The Joy of Momdom
This story is entirely fictional and intended for adults only. None of the characters are under 18. The story involves femdom and i****t, so if you aren't interested in stories like that, then read no further. All the other disclaimers about laws in your area also apply.
The Joy of Momdom
I have fantasized about dominating my son for the past five years. One night I had a dream about him and in it how nice it was to have him on a leash and at my disposal. Some would say I am acting out a vendetta against my ex.
I’ve been divorced for eight years. My husband messed around with the accounting in his business and filed bogus tax returns which I signed because I assumed they were legit. When the IRS caught up with him, he split and I never saw him again until I tracked him down to serve him divorce papers. Because of him, I was financially crippled for years and I never wanted a man’s control over my life again.
My son has dark honey blond hair and soulful hazel eyes. At 18, he is still on the small side with a thin build. Photo ID checks are with k**s like him in mind.
He knew it was his dad’s fault that he never had new clothes – always something from Goodwill or a yard sale to wear. Because of his dad, he and I often had nothing better than Ramen noodles to eat. To look at him you would think he was a refugee from Appalachia. Yet he was also a very gentle boy.
Since we only had each other, I began to depend on him to pull his weight around the house. Since I had to work two jobs – one full time and one part time, I needed him at home when he wasn’t in school. He had few friends at school and he was sensitive how poor he was. Even had I allowed it, he would not invite his few friends to our house.
About the only thing he had that wasn’t second-hand was the PC. I insisted he needed it for his schoolwork. I would come to see that he used his computer
for much more.
One day not long after he turned 18 I was in his room cleaning out the closet. As I was dusting a high shelf in the closet, some papers came floating out. As I picked one up I saw it was a print from his Deskjet printer of what would be considered a BBW with an erect penis between her breasts staring with an intent gaze into the camera.
I could not believe it! The woman in the photo, except for her size, could have been me! She had the same hair, same color of eyes, everything.
Without realizing it, my fantasies must have triggered a response in my son. The other photos showed this woman engaged in sexual poses with a smaller, younger man. She was clearly the dominant partner. Was this what my son
wanted? I had to find out.
My first reaction was being pissed. Paper and printer ink wasted on loveless porn! Still, the desire of my son to look at pictures like this suggested more. I checked the internet history on his computer and found an adult chat site. He logged on there under the name PurplePleasure. I decided I would get to the bottom of this and be sure. I went to my lap top and signed in at the site under the name Goddess23. Apparently the first 22 Goddesses were
It wasn’t hard to strike up a conversation with him. He readily admitted an attraction to older women. When I asked what his name referred to, he said purple was his mother’s favorite color. The first night I couldn’t go very far with him as I had to work early the next morning. Each night we talked a little more, Goddess23 and PurplePleasure. He eventually came to trust me as a sympathetic listener as he told me about his frustrations with being poor during high school and wondering if he would be able to go to community college. He cursed his father for wrecking his wrecking his life.
In time we began to talk about sex and exchanged fantasies. I liked to play out different mom son fantasy scenes with him. In one fantasy we would be “wed” in a coven devoted to momdom femdom where boys grew up worshipping their mothers. The “marriage” would be consummated in the presence of the coven with me deflowering his virgin asshole with a strap-on dildo. He fantasized where I would hypnotize him and make him my love slave.
I asked him what attracted him to older women. At first he claimed not to know, but gradually confessed that that he had a thing for his mother. I asked how old she was, was she good-looking, and so on. I told him that in my situation, being the same age as his mother (37), I would only be interested in a much younger man, a man who submitted to me in all things. Life taught me not to accept men as equals, and any young man who wanted a relationship with me had to accept me as his superior.
My son wrote how he adored his mom; even when she came home bitchy after working two shifts with no overtime because she worked at two separate jobs. He complained she didn’t have to do that anymore because she paid the IRS off the previous year, still he wanted her to be happy and mentioned doing his part by taking over the household chores. He said he was frustrated that she didn’t acknowledge his efforts.
With as much sarcasm as electronic media could contain, I asked whether being a “house-son” was enough to merit notice from any woman who had to work her ass off all day. What did he know about financial obligations as an adult? Just because one bill was paid off did that mean she was out of the hole? He wrote and asked what I thought he should do?
Playing the “Goddess” to the hilt, I told him if I was his mom, then I would seriously think about kicking him out of the house.
“If mom did that to me, I’d be screwed,” he wrote, “why would you do it?”
I explained if he were my son, my legal obligation to support him ended on his 18th birthday. As sweet and good as he might be, he was still a mouth to feed. Also, a dominant woman is an independent woman who doesn’t support a man but controls him.
“If you have a “thing” for your mom, then maybe you should do something worth noticing!”
I suggested he should get a job.
“What about school?” he asked.
“The public paid for your schooling until the end of high school. The sooner you face facts and realize that any more education is going to cost you, the sooner you will put that notion in its proper perspective. Has anyone been knocking down your door with scholarships?”
“Just military recruiters…”
“And that would take you away from your mommy, right?”
I told him, in my book, not only would he have to get a job if he were my son, he would have to sign his paychecks over to me if he wanted to live with me. I would control how much money he needed.
“Do you think my mom would appreciate me more if I did that?” he asked?
“I don’t know how she would react. From the way you describe her, she sounds a bit like me, although she might not be keen on the i****t part. You can find out, but it might take a while for her to accept the idea.”
The next morning at breakfast my son announced he was going job hunting. Within a few days he landed a job at a fast food restaurant. Two weeks after that he came home with his first paycheck and said he wanted to sign it over to me.
“Why do you want to do that?” I asked.
“Well, you know, mom, I’m 18 and you shouldn’t have to support me 100 percent. I know this isn’t a lot, and I think you can manage it better and give me only what I really need.”
I smiled and hugged my son and told him how thoughtful he was. Then I told him he needed to sweep and mop the kitchen floor.
That night PurplePleasure was in high heaven! He was excited over how his mom’s face lit up when he gave her his paycheck. I smiled to myself at how easy it was to start him on the path to financial slavery.
“What should I do next?” he asked.
I suggested he might start bringing her gifts – nothing expensive, just tokens signifying interest.
Over the following days my son started bringing me presents: a bunch of purple poppies, dark chocolate (my favorite), and a necklace he strung (I didn’t know he was into that), and other items. I expressed my appreciation for each one. I started dressing more provocatively around the house, used perfume, and generally acted like a woman trying to get a man’s attention.
In the meantime PurplePleasure and I continued chatting on line. I commended him on his attempts to win his mother’s affections.
“She’s acting different now, but I don’t know if it’s me she’s interested in or if she’s seeing someone else,” he wrote, “I’m afraid if I say anything to her, she’ll freak out.”
“Do you masturbate thinking about your mom?” I asked.
“Well, yes,” came from his end.
“I’m assuming your mom isn’t stupid and she has a nose and can smell what’s going in your room.”
“But I always keep my door closed!”
“Isn’t that half your problem?” I typed back. “A closed door is a closed opportunity; an open door is an open invitation. Leave your door open. If she’s seeing someone else, she’ll shut your door. Remember there are lots of guys who would pay her for the privilege of being a submissive. Bear in mind, if she is interested in you, the woman who walks through your door isn’t your mother but your goddess.”
Starting that night, he left his bedroom door open. I listened outside his room as he masturbated. I heard him whispering, “Oh, mommy, mommy Goddess, I worship you!” It was all I could do to keep from marching in and taking him right then and there.
A few nights later I was chatting with PurplePleasure again.
“Why don’t you up the ante, PP?” I suggested.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Does your mom like wine?”
“She didn’t used to drink it often, but she drinks it more lately. She’s been teaching me how to pair wine with food.”
“What is her favorite wine?”
“Pinot noir,” he answered.
“Why don’t you save some of the money she gives you from your paycheck and buy her a really nice bottle of Pinot Noir? If you don’t know what to get, you can ask if there is a wine steward at the store to give you a recommendation.”
By now I was ready to end the charade. Two weeks later my son brought home an expensive bottle of Oregon Pinot Noir from the Dundee Hills and presented it to me with love in his eyes. “For you, mom,” he said.
I sat him down at the kitchen table and retrieved two wine glasses and a corkscrew. I opened the bottle and said, “Let that breathe for a few minutes.” Then I went to my bedroom to get a slave collar I purchased in anticipation of this moment.
Returning to the kitchen, I poured two glasses of wine and announced, “Well done, ‘PurplePleasure!’”
My son froze.
“That’s right, I’m ‘Goddess23.’ This is your last step. As the wine in your glass is from my bottle, the bl**d in your heart is from my heart. You have a choice. You can exchange your power for mine. If you really want me to fuck you, this will end any normal mother son relationship. Realize, my pet, I will make many demands on you. Think you can handle the sexual appetites of a mature dominant woman? A woman who wants her pussy worshipped, who wants your mouth on her tits every night? I would have your tongue in my asshole; I would bury my strap-on dildo in yours. As my private love slave, you will pleasure me in any way I see fit. If you agree to all of these things, then pick up that glass and accept your collar. If you do not, then go to your room and start packing and be ready to leave my house in the morning.”
For a moment he just sat there. Then he took the glass.