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Couple looks at their marriage on Valentine's Day.

Hell, looking like she did, my mom owned the universe.

And I realized that she had looked this way to own my father.

And, a bit of fear within, she was looking this way to own me.

Oh, fuck. I began to struggle.

Mom turned the music down slightly, then bent at the waist. Her magnificent breasts leaned downward, and she slipped into a pair of high heels.

She stood up.

Oh...oh sweet mother of god.

She was beautiful.

Delicate curves showed her lustful nature.

Her body was a shining example of the perfection of woman.

"I am not a fan of high heels," she said. "But I know that men love them. Love the view of the ass, love the way the butt perks, which makes the woman counterbalance by thrusting the shoulders back, which emphasizes...the breasts.

"Or perhaps you would prefer me to refer to them as boobies? Titties? Something else?"

I didn't say anything. I knew I was redder than a beet driving a fire engine.

She sashayed towards me, every part of her body in a confident, sexy motion. She stopped in front of me.

Her eyes, so blue, swallowed me. Her lips, so red, made me so nervous I licked my own.

Her long, shoulder length, dark hair framed her perfect face.

Hard on, yes.

And, the unfortunate side effects of a hard on: I was incapable of coherent thought.

"Let me introduce you to your father's workshop.

She put her hands forward, gripped the sides of the contraption my face was stuck into, and began turning.

"The door, you have been through. It's sound proofed, as is the whole workshop."

And, if that wasn't enough, I knew that workshop was behind the house, far from the street, passersby, or even any nosy neighbors.

"There are the paddles. Your father didn't use them much, but I did, so he kept an extensive collection for me. 'Never a bruise, Alice,' he used to say to me. I was delighted to ignore him.

"This wall has our dildos, strap ons, butt plugs, and a few other odds and (she giggled) ends.

"Those doors there are to closets which hold costumes, things we needed to play good role games.

"And back to the front, or rear, the sound system, make up station, and so on."

My eyes had swung wildly during her 'tour,' now they fixed on her, but were still wild.

She said: "Will you be a good boy, Jeremy? And place your hands in the side restraints if I uncuff you?"

I nodded. Heck, my head jerked up and down fearfully.

My wild eyes betrayed me.

She smiled, white teeth, sharp teeth, framed by plump, juicy, wet lips.

"Of course you won't, but there are ways to make you comply."

She went around behind me. Suddenly I felt a large belt pulled around my waist, jerking me against contraption my face was stuck in. My whole body was now belted firmly in place.

She came around to the front. She bent out of sight, and I felt her working my belt.

Then my zipper.

I began blubbering then, but it was no use.

She grabbed my erect penis and pulled it through a smaller hole.

Something stretched over my balls, became snug, and then I was jerked forward. I was now held not so much by the belt around my back, but the grip on my penis and balls.

Then, firmly in place, unable to move, my cuffs were removed.

I tried to swing an arm, but she simply grabbed it, stretched it out, and clamped it to the table.

Then the other one.

There I was, bound spread-eagled on a table by my own, naked mother.

But worse was to come.

She went to the make up table, picked up a knife, and returned.

"Don't wiggle," she said. "I don't want to cut you."

She cut my tee shirt here and there, then ripped the fabric off my body.

She disappeared from view and a motor whirred and my table went forward to a horizontal position.

She pulled my pants off.

"Please mom, please mom," I could hear myself mumbling.

In truth, my brain had totally stopped working. I was somewhere deeper than panic.

She cut off my underpants.

I lay naked, at the mercy of mom.

The motor whirred, the table rose into the air.

I could see strips of mirrors to the side.

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