BDSM Library - My Mother is an Internet Sex Slave!

Part 1: The beginning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* - * - * - * - *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* - * - * - * - *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* - * - * - * - *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* - * - * - * - *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PrinceZak, master of slavefifi's unenviable fate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

slavefifi – this slave deserves every humiliation she gets.

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

Just then the phone rang. It was my mother.

Part 2: The Middle

"Andrew? Sir? You've seen the post on the group?" She sounded as if she was crying.

"Just now, er, fifi." Of course. Phoebe Phipple = fifi, Ike = Isaac = Zak. How could I be so dense?

"Prince Zak has told me to invite you round this evening for some explanations and the apology you're due," she drew a deep breath and sobbed audibly, "Sir."

"Look, Mother, this is terrible. You don't have to go through with this. It's too much to ask anyone. You don't need to call me 'Sir' or apologise to me."

"Yes I do, Andrew. Sir." She emphasised the honorific without sobbing this time and without any disrespect in her tone. "Mrs Phoebe Phipple's relationship with her son Andrew isn't what matters here. All that matters is that slavefifi has been extremely disrespectful to a member of the group. And she gets punished and humiliated by having to apologise personally." She may not have been sobbing but she was a little hysterical and her voice was getting higher and thinner. "I signed a contract with my Master, Andrew. Please, come round for your apology and let us explain, Sir."

I reckoned I'd better agree before she slipped into third person and asked for its Master to punish it for not persuading me to come round. "Okay, Mum, er, fifi. I'll be there in about half an hour. Tell Ike, er, Zak."

"Yes, Sir."

I hung up. I got a bit of a wash and brushed my hair. When I saw myself in the mirror I looked red and sweaty. I don't think I had ever blushed that deeply before. You go white when you feel faint, don't you? Not me, not this time. I stood there for an age just looking at myself. Who was I? I was the guy who suggested that his mother have to explicitly offer the use of the three entrances of her body to every man she met for a week! And was frustrated when the suggestion was rejected! I was the guy whose computer had a picture of his own mother naked and pissing in a flowerbed as desktop background there on the screen right now!

I couldn't even remember off-hand how to change the background. I closed the computer down, put my jacket on and ran for the bus. It was on time, so everyone on the bus saw me running. It explained the red face and the sweating. I hoped.

I sat on the bus still mentally kicking myself. In the balls. I remembered months ago deciding to stop using the internet before I hurt someone. I knew that wouldn't work then and nothing had changed. I remembered Adriana too. Beautiful, Swedish, and strangely unsatisfying. I recalled her sucking my cock and how disappointing it was. But as soon as I imagined taking control, gripping her hair and forcing her to take it deep into her throat, I had a bigger erection than I had had on public transport since I was 14. I would have to calm down to get off the bus. I thought about the lamp-posts on the banks of the Seine looking exactly as I expected them to look. It worked after a fashion.

* - * - * - * - *

I had my keys in my hand about to let myself in, when I realised I could have turned up without warning them and used my key at any time since Ike had moved in. Who knows what I might have walked in on? I hadn't actually done it, though. I guess Mother had me well-trained. Nagging works sometimes.

They were expecting me this time. I opened the door and called out, "Hello?"

"In the lounge." Ike shouted, "Come through."

I hung my jacket up and went through to the back of the house. Their lounge is large with a big picture window and a glass door opening onto the decking overlooking the garden. Ike was sat in the big armchair. Mother … rather, fifi stood close to the window facing the garden. She had her arms folded behind her back, fastened together with a leather arm-binder, and wore nothing else but her collar and a blindfold. The glass door was open beside her. She had been severely caned on the buttocks and there were some raw welts on the edge of bleeding. By now it was late enough that they had the wall lights on, and I could make out two blurred reflections of her breasts in the double-glazed window, marked from the punishment she'd exhibited in the photo attached to her posting earlier that evening. Her nipple rings glinted.

"Sit down, Andrew, make yourself at home." Ike seemed a bit uncomfortable too. He was wearing leather trousers and a sort of loose leather waistcoat. It was unfastened to show off his hairy chest. The hair on his chest was darker than the very short hair on his head, darker even than his moustache. I knew otherwise, of course, but to me he looked gay. I didn't see the leather hat till later, or I would have been really confused. I sat on the sofa.

"fifi, come here." She turned and walked towards him, fairly accurately considering the blindfold. "Turn around." She did. I was trying not to look at her shaven genitals with their five rings. Or at her nipples. Her blindfold had the word 'disobedient' written on it. Ike unfastened the arm-binder and said "down". She knelt with surprising grace – I guess she had been trained –and he removed the blindfold. "I will have a brandy and soda. Ask Andrew what he wants. You will have orange squash, weak."

"Yes, Master." She stood, turned to me and curtseyed. Her movements were studied and composed, but she was blushing to below her navel. "Would you like a drink, Sir? And perhaps some snacks?" Whenever I went to my Mother's house in the evening she offered me crisps or corn balls or mini-pizzas or some other thing full of fat, salt, and calories and totally non-filling. Obviously, fifi really was the same woman.

"Just a beer, thanks." She made eye-contact with me and gave a very tiny shake of her head. She was criticising me for thanking her. I remembered a long essay of a post from her about how it was unnecessary to thank a slave. I wasn't sure that she was allowed to make eye-contact and I almost said as much, but thought it would just get her into more trouble. I had to say something though. As she went to get the drinks I waved vaguely in the direction of her striped buttocks. "Another punishment?"

Ike held up the blindfold with the word 'disobedient'. "She's not been in this trouble for two hours and she's already defied punishment number one. DDDevilEyes spotted it, he's very observant that kid. In that post she was supposed to call herself 'it', but her signature said 'she'. He suggested I should cane her arse daily until further notice for that and I had to agree with him. We started tonight." He sighed. "She really hasn't been in anything like this kind of shit before but she is determined to stick it out and learn from it." He lowered his voice. "Don't tell her, but I'm really proud of her." It was the most I'd ever heard him say in one go. Get him going on a subject that interests him and I guess you can't stop him. When I heard that much together I realized he actually had much more of a Lancashire accent than I remembered.

"Look, Ike, this is very awkward for me, even having her call me 'Sir' seems somehow ..."

She came back with the drinks, curtseying as she served first Ike then me, and put the tray with her squash down on one of the occasional tables. She stood looking at it like a dog waiting to be allowed to eat a biscuit. He waited a moment then waved at the squash and she took it. "One gulp. Window."

She quickly drank the whole drink down and returned the glass to the tray. "Thankyou, Master." She went and stood facing the window again with her arms folded behind her back as if she had been put back in the arm-binder.

"Yes, I can see you blushing, Andrew, and if it was my mother I guess it would be awkward for me. But you're sitting with the grown-ups now. You have to understand that some people are different to others."

I had to sip the beer before I could speak. "I know all that, Ike. I joined the group. I knew the general kind of thing I was going to find. And it's a really good group. But it's hard to take when you find it's your own Mother being beaten and humiliated. Look, I know you're going to make her go through with the apology; but maybe we could just get that over with and I can go home, leave the group, and get rid of the stuff I've downloaded."

"Actually, I discussed this with fifi and she thinks that you deserve an explanation from her, the apology I said she had to give, and another apology for not having the guts to tell you before she signed the contract. Neither of us think you should leave the group or change what you do in any way." fifi nodded slightly. It was darker outside now and I could see the reflection of the front of her body almost as clearly as the back.

Ike indicated her buttocks. "Difficult skill, that. Getting that close to bleeding without actually cutting. Took a lot of practise but it helps that she keeps so still while being beaten. I don't know whether I've got better at training, or whether she's just naturally got what it takes, but she really tries harder to be very good than any girl I've trained before, and mostly she succeeds." He sipped his drink. I took a good swig at mine. My mouth kept drying out.

"You seem to have been her weak spot. She hadn't fitted having a son into being a slave. It's got her into real trouble. She's right, she should have told you before she got her collar. I should have made her get through that issue before we got this serious but I sort of put it off.

"Look, you may not realise this, Andrew, but you're a bit intimidating. You're tall and strong and clever. I never knew what to say to you. I never really met anyone with a University degree before. I'm just a tradesman who knew what he wanted from a woman and learned how to get it."

I'm not that clever. Instead of nodding quietly and sipping my beer I dug her a bigger hole by being peevish. "I never noticed her being intimidated. Exactly the opposite. I get a constant stream of criticism whenever she visits me. Other people's mothers don't do that do they? She's more like a music-hall mother-in-law!" The tension of the situation was disturbing my self-control. I was talking about my mother as if she wasn't there. But I guess maybe I was realising that she liked that.

Ike scowled. He raised his voice. "Here, slave!" She scurried across the room and fell to her knees in front of him, ducking her head low in a display of her submission. She was shaking in fear.

I didn't think she was going to able to take any more punishment. "Look, Ike, that's just the strangeness of the situation getting at me. We get on well enough."

He held up his hand and glanced at me. He was good at this domination stuff. I shut up and let him deal with his slave. "This true?"

She considered and then took a deep breath trying to control herself. "Sometimes, Andrew's place isn't as clean and tidy as I would keep it. I tell him that." She took another breath but she was still shaking. Her nipple rings bounced against her – I looked away.

"Is it done respectfully?"

"Perhaps not, Master."

"Until this evening, have you ever spoken to him respectfully?"

"Not really, Master."

"He's a man, damn it! Isn't he?" He was shouting now. "My slave is respectful to everything with a dick! You forget that? Insolent cunt!" She was crying and cringing but didn't dare speak. He turned to me and controlled his voice somewhat. "When I'm watching her, some dog on the street goes past her, she gives a little curtsey if it's male. She even asked for a ruling about dogs that had their balls taken off! But her own son?!" He knocked back his drink angrily and his voice rose again. "Her own son gets a constant stream of criticism! Fuck me!" He stood up and kicked her in the stomach.

I jumped up too. "Ike, calm down. Didn't I see something about not punishing in anger on the group? From you?" I didn't want to think about my Mother being kicked in the stomach or about her thinking she deserved it. But I could help her by calming Ike down when he kicked out in anger.

He turned away to compose himself, took a breath and said, "You're right, Andrew. I'm sorry." He turned back and looked at me uneasily. "You're okay, there, lad." I realised that my hands were both clenched into fists and relaxed them.

He looked down at his cowering naked slave, balled up on the floor holding her stomach. Through gritted teeth he said, "I will have a brandy and soda. Andrew will have another beer. You will have a pint of tap water. Get out of my sight and get them. Now!" She crawled out of the room at high speed. She hadn't made a sound.

He sat down and shook his head. "I'm calm, okay? What else did she criticise?"

"Ike, I don't think you want to know right now. I don't think I want to tell you." I wasn't too sure it was safe but I sat. "Remember, for me this is still very strange. Seeing where she's been caned is one thing, I've seen photos of fifi after a caning before. But seeing you kick her …" I couldn't finish. He'd kicked my mother and I was going to let it pass. Could I do that?

"Give her a chance to atone for it, Ike. Find something to bring the lesson home to her. You're good at that. Her punishments fit the crime in some weird way that really works. You've trained her really well so far. I know she wants to please you. But she was allowed to visit me alone and all the frustrations of being trained were suddenly released. She couldn't talk about them so she just gave me a hard time. You just tighten your grip and she will respond." I was defending fifi not Phoebe. But if it worked neither would get kicked. Seeing fifi interacting with her Master let me understand them in a way I never could have just through the group. But could I understand myself? My own rationalisations?

* - * - * - * - *

A shivering slave girl came in and served our drinks. She put the tray down and carefully gave Ike his using two hands, making sure she didn't spill anything. My drink filled the glass and was more difficult. I took it from her as quickly as I could to make sure she didn't spill it and earn any more punishment. I tried to smile encouragingly. She gave her slight nod without making eye contact.

She turned and looked towards Ike. She clearly didn't know whether to kneel but settled for hunching herself into the most submissive posture I could imagine. Her body language shouted "I am shorter than you," even though he was sat in the armchair and she was on her feet. Her knees were knocking. I'd never seen that before.

She was waiting to be told to drink the pint of water. Ike was thinking about what I'd said. "Alright, Andrew, I think I know what to do. I'm sure she'll never let me get that angry again, and I'm just as sure she can rely on you to defend her if I do." He smiled grimly then sipped his drink. I think he might have been afraid of me. I finished off the first beer and picked up the second.

"Let's get on with tonight, shall we?" He pointed at the pint of water. "No more than five gulps."

fifi knew what was going on. I must say that at that time I didn't understand. She picked the glass up and forced herself to drink it. She managed about half of it the first go. Then she paused briefly before attacking it again. It took four gulps in all. She put the glass down, carefully. "Thankyou, Master."

"Let's get you prepared to give your explanation and apology. I want you fully open and fully vulnerable. Garters, knee-spreader, lead. I've got the arm-binder."

"Yes, Master." She ran out of the room to get the stuff.

"This had better be good." Ike still looked pretty grim. He was feeling the pressure of being a slave's Master just then, I thought. "Before we start, is there anything I don't know about that she should apologise for?" I shrugged. "She criticise your job, your lifestyle, your choice of holiday?" I was non-committal. "Oh, I know. Your hair?"

It must have been obvious so I said, "Well, when I've just got up, you know? It isn't that tidy."

"I knew it." He nodded. Like many people nowadays, he has extremely short hair, like a cancer patient. His could never get mussed up.

"Let that pass, Ike. Okay?" He said nothing.

* - * - * - * - *

fifi returned and started to set herself up. She was still shaking but looked very determined. She knew what to do. She had already put a pair of strong elastic garters high on her thighs as well as cuffs on her ankles and just above her knees. She knelt facing me about two yards away and connected a spreader bar between the knee cuffs. Where she was kneeling, between two carpet tiles there was a metal ring that hinged out of the floor. She attached the hook in the middle of the spreader to it. The spreader would make it impossible for her to close her legs, and very hard for me to avoid looking at her sex. The garters were intended to make that worse. They each had two short elastic straps with clips on the ends attached to them which she connected to her four labia rings.

I have a problem with language here. How do I say this about my mother? I can't describe this with coy euphemisms all the time. I have to make it a description of slavefifi in terms appropriate for a sex-slave. So I'll say that the slave's cunt was spread wide open. The elastic ensured that it was painful. The spreader bar ensured that it was inescapable.

Her leash is one of those long spring-loaded ones for walking a dog in the park, with a button that retracts it into its handle like a metal tape measure. She pulled a long length of the leash out of the handle, reached behind herself to feed the free end through the rings on her ankle cuffs, up through a ring on the back of her collar, then round to the ring on the front of the collar and down to the ring through her clitoris-hood where she clipped it in place. She passed the handle behind her to Ike, who put it on the arm of his chair, then she folded her arms behind her back for him to put the arm-binder on.

He came round between us and lifted her chin to look at him. "You do everything that's asked of you and you can get through this. I know you're keen to do your best. We are not going to throw all your training away and lose what we've got over this, are we?" It seemed to me he was threatening to leave her if she didn't put herself through this humiliation, and the threat was a real one, one she feared, even though the place on her stomach where he kicked her was already looking as if it would bruise. Is that love? I've never been in love myself but I can't think of anything else it might be.

"No, Master. This slave has much to apologise for and much to be punished for and she will accept her Master's will in this as in all things." That sounded like a ritual response, as if she had learnt it by rote and come to believe it later. But it sounded like she did believe it and it seemed to calm her, even give her strength.

Ike walked back round to his chair and retracted the leash until it pulled enough on the ring to expose her clitoris. I blinked. I was steeling myself to be able to look at her body throughout this, but seeing that little white nub was another first in the history of my imagination. I dreaded the thought that I might get an erection. I wasn't confident.

Ike put the leash down again, and went over to the side of the room and adjusted a camera on a tripod, presumably making sure it was focused on her. Then he went back to his chair carrying two remote controls and sat down behind her. "Right. Andrew, I'll be recording this in sound and taking occasional still pictures. For the group, you know. You are out of the picture frame if you stay in your seat. If you like, I won't post the sound if you can be heard. But now that the group can see her face, they may as well hear her voice as well, so I'd like to. Decide afterwards."

I nodded. I had completely forgotten that he was letting everyone see her face. I was sad for her. She was biting her lower lip. I remember her doing that all the time just after Dad died. By the time of the funeral, she had bitten both lips till she looked as if she had really bad cold sores.

* - * - * - * - *

Ike pressed a button on the remote. "And, cue the arrogant, selfish, disobedient slut!"

fifi looked at me somewhere around my chest - no eye contact, but not looking at my crotch area, just in case - and took a deep, ragged breath. She was blushing again. "First, Sir, please may I say that I am deeply ashamed of what I did last week when I realised whose profile I was looking at. I had never imagined even for a moment that you might join the group. It was a huge shock. I have already apologised to my Master for acting without thinking, but it seems that when I act without thinking my old identity surfaces and my slavery is forgotten. My Master knows that I want to always be a better slave than that." Her voice throughout was calm, clear, and sincere. She had stopped shaking and controlled her breathing. She held her head high and would have looked me in the eye if she had been allowed to.

"Much of this punishment is forcing me to understand that the woman I used to be isn't here any more. I am a slave, a piece of property with no rights, no privacy. My Master was merciful and allowed me to hide my face from the group. He will not allow that any more.

"There is not the smallest part of my body that I will be allowed to hide from you, Sir, nor will any part of the sexual uses I am put to by my Master and on his behalf be hidden from you. My bodily functions are public. My bladder is filling painfully as we speak and I will only be allowed to empty it when the entire apology is done and you have decided how I should be punished for my offence against you personally. And when I am allowed to piss it will be in a public place as I am not allowed to use my Master's toilets.

"Being a slave was my decision. Once I knew it was what I wanted, I spent more than six months convincing Prince Zak to accept me as his. He did not force me into slavery; he allowed me to give myself to him." Now came the first moment of real apology. She tensed and said, "Master, please reinforce my understanding of your anger and displeasure." Ike hooked the handle of the leash on to his chair somehow and then wound in the leash some and only by lifting her feet and balancing only on her knees could she keep the pressure off her clit-hood. She winced in pain and fear. "Sir, I offer my sincerest and deepest apologies for not explaining my decision to seek a Master to you until now. It was dishonest. I should have been open about my needs. When my Master accepted me, your interests were not considered. I am a selfish, inconsiderate slut who thought more about keeping her depraved life secret than basic human courtesy and I deserve nothing but your contempt."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I did have a partial erection. My breathing was shallow and my mouth dry, but I didn't pick up my beer. I was feeling more sympathy for her than I can ever remember feeling before. I was sorry for what she was going through, but it was obvious that she wanted it. She was deep in some place where she felt she deserved it. I'm sure most submissive women don't tell their children what they are doing. She seemed to be punishing herself for not being an absolutely perfect slave. Her sexual arousal was obvious. There were no tears now.

"As to my actions last week, they were inexcusable. I deserve the whole punishment. My tits were caned at ten o'clock this morning. That will be repeated daily until it is clear to my Master that I have learned my lesson. It will be a long time before I consider doing anything that might be construed as arrogant." She swallowed and braced herself again. "Master, please reinforce my understanding of your anger and displeasure." Ike reeled in a bit more leash. She hunched her shoulders down trying to get the collar lower, and lifted her feet even higher. She was now on the balls of her knees balanced very precariously it seemed to me. The slightest imbalance made her have to adjust her position and pulled on her clit-hood ring. I'd always thought they were more of a badge of courage than an adornment. (Always? Ha! It was less than three months since I'd heard of them.) I'd never thought of using one for this kind of torture.

"Sir, I offer my most abject and personal apology for banning you from the group. It was arrogant and thoughtless and I hope you can find in yourself the cruelty to sentence me to a severe punishment, agreed upon with my Master in addition to the ones he has decreed and the one he has accepted on DDDevilEyes' suggestion. Again I demonstrated by this action that I am a selfish, thoughtless cunt who is so arrogant as to think that she can deceive her Master and the members of the group. Please, Sir, treat me with the contempt and cruelty I deserve."

I was aroused, erect, lubricating my shorts. Because my own mother had asked me to be cruel to her? I felt slightly sick. I sipped my beer, not the best liquid to use under the circumstances. She had actually called herself a cunt! The moment she said the word, that was what I looked at. Who am I? There was more to come and I was going to have to listen to it. How far would this go? I wasn't sure what Ike would order her to do, but it felt like a punishment for me as much as for her.

It was getting late and a breeze came through the open French door. We all needed it. Ike seemed fully aroused by what was happening too. But that was, as it were, his job.

"Earlier this evening, Sir, you expressed justified anger at the way I have treated you recently which was interfering and disrespectful. My Master has justly pointed out that I have standing orders to be respectful at all times to all males. Because you were unconnected to my slave life, because it was hidden from you and you were unlikely to bring the matter up in front of my Master, I fraudulently disobeyed this standing order and treated you in a way that would have been unacceptable even if I were a free human and not a slave and a piece of property. It was outrageous that a slave was arrogant enough to criticise you on such a constant basis."

I don't imagine any one of you ever heard such a completely self-critical introduction to an apology. She was very aroused by it. She was dripping on the carpet. I wasn't far off myself. I wondered if she could manage any further shortening of her leash. She must have known how harsh it would be but she asked for it.

"Master, please reinforce my understanding of your anger and displeasure." Ike pushed the button on the leash handle and simultaneously used the remote to take several pictures in close succession. She shrieked and shuffled backwards on the balls of her knees until the spreader bar was stopped by the hook in the floor. It must have been agony. She needed several breaths to compose herself and her voice was strained and higher than normal when she continued.

"Sir, I offer my most abject apology to you for the way I have treated you. I know my Master will punish me severely for such brazen defiance of my standing orders and I urge you to take any opportunity to remind me of my previous disrespect and enforce, with his permission, an enhanced level of respect compared to other men whenever we meet in the future.

"This slave thanks you, Sir, for kindly listening to her apology and would urge you to take however much time you wish deciding whether to accept it."

* - * - * - * - *

I could see flickers of tension in her thigh muscles which, of course, pulled on her labia rings. Maybe I'm a bit slow but it took a moment to realise it was because her bladder was full to bursting. I decided not to put my voice on the tape and gave a throat-cut gesture to Ike. He held up the remote and I could see him press the stop button.

I tried to speak but had to finish my beer to get my voice to work. I had to be cruel. It was what she wanted. I flashed back to Dad's funeral again; he would never have let this happen, but I remember a great aunt, herself now dead, telling me "Your mother's been through a lot, Andrew. Try to do what she says. It will make it easier for her."

Cruel, okay. I said, "I'd like to discuss this with your Master before deciding. If he would be so kind as to release your arms so that you can remove your other restraints, then perhaps he could send you for some more drinks while we talk about it." She didn't get to relieve the bladder-pressure till the decision was made. That was as cruel as I could get.

Behind her back Ike grinned and gave a thumbs-up. "Ok. Can't have Andrew fixing his own drink." He unhooked the leash-handle and slowly fed line to her to allow her to lower her feet and take the pressure off her piercing.

"Tea with milk. One sugar," I said. Ike got up and released her arms and she stretched her shoulders. Then, biting her lip hard, she unclipped the leash from her clit-ring. He reeled the leash all the way in, helping the clip through each of the rings in turn. Turning to check with him first, she unhooked the spreader bar from her knee cuffs. She moved a hand towards a garter but Ike stopped her immediately. He helped her to her feet and steadied her while the circulation came back into her knees.

"I will have a coffee. Andrew will have tea made the way he said. You will have nothing. Go." She grabbed the trays she'd brought the previous rounds on and went out to the kitchen.

I stood up to rearrange my underwear and let out a long, long breath.

"Hot, hey?" Ike was doing much the same as I was.

"Yes, but hard to take. What's the extra punishment?"

"I'll tell her that. It won't be as hard on her as you might think. Can't pile too much on top of what she's got already."

I nodded. "Thanks."

When she returned with the drinks, we were back in our respective seats. She gave Ike his coffee, and me my tea, and knelt back down facing me with her arms folded behind her back. She spread her knees almost as wide as the spreader had forced them so the garters were still spreading her wide. The knees looked red and puffy. She was barely able to remain still because of the state of her bladder.

Ike said, "Well, that was a fairly comprehensive apology, slave, I hope you meant it all. This is what Andrew and I have decided. As his flat isn't as clean as you would have it, you will keep it clean for him. Twice a week, Sundays and …," he looked at me, "Wednesdays?" I nodded, "You will completely clean his flat to your standards. And you'd better hope he approves of your standards. You will do this naked. You will be naked whenever you are in his flat. And whenever you are in his flat you are to regard him as a Master and obey any …" She looked round at him in alarm, he emphasized the rest, " Any order he gives you."

She hung her head and made an effort to be obedient. "Yes, Master."

"This is another punishment which continues until further notice, but it is Andrew who will decide when you have suffered enough. He can decide it however he likes, but my idea would be to set you a task to complete to let him know you respect him now and will always respect him. When you complete the task, he lets you off the cleaning. Okay, Andrew?

"Fine by me. A free cleaner. Well, not 'free' exactly."

He laughed. "No, not free. Take your time coming up with the task. Don't make it too easy."

"Ok."

He turned to her, "Understood, slave?"

"Yes, Master." He sat looking at her, holding his head on one side like a parrot thinking. "Please Master, may this slave speak?"

"Speak."

"Please Master, may this slave piss in the flowerbed."

He looked at me; I shrugged. "Go piss yourself, you dirty little bitch," he almost snarled at her.

She got up, bobbed a little curtsey to each of us, "Thankyou, Master. Thankyou, Sir," and went out into the garden. We had a clear view as she squatted and pissed copiously in the flowerbed.

While she was out, I asked quietly, "She obeys any order?"

"Any you like to give. Believe me, she is terrified that you will actually want to fuck her." I looked at him in outrage. He held up his hand. "I've been playing with her mind about it all day. Don't tell her either way. Dammit, don't tell me either way. Fear of what you might order will keep her off balance, and I've got a lot more breaking in to do, suddenly. That'll keep the pressure up."

I was somewhat mollified. "And the task?"

"Your call, Andrew."

I was too tired to think much about it then, so I just nodded. I didn't know what was going to happen with my not-free cleaner. fifi returned from her piss and, kneeling rather painfully on the decking, asked permission to come back into the house.

Ike ignored her. "Maybe you'd like to let yourself out, Andrew. Might catch the last bus."

"Sure. Bye, er, Zak, fifi." As I turned to go, and nearly tripped over the spreader bar still hooked to the floor in the middle of the room, he stepped out onto the decking. I didn't know how his leather trousers opened but as I left the room to get my jacket I could see her reach up to open them.

* - * - * - * - *

That was Monday. On Wednesday evening, when the doorbell rang just before nine o'clock, I knew who it was immediately. It was my mother.

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.

My Mother is an Internet Sex Slave!

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