She stood in the kitchen doorway, the afternoon light cutting across her bare legs. Her son had locked the door behind him and told her to strip. No preamble, no hesitation in his voice. Just "Take it all off, Mom. Right now."
Her hands shook as she pulled the sundress over her head. The fabric whispered to the floor. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her tits hung heavy, nipples already tight from the cool air and the raw command in his tone. Panties next. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and dragged them down, stepping out of them. Naked. Exposed. Exactly what he wanted.
"Turn around," he said. "Hands on the counter."
She obeyed. The granite was cold under her palms. Behind her she heard his belt unbuckle, the zipper, the rustle of jeans. Then his cock, thick and hot, slapped against her ass cheek. He didn't ask. He didn't coax. He just pressed the head against her pussy and pushed.
She gasped. She was dry at first, but the forced stretch made her body react anyway. Slick heat bloomed as he sank in deep on the second thrust. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise.
"This is what you are now," he growled, fucking her in steady, punishing strokes. "My free-use slut. No more pretending you're in charge. You cook, you clean, you spread when I tell you."
Her breath hitched with every slap of his hips. The words burned.
She hated how wet she was getting, how her cunt clenched around him like it agreed. He reached around and rubbed her clit in rough circles, forcing the orgasm out of her whether she wanted it or not. She came with a broken moan, legs shaking, forehead pressed to the counter.
He didn't stop. He fucked her through it, then pulled out and spun her around. "On your knees."
She dropped. His cock, shiny with her juices, hovered in front of her face. She opened her mouth without being told. He fed it to her, slow at first, then deeper until her nose brushed his stomach. Spit ran down her chin. He held her hair and used her throat like another hole.
"Good girl," he said, voice low and filthy. "Suck your son's cock like the slut you are."
Tears pricked her eyes from the stretch, but she didn't pull away. When he came, he held her head and pumped thick ropes down her throat. She swallowed every drop because he told her to.
After that day the rules were simple. She stayed naked in the house unless he said otherwise. When he came home from work he took her wherever he wanted: bent over the couch, on the kitchen table, in the shower with her hands braced on the tile. Sometimes he made her ride him while he watched TV, her tits bouncing, his hands guiding her hips. Other times he woke her in the middle of the night by sliding into her from behind, one hand over her mouth while he whispered how she was nothing but his personal cumdump now.
She stopped fighting it after the first week. The shame twisted into something hotter, something that made her drip when she heard his key in the lock. He used her mouth in the morning before breakfast. He bent her over the hood of his car in the garage one evening, fucking her hard while the neighbors' lights stayed dark. Every time he finished inside her he made her say thank you.
One night he had her on all fours on the living room rug. He was behind her, cock buried to the root, when he leaned down and bit her shoulder.
"Tell me what you are," he demanded.
She pushed back onto him, voice hoarse. "Your slut. Your free mom slut. Use me."
He groaned and came deep, flooding her. She stayed there, ass up, his cum leaking down her thighs, until he told her to clean him with her tongue.
The days blurred into a steady rhythm of obedience and raw use. She cooked his meals wearing only an apron that barely covered her ass. He bent her over the sink while the water ran. She answered the door for deliveries on her knees, sucking him while the driver waited outside. Every command, every forced orgasm, every load she swallowed or took in her cunt locked her tighter into the role.
By the end of the month she didn't wait for orders. When he walked in she was already on her knees by the door, mouth open, eyes up. He smiled, unzipped, and fed her what she needed.
She was his. Completely. And the wetter she got every time he reminded her, the more she understood she didn't want it any other way.
