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Mm ... Mm ... My mother?
The air is suddenly thick and hot in my throat. I struggle to breathe, legs buckling, arms leaden, incapable of any thought but one:
It can't be true.
I sag against my restraints, the leather straps cutting into my wrists, the sudden pain bringing clarity and focus. I find my footing and stand again, closing my eyes, inhaling sharply, clenching my teeth.
I let my breath out slowly, body trembling, and open my eyes to look at you.
My beautiful wife.
My queen.
My ...
I shake my head in denial, horribly exposed and ashamed, my naked body covered in red, swollen stripes.
You run your fingers through the flogger, pacing calmly in front of me.
"No, you can't be ... "
My eyes follow you, my understanding deepening as I watch the subtle bounce and sway of your breasts, the calm and possessive power radiating from your body.
... my desire to please you.
... my desire to obey you.
... my desire to be a good ... son.
I shudder -- a visceral, soul rending shudder as tears stream down my cheeks. I'm panting now, flexing and straining, trying to contain the terrible joy welling up inside of me. The heat spreads within me, concentrating in my groin, a victorious carnal throbbing I haven't felt in an eternity.
Your gaze locks on to my swelling member, and your fingers pause their stroking. The barest smile of approval kinks your lips, and my heart leaps.
"Mother," I say softly, hesitantly, trying to control my ragged breathing. "How may I please you?"
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