According to her, she needed to be punished because she was such a bad mother, just as she was a bad girlfriend. And both were so true. Irresponsible, unthinking, forgetful, unreliable, unorganized, unmanageable. Flaky. She’d forget to pick Matt up after soccer practice, forget his birthday, forget to have cash for his allowance, forget to go shopping for dinner, etc. She was riddled with guilt by years of neglect and incompetence. She loved her son and was proud of Matt and wanted to be a perfect mother, but was anything but.
At first, Matt was frustrated, and embarrassed in front of his friends. Then, when he reached the age where he realized that his mom was the hottest of all his classmates’ mothers, when he understood that she was the MILF, when he perceived that all the guys wanted to fuck her, he had a breakthrough.
He began looking at her in an entirely new way: kneeling in the garden, wearing short shorts and perspiring through her tight halter tops; languorously wrapping her big lips around a ripe juicy peach; slowly bending over to make his bed, legs widespread while wearing cutoff jean shorts, frayed ripped and fill of holes; sensually rubbing his shoulders, back, chest and thighs after a soccer match; standing in the kitchen on a weekend morning, bed-headed and yawning, cooking him a special breakfast of pancakes and veggie bacon while wearing a sheer baby doll; hugging him goodbye tightly, but not adjusting her posture when his groin would press against her thigh or groin. Soon enough, he wanted to fuck her as much as—no, more than—any of his friends.
But he still wanted to punish her for her egregiously bad behavior. Over the years, he’d tried all kinds of techniques to make her a better mother: a whiteboard on the kitchen wall, talks with guidance counselors, writing appointments and events in a daily calendar he bought for her, etc. But she’d forget to take the calendar with her, or if she carried it, she’d forget to check it. So the only solution was to discipline her. And she knew it. She’d been making allusions to punishment for a couple of months, telling him stories of how her father had been a strict enforcer. She described the scenes in detail: how, from a young age, she’d strip down to her underwear in front of her father and get on the floor on hands and knees. How he’d almost immediately switched from a hairbrush to his leather belt. How he’d admired her high tolerance for pain.
Janice brazenly taunted Matt, trying to provoke him, indulging in even more outrageous examples of bad parenting. “Who’s going to stop me?” “If only there were a man around the house.” “I’ll do as I please.” So Matt knew he’d have to discipline his mother, which made him hard.
Janice and I had been seeing each other for a couple of months, during which Matt became eighteen. I soon realized that one guy, one Master, would never be enough for her. I’d begun to notice increasingly seductive moves on her part toward her good-looking son. Janice knew he didn’t have a girlfriend, although there were plenty of girls who wanted him. I didn’t have a problem with her lusting for her son; I didn’t have any issues or judgments about keeping her next Dom in the family. I liked Matt a lot, and our lives would be easier with him as her other Master, rather than vetting a stranger or a series of them.