never drank or smoked, which might be why she was such a cunt. Not sure if in her 48 years she'd once touched a bottle...

I didn't really know much of her past, aside from her being a former professional swimsuit, runway, underwear model.

After marrying and having me, she went back to the modeling industry as a consultant for lingerie companies.

My introduction to the work of art that is the female body was seeing portfolios laying around in her office, sometimes our kitchen table, of models in skimpy lingerie, their slim bodies sparkling in stockings, garter belts, push-up, gossamer bras, thongs...

As a little kid I didn't understand it sexually, but knew I liked the images, their curves, shapes.

Coming of age, into puberty, I began to appreciate the female form in a deeper, more profound way, sometimes stealing and wacking off to the glossy glamour shots of leggy Euro 19 year-old exotic lovelies, imagining myself thrusting into them, nestled between their impossibly long satiny legs, their legs on my shoulders...

Bitch Mother once caught me in my bathroom, jerking off to a lingerie shot I'd stolen, and she slapped me across the face and kicked me in the gut...

It was the first of many times she would hit me, slap me, throw things at me, demonstrate her feral rage.

As a youngster I took it and obeyed, but part of me knew and awaited the fateful day I would have my ultimate revenge...

The beatings left me awkward around the opposite sex. They left the subconscious impression in me that gazing at and admiring the female form, femininity was wrong, immoral.

And while I continued to beat off, the internet and its plethora of flesh shots serving my budding needs, I found myself unable to talk with girls, being shy, nervous, intimidated around them, perhaps afraid on some subconscious level they'd lash out at me like Bitch Mother.

Not that I was a bad-looking guy, though. I'd grown to 6'2, with sapphire eyes, wavy brown hair, got cut, physically fit, and played sports, eventually overcoming my shyness around women, but I only fucked the sluttiest, easiest, nastiest ratchets. I had little patience for games or courtship.

I also found a calling to voyeurism. Voyeur porn being my favorite genre of smut.

I enjoyed upskirt shots, hidden cams, for a time I planted a spy cam in my college's female locker room and would beat off to the beaming images, think about the young pretties undressing while I bitch-fucked whatever current floozie.

In addition to voyeur, I also took a liking to incest porn, fetish. Mother/Son in particular.

And not the romantic, but aggressive, angry, often non-consensual. This undoubtedly attributable to, since my earliest sexual awakenings, my carnal lust for Bitch Mother, wanting to hate-fuck her, do all sorts of horrible perverted things to her.

I'd read many stories on the net of sons fucking their mothers, watch roleplay videos, even found and spanked off to underwear, swimsuit shots of my own, younger, Bitch Mother that I'd discovered online...

Never did I think I'd actually one day be playing out my definitive fantasy...

Oh, how things change...

I'd graduated college with a degree in Computer Science (unusual for a jock, I know, but I was somewhat of a nerd inside, and many of my college bros were also nerds), and shortly after graduation my bro and I sold an app we'd developed for college students and it made us rich.

I wasn't crazy stupid Facebook rich but was well-off and able to work part-time consulting gigs, buy a big high-rise luxury condo in South Beach and live an insanely chill life.

Bitch Mother, on the other hand, wasn't faring too well.

I'd heard through the grapevine that her consulting gigs had dried up, and she'd squandered most of the divorce settlement on antiques, shopping sprees, and poor investments.

Virtually broke, she was forced to sell the house in Coral Gables and was dismayed to discover that her equity in the property had shifted to me according to the inner-workings of the divorce agreement, which she'd obviously been too stupid or lazy to read thoroughly, and I was delighted to find a most hefty sum of cash transferred to my bank account after the sale.

The following day, while sipping a mojito, chilling on my balcony, watching the Atlantic Ocean sparkle in the hot noon sun, listening to "Girls" by Lil Peep, I received a most panicked phone call...

It was from Bitch Mother.

"Hello?"

"How fucking dare you?!" An accusatory voice shrieked, my headset's audio distorting...

"How dare I what?"

"You know what you did! You stole all my money!"

"I didn't steal anything. Like I needed to steal your money?"

For the first time in my life, I felt emboldened to stand up to her, and not prevaricate, back down...

It's not like she'd done anything for me in years. I'd not taken a cent from her or my father since I finished high school and went to Miami U on a full scholarship.

Hell, I'd not even spoken with Bitch Mother since I left for college. She'd never returned my holiday phone calls or anything since freshman year, and I'd instead spent holidays, vacations with my dad and his new family or my bros, their families.

"I've not even talked to you in years, mom. Now you call me all pissed off..."

"Give it back! You don't need it. I do."

"Nope. I don't think so. It'll be a nice buffer; the capital gains, I'll have to work out, but my accountant is pretty crafty, so I'm not worried..."

"Give it back! I'm your mother! You want me to live on the street?"

"Don't you have a friend or boyfriend or somewhere to go?"

"No... No, I don't..."

"You never had a boyfriend after dad left?"

"No, no I didn't..."

"No friends?"

"No, none. Modeling is a competitive business. Models don't have a lot of friends..."

"So what are you planning to do, mom?"

"Get a lawyer and sue you and your father!"

"How are you going to pay for that, exactly? Max out the credit cards you probably don't have anymore? You know dad and I have the best lawyers money can buy. You don't stand a chance in court."

The line went silent. She was breathing heavily, though, and whimpering.

It was the first time I'd heard her cry. And I must admit, after the beatings, criticism and malice towards me growing up, it felt good to hear her suffer, to see any emotion from her, really.

"I... I... I don't know what to do or where to go. I'm too old to work. I'll be out on the street. Please... help me..."

"I'm not a charity."

"Just send me something, so I can get on my feet..."

"And do what?"

"I don't know..."

A sudden flash of evil flitted in my mind. I'd never really hurt anyone, save for a few lame fistfights when I was a kid, but, now in a position of power, I began to feel dastardly, and the mouth of karma opened far and wide...

"Alright, I'll give you a job. You can work for me."

"Work for you? Doing what?"

"Anything I tell you. You'll be my servant. Mostly you'll wash my clothes, cook, clean my condo. You do that, for a year, and after the year is over, I give you back the money from the house, and, maybe, something extra, depending on how you perform..."

"You... You... You fucking piece of SHIT!" Bitch Mother screamed, her voice cracking...

Bitch Mother's fury was apparent. I highly doubted she'd anticipated such a turn of events.

"Okay, well I can just hang up then. Good luck to you, there, mom. Maybe you can come by or I'll visit you in the homeless shelter next Christmas. See ya!"

"No... WAIT! Don't hang up!!!"

I heard her sigh and then take a deep breath.

"Fine. But don't expect me to like it. And don't expect me to be able to cook or clean well. I've not cooked or cleaned ever. You know I always hired people for that..."

"There's YouTube videos for everything. You'll learn. And you'll do it well. If you want the money."

"Okay, but I want it in writing. A contract, signed, with a non-partisan lawyer present."

"That can be arranged. I can draw it up right now, and we sign it this afternoon. Come on over..."

Adrenaline rushed and my dick hardened with nothing but nasty, diabolical thoughts running through my head...

Bitch Mother arrived shortly after our phone call ended. She only had one off-white Chanel suitcase and matching handbag. I'm guessing she'd auctioned off everything else...

Upon meeting her at the doorway, she was obviously impressed by my high-rise condo's luxurious splendor.

She panned her gorgeous head around at the vaulted ceilings, minimalist furniture, marble floors, floor to wall panoramic windows and far-reaching views of the cerulean Atlantic sea.

I, in turn, marveled at her figure, which, in her late 40s, was as impeccable as ever. Her low-cut black blouse, long legs in dark sheer pantyhose and her tight-fitting thigh high beige leather skirt, her glorious round ass demanding my utmost attention.

"You've done well for yourself," she muttered, possibly the first compliment she'd paid me. Ever.

"I have. And you look great." I said, seductively, looking her over, shamelessly.

"Don't talk to me or look at me like that. I'm your mother! Don't be disgusting!" She snapped back in her usual Bitch Mother tone.

It was time to put an end to any abuse on her part. Once and for all. The mouth of karma had opened. It would not close.

I cocked back my right arm, and with a swift, fluid motion, smacked my mother upside the head.

Not very hard, not enough to cause immense physical pain, but enough to demonstrate my alpha, my dominance, and to let her know who was in charge. Who the boss and man of the house will be (and, of course, to avenge the lashings, slaps she'd administered to me growing up).

"Ahh!" she clutched her head and took a couple steps back, dropped her suitcase.

"I'll call the fucking police! You creep! What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

"Shut the fuck up, you bitch! You're my servant now! My fucking slave! I own you! You behave, you do what I tell you, and you don't get hit. You do what I say, you get treated well. I make the rules. I tell YOU what to do. Is that understood?"

"I'll... Fucking call the cops!" she was crying and hyperventilating. I don't think she'd been hit before by anyone, so it must have been quite the shock, her son doing it.

"The cops? You know I make charitable contributions every year to the Police Benevolent Association. Been to several of their fundraising dinners. I was hired to help construct the Miami Beach PD's homepage. I'm on a first name basis with the chief. Let's see how far you get with 'calling the cops'..."

"You monster!"

"Shut the fuck up! It's your last warning, bitch! Now, let's put all this behind us, be nice, sign the contract, and then you'll have an afternoon snack. You know you have no choice..."

She pursed her lips, probably again realizing her limited bargaining position. Taking a deep breath, her tone dramatically changed...

"Just... Don't hit me again... Please..."

It was fun to hear her beg. Her pleading a pleasant melody, music to soothe, mollify my inner demons.

"Come in and put your stuff in the bedroom. Then we'll go to the lawyer's office."

"The bedroom? You mean my bedroom..."

"No, MY bedroom."

"Your bedroom?"

"My bedroom."

"I don't understand... I should have my own room. Why would I stay in your bedroom? I am NOT sleeping on the floor or on a couch!"

"No, you're not sleeping on the floor or couch. You're sleeping in my bed. With me."

"What? Why? That's... Just weird... Why would I sleep in your bed? I need my own room. You have plenty of space here!"

"You don't get it, mom? Really? You're my slave. You're my bitch now. And you're going to sleep in my bed. And you're going to have sex with me. Whenever I want, whatever I want, you will do."

"Yuck! That is disgusting! What is wrong with you? Are you drunk? On drugs? Have you lost your fucking mind? You are a young, handsome, tall and rich man. You can have any girl you want! Why would you want to... ugh... do... that... with me? I am your mother!"

"That's why I want to do it. Because you are my mother. And it's twisted and fucked up. And hot. I've had an incest, Mom/Son fetish forever. And now I want to play it out, for real. If anything, you should take it as a compliment. I mean, look at you, you're smoking hot!"

"I used to be 'smoking hot.' I'm old, and you're sick. I should have never come here."

She crossed her arms, shook her head, and curled her upper lip. She certainly wasn't a happy camper.

"Fine, you can leave and go stay with your friends or boyfriend or, oh, I forgot, no one and live on the street... I'll pay for the Uber to Skid Row if you want..."

Realizing her place, lack of options, she succumbed, ceased her protestations.

"Don't expect me to enjoy any of this."

"You can expect I will be enjoying all of this..." I said, devilishly, with a shit-eating grin.

"Hrrmpph," she fumed as she picked up her suitcase and angrily stomped into the living room, and I pointed her in the direction of the master bedroom.

After she dropped off her things, we went out together, via helicopter cab, to the lawyer's office.

"Best way to avoid the traffic," I told her, as we looked down at the gridlock on the causeway and soon crossed over Star Island, with its multi-million-dollar yachts and mansions.

As we approached downtown Miami, we saw a pair of cigarette boats racing across Biscayne Bay, and try as she might to be nonchalant, I could tell she enjoyed the view of the skyline from the helicopter. I think I even saw her crack a slight smile when eyeing the latest glittering FRED Corp skyscraper on Brickell...

During the ride I also got cheeky and ran my hand along her thigh.

It was magnificent, too, so soft and smooth and succulent, clad in silk pantyhose. I couldn't wait to get her pantyhose off, to molest and truly own my new slave. My Bitch Mother.

Bitch Mother did nothing to stop me as I touched her, although she kept her face pointed away from me throughout the perpetuity of the helicopter ride...

When we landed at the helipad and rode the elevator down to the lawyer's office, Bitch Mother protested that she wanted a non-partisan, independent attorney and that she wanted us to pick one together, not have me choose the law firm.

"This lawyer is one of the best in Florida. He has no affiliation with me. I have drawn up the contract and terms and he will preside over the signing, answer any questions you have. This is the deal. Take it or leave it."

She didn't respond and so I took her silence as assent.

Sitting in the lawyer's office, looking at the contract laid over the mahogany table, Bitch Mother signed without any arguing after seeing the monetary amount, the lump sum she'd acquire.

However, she did wince upon the clause that read: "as well as cleaning, cooking, servant will comply to whatever demand, any or all, employer requests, implicit or non-implicit..."

The lawyer, a smug middle-aged, short, stocky, balding Cuban American, wearing an exquisitely tailored Armani suit and crocodile skin wingtips, made minimal eye contact throughout the signing, and Bitch Mother, after reading the contract carefully, signed and stood up to leave without saying a word.

It was a good thing she'd reverted to her maiden name, I thought, as I penned my signature, wondering what might be going through the lawyer's mind, having such an unusual request. But he'd probably seen much weirder, with all his rich clients...

Stepping into the hot and humid, 105 Fahrenheit, salty Miami air, we boarded the heli-cab, and I slapped Bitch Mother on her bubble-shaped ass, which elicited no reaction from her.

Throughout the return journey I felt up her thigh again and twirled her delicate, curly locks. Her sandalwood shampoo so fragrant, her golden hair so radiant...

Gazing out at the palm tree-lined avenues below, I whispered into my mother's ear: "You're going to suck my dick... My cum will be your afternoon snack..."

She didn't respond and remained silent until we touched down back at my building.

I'd ordered ingredients for dinner that night, which arrived shortly after we did.

Bitch Mother went to the bathroom to freshen up and then met me in the kitchen.

"Tonight, you're cooking roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. But first, you scrub the kitchen floor."

"But, it's not dirty."

"Shut the fuck up! I said clean it! What did I tell you about talking back!"

"What did I tell you about that?"

"I'm... Sorry."

I opened the cabinet below the kitchen sink, pulled out a large dish sponge, ran it under the faucet, wetting it down, and threw it at Bitch Mother. It landed in front of her stilettos...

"Take off your clothes. Drop to your knees."

"You're going to hell... You fucking monster..."

I extended my arm, fluttered my fingers, and clapped my hands together, loudly, demonstrating my dominance, letting her know what was coming if her recalcitrance continued unabated.

"Off with the clothes, bitch!"

Looking me dead on, staring at me, unflinchingly, she relented, took a deep breath, and pulled up and off the black blouse she wore.

She tossed it to the floor, and pushed down her beige skirt, kicked it off.

I was expecting her to undo and fling off the matching black silk bra and panties, pantyhose, but instead she stood there staring at me, like a deer in headlights, frozen.

"Bra, take it off..."

Keeping her eyes parallel to mine, she reached back, unhooked her bra, let it slide off her shoulders, hit the floor next to the rest of her clothes.

"Happy now?"

Ogling her luscious tits, I was. They were so perfect, round, firm, with pink pepperoni size areolae and pointy nipples that instantly shrank and hardened in the cool AC air...

"Fuck, you're beautiful. Your body is amazing."

"No, it's not. You're a pervert, wanting to see your mother like this."

"You're right, I am. If you weren't such a cunt to me, maybe we wouldn't be in this situation now. But we are. Remember, I own you, mom, and you have to do whatever I command. Say it to me, 'Your wish is my command.'"

"You creep..."

I held up my right hand and shook my wrist. I didn't need to elaborate.

"Your wish is my command," she murmured, halfheartedly.

"Louder, bitch!"

"Your wish is my command," she exclaimed, with slightly more enthusiasm, though it was still weak, forced.

"LOUDER! Like you mean it! Like you want that cash! Like you want MY DICK!"

"YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND!" she screamed, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

"On your knees. And from henceforth, you refer to me as 'Master.'"

"Ick..." she cringed, put her hands on her hips, rolled her eyes, and looked away.

"MASTER!" I yelled at her.

"Fine, Master!" she replied, threw up her arms, and dropped to her knees.

"You're going to suck my dick, mom, and I'm going to cum in your mouth, on your face, and on the floor, then you'll clean the floor, clean yourself, and cook our dinner, you fucking bitch!"

"I don't know how..." she muttered.

"What?"

"I don't know how! I never did... that..."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Geez, when was the last time you had sex?"

"With your father. Decades ago, before the divorce. We didn't do it much. I... I don't like sex. Never have. He and a boy in college were the only ones... So don't expect to fucking force-fuck me and have me like it!"

"I'll like it, though, fucking you..."

"I'm sure you will. You're sick."

"I'm horny now, too, looking at your tits. You're fucking hot, mom, and you can learn to suck dick. You'll learn, practice on me. I'm going to take your oral virginity. I'm going to sodomize your pretty little foul mouth..."

"You pig."

I broke out my cell phone and searched online for "how to give head" and found a well-put together video on a porn site, giving very precise, detailed, step-by-step instructions, showed it to my kneeling Bitch Mother, and made her practice the sucking motions on my finger.

Surprisingly, she picked up on it quickly, was working my finger like a pro, seemingly taking out her aggression on it...

Figuring she was ready, my heart beat faster and I pulled down my blue Armani sweatpants and red AX boxers, took my six-inch, pulsing hard, thick cock into my hand and grabbed a fistful of her soft curly hair, and impaled her gorgeous face onto my swollen dick.

She kept her eyes open, staring up, directly at me...

"Ohhh," I gasped and sighed. My mom's wet, hot/cold mouth engulfing, bobbing on my throbbing pipe.

My mom's lips were quite full and puffy and felt extra nice and smooth running along my shaft.

I pulled out every 10 seconds or so and smacked Bitch Mother across the face, playfully, with my dick, and rubbed it along her pouty lips...

"Lick it!" I commanded, and she obliged and tongued my cock from base to tip, which felt so amazing. I just couldn't believe it, getting a blowjob from my mother, in my kitchen.

After she ran her tongue over my dick, I stuck it back in her mouth and began viciously face-fucking her, my hands on her head, grabbing fistfuls of her curly hair, and I thrust my hips, plunging my cock as far down her throat as possible and I could hear her gagging...

"Ohhh, you're my bitch, mom, you're my bitch, my slave, my fucking cunt mother... Suck my dick, you fucking horrible bitch..."

"Rurrrrmmm" I could hear her gargling on her spit and the scintillas of pre-cum I injected into her slick, wet hot mouth...

A tingling went up my spine and I knew I would cum.

I, myself, hadn't fucked or even beat off in a few days, so I had a lot of juice in my balls, and what better way to spend it than shooting my load into my Bitch Mother's mouth!

The first shot rocketed up her throat and I pulled out, shot the next white rope of pearl jam at her angelic face, splashing, hitting her just below her cute button nose, and I finally jerked off the remaining shots onto the kitchen floor in front of her.

Bitch Mother forced herself to swallow my load and then clasped her hands over her face, gagging, dry heaving, and crying. I pulled up my underwear and sweatpants, picked up the sponge, and tossed it to her.

"Well done! Now clean up the floor, bitch! Afterwards, wash yourself up and prepare dinner..."

Bitch Mother collapsed to the floor, shaking and mewling.

I decided to change my approach, not wanting her to jump out the window or some shit. I didn't hate her that much. I was actually beginning to like her, really.

Hard to truly hate someone who let you face-fuck them and cum in their mouth...

"Listen, mom, I know it's weird, abnormal, whatever, but I'm a horny young guy, you're a hot mature lady, and I've always wanted you sexually. I've had this incest fetish for years... Let's make it fun. Maybe you'll enjoy it."

"It's disgusting!" she yelled, between sniffles and tears.

"Why? Why is it disgusting? I've got needs. You're taking care of them. Look, be nice, cook, clean, fuck, finish the contract. I'll be nice if you're nice. I promise."

"The cat's out of the bag. You already sucked me off. Later tonight, I'm going to fuck you. Maybe you'll like it. Maybe the other two guys you were with didn't do it right."

"Now get up, on your knees, and sponge up my cum from the floor."

"Okay..." she whimpered.

"Okay what?"

"Okay, Master..."

I patted her on the back, and she rose to her knees, bent over and scrubbed up my cum from the kitchen floor.

I admired her ripe round asscheeks in her black panties and watched them jiggle and sway as she cleaned up the floor. I couldn't wait to bang Bitch Mother from behind. Or lie on top of her, while she was face down, hover atop her and penetrate her from behind, feel her sweet ass below me...

Yup, that was it. That was how I'd fuck her later... Fun to be the arbiter of that...

I slapped Bitch Mother hard on the ass, told her "dinner at 7:30" and went back to the bedroom, rested in bed and played on my phone.

I watched a porn video or two, incest roleplay, and read a couple incest stories online, and, really, I couldn't believe it. I'd just face-fucked my mom and was going to stick my dick into her pussy later that night.

After she cooked me dinner, of course!

...

Bitch Mother returned from the kitchen, walked into the bedroom. She'd put her bra back on but had taken off her pantyhose and was only in her black Paradise silk frilly panties.

I admired her girlish walk, how her hips swayed, and she gave me a snooty look but said nothing and went into the bathroom.

I followed her in.

"What are you doing?" she implored, obviously perturbed I'd invaded her privacy.

"I want to watch you undress. Watch you shower."

By this time, she knew better than to talk back. After her face-fuck, she clearly knew the extent of her ownage.

Wordlessly, she undid and threw off her bra again. And I again marveled at her tits.

They were really a perfect pair.

"Are they real?" I asked, eying her boobs.

"All real," she replied, dutifully, her gaze averting mine.

"They're real and they're spectacular!" I cried out.

And something amazing happened. Bitch Mother laughed! For the first time in my life, I heard her laugh, and she smiled, too.

"You like Seinfeld?" I asked, smiling myself, but feeling awkward to have this breakthrough conversation upon watching my mom get undressed in the bathroom.

"Of course I do!"

"Really?"

"Really."

"But I never saw you laugh before or make a joke."

"You never saw me watch Seinfeld. Or It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. I laugh a lot at that show."

"Really?"

"Yup, and stand-up comedy, Joey Diaz, and especially Richard Pryor. I love everything he did."

"You were so cold... I had no idea you had a sense of humor..."

"It's not like you ever made the attempt to get to know me, Master," she emphasized "Master" rather sardonically.

"You were always beating me, putting me down."

"That's how my parents raised me. That's how Russian parents are... Didn't hurt me too much, becoming a professional model. Didn't hurt you either, developing that stupid app, basically retiring in your 20s."

"Stupid app?"

"You know it's stupid."

"But it made me rich."

"It did."

"And it got me you."

"It did. That and your father being a total shit."

"Haha, yeah, but you should have been nicer to him and me. Works both ways, missy."

"Do we really have to do this? You already had your way with me."

"Yes, we do. I still want to fuck you. I want that pussy, mom... I'm gonna fuck you."

"You are so awful."

"I know. So are you. Off with the panties. I want to see your pretty pink cunt."

"Speaking like that to your mother..."

"My stone-cold fox of a mother, yup."

"Alright then. Your wish is my command, Master..."

And with that, Bitch Mother yanked down and off her panties, revealing her forbidden cunt to me.

My jaw dropped. To my delight, her pussy was bald. Clearly waxed, too, not shaven.

Just how I like it.

"You wax?" I inquired, kneeling in front of her, gripping her juicy thighs and poking my head around her vagina, inspecting it.

"I had a hair removal procedure done, many years ago. Needed to for my bikini..."

Bitch Mother shut up when I buried my face into her pussy and licked alphabetic shapes on her tasty sweet clit...

"Ahh, ohh, you, stop that, I don't... I can't..."

I continued licking and sucked her clit into my mouth, nibbled on it and cupped, squeezed her tight velvet ass, released her swollen clit, slurped at it some more and circled, rubbed my stubbly face all over her pussy, and tickled and tongued her clit again until she couldn't hold back...

"I'm going to... Oww, owww, AHHHHHH!!!!"

Bitch Mother, clutched my head, ground her hips into me and twitched and quivered and creamed into my mouth. I sopped up every bit of bitch juice from her drooling clamshell, lapping up her musky, succulent cunt nectar.

"What... Why did you," she stammered as I got up and traced my finger from her thighs to her pussy to her tits.

"Because I felt like it."

It occurred to me that could have been her first orgasm in years.

Maybe ever.

"Take a shower. Then go cook us dinner." I commanded.

"Okay," she nodded, turned, and stepped into the RainShower.

I watched her naked ass ripple and looked forward to spreading her immaculate asscheeks apart later.

I stood and watched her, through the translucent curved glass sliding door. The piping hot water steaming, cascading down her curves. The bubbly soap on her satin, snow white skin.

She shot me furtive glances but seemed to have loosened up a lot after I ate her out. She had to have known how much I was getting off on watching her bathe.

I stood silently, watching, and massaged my cock and balls, as she lathered up in Qatari gold virgin honey soap, scrubbing it onto herself with my super soft London honeycomb sea sponge.

She looked back at me as she rubbed the honeycomb sponge southward, stopping at her pussy.

As we made eye contact, my cock, which had already stiffened up from eating her pussy, got even harder and I took off my sweatpants, went to the undermount sink and squirted coconut oil body lotion into my hand, and began to jerk off as Bitch Mother clamped harder at her pussy with the honeycomb sponge.

Under the sponge, I saw that her index finger was penetrating her pussyhole and I could hear her moaning.

I jerked back harder, and she picked up the pace, fingering herself furiously, using the sponge to massage her clit.

Her body convulsed, and she cried out loudly: "Yaaaa," and I could tell she'd cum again.

After she came, she quickly turned around, went back to washing herself, shampooed her hair, and kept her back to me the whole time.

Admiring her ass, I kept pounding my meat, and eventually let loose my own cum, as she bent over to wash her feet.

I let the cum stay on the marble floor, pulled up my sweatpants, and returned to the bedroom.

Little by little, contrary to my presuppositions, Bitch Mother was opening up. My slave was behaving quite well...

She emerged from the bathroom in one of my white baroque Versace bathrobes and strutted over to her suitcase, got dressed. Again, I had another voyeuristic thrill, watching her disrobe, dress.

She changed into a simple pair of navy-blue Dior cotton sweatpants and a matching blue tight silk Hermes v-shirt.

She wore no underwear.

Although simple attire, she effortlessly made it fabulous and impossibly sexy.

"Go make dinner," I told her, as she slipped into a pair of grey wool socks.

"I don't know how to cook. Don't expect it to taste good."

"The instructions are included. Plus, there's a link to a video."

"What if I burn down your condo?"

"I've got insurance. Fuck it. Just don't kill us."

"I don't even know how to turn on the oven."

"You didn't know how to suck dick, either, or have an orgasm, and you learned both of those skills. Now you learn how to cook. Even a fucktard like you can make a simple meal like that. Everything is in the fridge. Go figure it out, bitch."

"So romantic, you are..."

"What?" I got up, pissed off, ready to slap her again upside the head.

"Your wish is my command, Master," she said, this time without the sardonic tone, and she scurried off to the kitchen, without further insolence.

I played on my phone and read another incest story, this one about a mom riding on her son's lap during a bumpy car ride and the cheeky bastard of a son slipping his dick up into his mom's pussy, underneath her skirt, while his dad drove the car.

It was an apocryphal tale, sure, but fucking steamy!

Yup, I might have to try that with Bitch Mother, I pondered. Smash her in a heli-cab, her in my lap, flying out over the city or along the coast.

I wondered what the mom in the story's pussy felt like. I wondered what my mom's pussyhole would be like on my dick... Hopefully comparable to her mouth...

If her pussy wasn't good enough, I figured I'd fuck her up the ass. Since she's mine, I can do whatever I want to her... I'd fucked a couple ratchet skanks up the ass before and quite enjoyed it. Virgin tight every time.

Bitch Mother's sweet ass was begging for a sticking too... What a yummy ass indeed...

Speaking of yummy, I could smell the chicken roasting. Very succulent, the aroma. I guess Bitch Mother wasn't as incompetent as she thought.

I heard her yell something from the kitchen and figured it must mean dinner was ready, so I went in and saw that she'd done everything perfectly, the spread immaculate, even lit candles and dimmed the lights.

"Wow, mom, this is fantastic. See, even a fucktard like you can make a meal these days. Blessed internet!"

"If it doesn't sicken you, you can thank me after."

I paused for a second, wondering if Bitch Mother had poisoned it. Nah, I thought, she wasn't that sophisticated or malicious. At least I hoped not. Nonetheless, I'd let her take the first bite...

We sat on far opposite ends of the bleached oak dinner table and ate in silence. My few attempts at conversation didn't get too far so I had Alexa play soft classical music, Debussy, to lighten the mood.

"The chicken is juicy and tasty, mom. You sure you never cooked?"

"Runway models don't cook."

It amazed me how much of her identity was wrapped up into modeling, even though she'd not done it in years.

"Why don't you have any friends, mom?" I asked, figuring small talk wasn't going anywhere, and I might as well pry at her a bit.

"Everyone in the fashion industry uses each other. Hates each other. I have friends, but I hate them, and they hate me."

"Do you hate me?"

"Yes, sometimes. If you were never born, I could have worked longer, had a better career. I wish I didn't have you, but, like you say, 'The cat's out of the bag.'"

"Thanks, mom."

"But, I must admit, you did well for yourself. You went to college, on a full scholarship, made a mint off a stupid app, and, besides molesting your mother and being a disgusting pervert, you are a successful and handsome young man. I mean, you could have been a serial killer, worked for the IRS, been a politician or a telemarketer... You're somewhat redeemable."

"Somewhat redeemable. The kindest words I ever got from you."

"Don't expect any more."

"I won't."

We finished off dinner and Bitch Mother was about to simply get up and walk away from the table.

"Where do you think you're going?" I yelled at her.

"I'm not sure. To the sofa, maybe watch TV." She appeared surprised and oblivious to having forgotten one of her most important tasks.

"You have to wash the dishes. That's part of the bargain. Pick up these dishes, clean the pots and pans. Spic and span."

She rolled her eyes, grunted, and cleared the table. I sat as she gathered my dishes and whapped a playful slap on her healthy ass.

Peering over to the kitchen, I could see she didn't know how to properly wash dishes, so I brought one of my tablets in there, showed her a "how to do dishes, wash up" video and sauntered over to the crocodile skin leather sectional sofa in the living room, flopped down and flicked on my 152 inch plasma, wall-mounted TV.

Bitch Mother came and joined me shortly after.

"I fucking hate you," she seethed and sat next to me.

"Feeling's mutual," I shot back. "Let's watch Seinfeld."

"Let's..."

I had the whole series downloaded and surfed to the one about the masturbation contest (who could go the longest without masturbating).

"How often do you masturbate, mom?"

"Never."

"Never?"

"Never. I don't like sex."

"Why did you even marry my dad?"

"He had money. Models don't have long careers. He was a good back up plan."

"You didn't love him?"

"No. I didn't even like him. He was boring. I was his trophy wife. He had the money. It's that simple."

"And you never had anyone after him?"

"No."

"Never masturbated? Had a vibrator?"

"You are so disgusting. No, I did not. Why would you want to know that about your mother?"

"Because my mother is red hot, that's why..."

"I'm old."

"Mature."

"Old."

"Cougar."

"I am not a cougar. If I ever dated again, which I won't, it would be an established, worldly, sophisticated George Clooney type man, not a young, animalistic sex addict like you or your ilk."

"You were having fun in the shower there, though."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe a little. I got carried away. No one did what you did to me in there. It was..."

"It was what?"

"It was nice, okay? You depraved fucking pervert! Are you happy to hear me say it?"

"I am, yes."

"This is disgusting. I should have never let you do that. It was gross."

"Gross and fun."

"Gross."

"It's getting late. Let's go to bed."

"I'm going to sleep here, on the couch."

"No, you're not. You're coming to bed with me."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"I am your mother."

"So?"

"So, I should sleep on the couch."

"Nope, you're sleeping with me. In my bed."

"Can I just clean and cook? We can do like in the bathroom... You can touch me, just like that..."

"Nope. We're going all the way. I want to see what it feels like inside you. I want to know what it's like to fuck my mother. Return to where I came from..."

"You're not going to let up, are you?"

"Nope. So get up and get ready for bed."

Bitch Mother sat still on the sofa. I considered picking her up and carrying her into the bedroom but decided on an alternate strategy. A strategy that men have been using for centuries to loosen frigid females up and pry their legs open.

"How about a nightcap?"

I ambled over to the liquor cabinet, popped open a crystal-cut glass decanter of 28-year-old single malt scotch, and poured out a couple tumblers.

"You have exquisite taste in scotch. I'll give you that."

"Another compliment! Amazing!"

"Scotch like this will get you points, yes."

"I didn't know you like scotch. I never saw you drink..."

"I don't drink."

We sipped scotch and surfed around the TV, eventually finding a Key & Peele sketch about a substitute teacher that had us both in stitches. I'd never seen or heard Bitch Mother laugh so loudly.

The liquor and comedy really took the edge off her.

"Come on, let's call it a night," I said, gently, to her and I extended my hand to help her up from the sofa. I guess she really didn't drink because the scotch had gone straight to her head.

"Ermph," she acceded, and let me pull her up and we held hands, walked together to the bedroom.

Alexa clicked off the TV and lights behind us...

In the bedroom, she dove into my king size majesty Vispring bed and ducked under the combed cotton sheets and ostrich feather blanket.

I went to the bathroom, washed my face, brushed and flossed, and came out to see her clothes in a pile next to the bed. It was a pleasant surprise.

I myself undressed and climbed into bed.

"So..."

"So..."

"Come here, mom..."

"You pervert."

"You bitch."

I inched over, and wrapped my arms around her soft, warm body and pecked her on the lips.

She turned away, flipped over, lay face down.

It was almost as if she'd read my mind...

I got atop her, and my dick pressed against her smooth, hot asscrack.

I got erect, quickly, and began to gyrate, saw my dick along her warm crease.

"You like that?" I whispered into her ear, pushed aside her golden locks, and ran my tongue along her ear lobe, nibbled at it...

"Ooohh..." she cooed, and uplifted her ass, rocked it back at my hard dick. Despite her outwardly cold demeanor, she was clearly enjoying our dirty little dance.

"You like it..." I whispered again.

"I hate you..." she shot back and reached around, grabbed my cock and caressed it, pulled on it. Her hand on it drove me wild. It was finally time.

Time to fuck Bitch Mother.

It didn't take much initiative on my part, though, as she guided my cock to her pussy and I thrust and slipped it through her labia, into her soaking wet, warm vaginal opening; her pussy making a slight squishing sound as I entered it...

Bitch Mother's pussy was tight and small and stretched out to meet my size as I pumped slowly, lay atop her, hovering over her, sucking and kissing on her neck, fucking her slowly, purposefully.

She groaned and bucked her hips back at me; the tender meaty flesh of her bubble ass clapping up at my pelvis.

Here I was, finally fucking my Bitch Mother.

It was bliss.

Her smell, her sultry sounds, the whimpers and moans she made as I plowed into her.

"So this is what you wanted?" she mumbled, breathily...

"Yes, oh, oh, yes..." I replied, my cock buried to the hilt, deep up her simmering cunt...

Fuck, it was amazing in her, incredible to be living out my darkest fantasy...

"Ahhh, ahhh, ooohhhh, ahhhh..." she purred and finally craned her neck around, looked intensely into my eyes, and we locked lips and French-kissed.

She didn't kiss well, at first, just sort of stuck her tongue in clumsily, but the sensation of kissing my mother, tongue to tongue, was unbelievably hot, and I led the way, kissing, spiraling my tongue, playfully exploring, lightly contacting hers.

She picked up quickly, and we found a perfect rhythm.

We must have kissed for a good minute or two, and I pulled my prick out, flipped her over, grabbed her long tremendously sexy legs and wrapped them over my shoulders, mounted her, stabbed my cock back up into her hot slippery pussy, put her in the "buck" and began to fuck her. Hard. Miami style...

I sucked on her tits and slammed in and out of her, deep strokes, filling her up and rocking her body.

Her pussy was magnificent. I loved the feel of her bald mount, plane pussy lips. It was soooo smooth, sizzling hot, soggy and tight.

She screamed out nonsensical utterings and creamed as she came, again and again, taking the dick like a champ. Years of repression letting loose, evaporating, oozing out in awesome waves.

We kissed again, and she bit down on my lip. Then released her bite and implored me: "Cum inside me... I want you to cum inside me..."

I cupped her tits and squeezed them. I wasn't quite ready to cum yet.

I withdrew, lay down, sat up in bed, and hoisted up Bitch Mother and angled her to sit on my dick, ride me reverse cowgirl.

She was awkward at first, but swiftly got the hang of it, and bobbed her beautiful ass and sank her tight raw pussy over my dick, engulfing it to the base, pushing, springing, jauntily riding me, like a horse in the rodeo, as I rotated between playing with her tits, rubbing her clit, and even stealing a finger up into her luscious little puckered asshole.

The time had come, to cum, and I whispered into Bitch Mother's ear: "So you want me to cum in you?"

"Yes!!!!! IIIIINSIDE MEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" she exclaimed, in breathy shouts...

"Owwwww...." I yelled and fired my load right up inside my mother's hot pussy, mixing our taboo juices together.

I came so much that after I finished, and she got up, exasperated, off my dick, her pussy was a true creampie, leaking gobs of cum...

Bitch Mother, panting, lay next to me, and we sat quietly for a while, the gravity of our unholy union sinking into our collective psyche.

"So..." I said, after a long silence...

"So..." Bitch Mother replied.

"Don't worry, I had my tubes tied... I won't be pregnant."

"Okay..."

"Do you still hate sex?"

"I don't know..."

"Do you still hate me?"

"Yes."

"I hate you too."

We kissed again, this time a short but erotic French kiss, and Bitch Mother went to the bathroom to wash up. She returned, got under the sheets, and lay on the far opposite side of the bed.

Shortly after, I closed my eyes and passed out.

That night I dreamt that Bitch Mother had blossomed into a different person, was possessed by a new soul. She was smiling, happy, kind, funny, effeminate, maternal, caring...

We no longer fucked. We had sex. We went on dates (in other cities, places, of course, where no one knew us) and after her "contract" finished, she stayed with me, acting as my maid, cook, companion and lover.

And even after I eventually got married, had kids, she stayed living with us, and occasionally, until the end of her days, we'd sneak weekends, quickies in here and there.

Like Cher, Christie Brinkley and Madonna, she remained impossibly hot into her golden years...

But...

When I woke up the next morning, Bitch Mother and her suitcase were gone.

She'd left no note, sent no text, wouldn't answer her phone.

She had completely ghosted me.

In the days following her abrupt departure, I experienced ever-increasing twinges of guilt, psychic pain over how I'd treated her, taken advantage of her in her worst moment.

Sure, in a myriad of ways she'd deserved it, but was it worse than how she'd treated me growing up? I don't know...

Whatever it was, I decided to make it right, and transferred her the cash from the house, plus a little extra.

I received no thank you or even an acknowledgement of my conciliatory gesture.

However, I forgave her and hoped she'd forgiven me.

Because the mouth of karma dictates that most everyone deserves forgiveness.

Even certain perverts. Even a Bitch Mother.