Family (s&m incest)
Chapter1 by Kay
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David was sitting at one end of the sofa with his feet crossed on the hassock.
He was reading the morning paper at three in the afternoon and listening to some
string concerto on the stereo. Schubert, I think. I was at the opposite end of
the sofa with my bare feet curled under me and an unread book in my lap. The
concerto stopped and David folded his paper over a couple of times and tossed it
on the floor. He looked at me and held my eyes for maybe twenty seconds without
saying anything. I got the usual excited feeling in my tummy as tension mounted.
Then David smiled gently, snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor beside
the hassock. I immediately slipped off the sofa and knelt where he had pointed.
As I was trained to do, I kneeled at attention, knees together and my fingers
laced behind my neck. I bent my elbows back so that they were on a straight line
with my head. Also, I sucked in my tummy and this made my slightly aging breasts
thrust forward.
Ten seconds before I was David s girl friend and lover. Now I was his slave and
prepared to do anything he desired, no matter how painful or humiliating. Ten
seconds before I was edgy and nervous. Now I was at peace and content.
David snapped his fingers at me again and touched his shirt collar. This was
another silent command that I was trained to obey immediately. My hands sped to
the buttons of my blouse. I took it off and laid it neatly beside me. I reached
behind my back and unhooked my bra and shrugged that off. A quick snap, zip and
tug and I had my shorts and panties at my knees. I lifted one knee then the
other while removing the shorts and panties from my legs, put my hands back to
my neck and I was naked before my master as he looked carefully at me, the
slight smile still on his lips. No matter how many times I went through this
routine I still felt a tingly excitement in my tummy and between my legs as I
bared myself before him.
Another snap of the fingers and this time my master made a whipping motion with
his a hand, a signal that I was to crawl up the stairs to my bedroom and pick up
my whip with my teeth. I then crawled back to my master, carrying the whip in my
mouth, and dropped it at his feet. Master had three different instruments for
beating me and an accompanying hand motion to fetch each one. Although he
usually chose the whip, I also had a wooden paddle and a long, springy switch.
Each tool had its own unique pain. I can t say that I preferred one over the
others. They all hurt like hell. The whip had a leather handle about the same
size as Master's hand. From the handle three strips of leather hung, each about
three feet long. Each strip left and individual welt on my naked skin. Although
the welts looked worse than they felt the whip still hurt. Hurt like hell.
After I delivered the whip to my master s feet he verbalized his next command to
me.
In the middle of the room, Slut, and prepare for a whipping.
Calling me Slut was not an derogatory form of address. It is simply my name
when I m a slave. In fact, it is usually the way in which I know if I m to be a
slave or not. If master calls me Kay, I know that I m an ordinary person. When
he calls me Slut, I m a slave.
I crawled to the center of the room and assumed the position for a whipping. I
stayed on my knees but spread them about a foot apart. Then I dropped to my
elbows and pressed my forehead to the carpet. This left my cunt and asshole
prominent for Master s visual enjoyment. More to the point, it left my
vulnerable ass up in the air to be whipped.
Master picked the whip up and strolled to my side. He gently dangled the whip
over my exposed sex and asshole increasing my excitement and fear. Then the pain
began. The whip seared across my naked body, leaving stripes on my back and over
the two stretched globes of my ass. He whipped the backs of my thighs, my
calves and even my upturned soles. My breathing grew ragged and I emitted
incomprehensible grunts as the lash bit into my body.
And then it was over. Master dropped the whip to the floor, started another CD
on the stereo and returned to his paper. Until I was commanded otherwise, I was
to remain in the middle of the floor while the entire length of my back, from my
shoulders to my toes, burned with a hot intense pain. As the pain subsided into
a dull throb my mind returned to the time that Master and I entered this
relationship of Master and slave.
* * * *
I first met David about two years ago at the party of a mutual friend. I
attended without my husband, Paul, which wasn t unusual. Paul was a painfully
shy individual who was incapable of participating in any kind of social
function. This didn t bother me overly much since I m not a particularly social
person myself. But, occasionally, I had the need to get out. Since David had
also arrived at the party alone, our hostess paired us up so that she wouldn t
have to worry about embarrassing wallflowers cluttering up her party. David and
I had a mutual interest in art and this kept the discussion moving for most of
the evening. We enjoyed each other s company and we agreed to meet at the art
museum the following week for lunch.
For the next year the two of us met about twice a month at the art museum. We
had lunch and toured the galleries. It was nothing romantic. We were just
friends with a mutual interest who enjoyed each other s company. It could have
become romantic except for the fact that I was married to Paul and had some old
fashion attitudes about loving, honoring and obeying.
David was not married. He was wealthy enough that he did not need a job. He
spent his time reading, writing, painting and thoroughly enjoying himself. We
were the same age (thirty-eight at the time) and both reasonably attractive
individuals. And yes, David was (is) a very strong personality and he is used to
having his own way. Always.
I, on the other hand, am not a particularly strong individual.
Unfortunately, this was the basis of the marital unhappiness between Paul and
myself. Although Paul was very intelligent and capable of providing his family
with a very comfortable income, he was not a take-charge type of person. He left
all the family decisions to me and, quite honestly, I didn t want to make them.
You can begin to see how I got to where I was, kneeling, with my naked burning
ass cooling in the breeze.
Paul and I did manage to raise two wonderful children, Kevin, who is twenty and
a sophomore in college, and Erin, who is a year younger and a freshman at the
same school. I felt sorry for the children as we were raising them because it
seemed like they needed a stronger male figure. Kevin is bright, attractive
(although slightly effeminate) and a wonderful, quiet young man. Erin is also
bright, attractive (quite feminine), wonderful and not so quiet. In fact,
sometimes she can be downright bitchy.
About a year ago Kevin found his father in the garage with the car running. The
poor man had committed suicide. The note that he left for me said that I d be
happier without him. The pop-psychiatrists would say that Paul wanted me to feel
guilty and that may have been the case. But it didn t work. Paul was right. We
were all happier without him.
* * * *
My thoughts were interrupted by the familiar sound of snapping fingers. I lifted
my head slightly from the carpet to see my Master standing before me making the
motion with his hand that indicated the switch. Without hesitation, I crawled on
my hands and knees to the bedroom and picked the switch up in my mouth. The
switch is about four feet long, quite narrow and made of a tough, springy wood.
Before, when I said that I didn t prefer any particular instrument that Master
used to beat me, I lied. I definitely preferred the whip to the switch. The
switch left a more intense pain that lasted longer. I hadn t been beaten in a
week and Master evidently thought that I was overdue. Also, my children were
coming home for summer vacation the following day. Maybe Master didn t think
that he d have as much opportunity to beat me with them at home.
Again, I dropped the instrument of my torture at his feet and assumed the
position to be beaten. But that wasn t what Master had in mind.
To the wall, Slut. Stand three feet away, hands on the wall.
I complied. Sometimes Master preferred me in this position when using the switch
or paddle. The position left may ass cheeks more fleshy, less taut. The switch
was usually reserved for my ass and upper thighs.
I heard a familiar whistling sound and my bottom screamed in pain.
Thank you Master. May I please have another? I managed to say.
This was standard practice for the switch and paddle but not the whip.
Whistle. Smack!
Thank you Master. May I please have another?
Whistle. Smack!
Thank you Master. May I please have another?
Twelve more times! I burned, absolutely burned, from the top of my crack to the
back of my knees. This was definitely worse that the whip.
My Master dropped his shorts then and fucked me from the back.
Long, hard strokes that increased in intensity and had me gyrating like a wanton
whore. God, I loved it! The pain, the submission, the sex. I loved it all.
When he was satisfied Master left me standing with my hands against the wall, my
ass ten different shades of red and my cunt dripping. He wandered off to the
kitchen or the bath or some damn place and I waited. I was at peace. Painful,
blissful, peace.
* * * *
David and I saw more of each other after Paul s suicide. Within a month we were
lovers. The defining moment in our relationship came one month after that. The
kids were at college and David and I were in my living room making small talk.
You seem pensive, today, Kay. Some thing the matter? asked David
There was nothing the matter, really. The other day we were at the beach and I
was admiring some of the young healthy bodies. For some insane reason that made
me feel unfaithful to David. I knew it was dumb, but you can t always control
your dumb feelings. I tried to explain all this to David and I think that he
understood. Then he made an interesting comment. It s too bad you re not
Catholic, he said. I asked him why. If you were Catholic, you could confess
your sins to the priest, he would prescribe some kind of penance and you would
be guilt free. I m not Catholic, either, he continued, but if that s the way
it works it sure sounds good to me.
I smiled and thought about what he said. Okay, David. I ll buy it. You re the
priest. I m ready to confess.
Better watch yourself, he laughed. I might be a little be more strict than
your parish priest.
Forgive me, David, for I have sinned. I thought that I heard something like
that in and old Bing Crosby movie, or something. I continued with my confession
to see how this penance worked out. I found the thought of paying penance at
David s instruction somehow erotic. But I was new at this. I d learn. Boy, how I
d learn.
Last week when we were at the beach, I admired the men and women playing volley
ball. I imagined how they would look if they were all naked. It excited me. That
was my sin.
Kay, said David, you have a dirty, filthy mind. You are to get ten with the
belt across your naked bottom. Take off your clothes. His voice had changed a
bit. It was always quiet but strong and forceful. Now it took on an even more
commanding aspect. I felt as if I had to obey. I stood and removed my clothes.
This was not unusual. David and I were lovers. But it was quite sexy knowing
that I had to do it (I pretended that I had to do it) and that I was going to
receive a beating. I was wet. I was enjoying this.
Bend over and grab your shins. I did. I felt so exposed. David stood and
removed his belt. It snaked over my ass with a sharp pain that made me wince.
Nine more and I was shaking like a leaf. I held my bent over position until
David took my arm and helped me stand. We embraced. He took off his clothes and
we made love with a passion that I had never before experienced. And I had
experienced some pretty passionate sex.
The following day I confessed more and greater sins. I even made some up. More
pain. More passionate love. More inner peace. I don t know why, but it seemed
like I was more content. Maybe there was something to this penance thing. Or
maybe I m just a screwed up, middle-aged lady and this is what I d always
needed. Who knows. Who cares. I m happy and that s what counts.
The penance game evolved to the point where we are now. When David wants, we
become Master and slave, with all of the various rules that we ve (David)
devised. We don t do it frequently. Maybe once or twice a month. When we do play
the game it may last from one to several days. During that time I am always
naked, I m frequently beaten, and I serve Master in any way that he commands. We
ve agreed that I have the right to back out any time but I ve never had that
desire.
I don t know how the game will continue to evolve. I haven t thought about it
and we haven t talked about. But for some reason, I think that David knows
exactly where it s going.
