Chapter Two: The Morning After
The alarm clock screamed at five-thirty that next morning, Taryn groaned as she smacked the annoying device into silence. She laid there for a moment, staring at the clock, trying to decide whether or not to get up. With a mutter of protest she rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. As she snuggled in for some more, precious sleep, a thought hit her: Master wouldn't be pleased with her if she didn't bring him breakfast. That thought caused her eyes to shoot open; Master, how could she forget about him. A sigh of regret escaped her lips as she looked up at the clock once more, and tried to remember just how the hell she had gained a Master. Then the events of the previous night rolled through her mind like a scary movie she couldn't turn away from. She remembered: the dancing, the dry-fuck, the bathroom, the submission . . . her submission . . . her complete and total submission to him. She had submitted herself to her son and swore to be his Slave. A sigh of contentment left her lungs when she thought that thought: her son was her Master, and she was his Slave. She pulled back the covers and knew that she had to get moving, in order to get ready for him.
Taryn took extra care as she showered and washed herself that morning. For the first time in a long while she took pride in how she looked. She had always made sure to keep herself presentable, but it was the little things that she had let slide. It had been a while since she had shaved her legs, years since she had paid any attention to her pubic hair. It was normal for Taryn to not shave for a week or so.
What did it matter? Nobody looked at her that closely anymore, certainly not her husband. Richard was far too busy with work to spend any serious time with his wife, when he was home he was too tired to have sex most nights. Even when they did have sex it was hurried and unimaginative: purely for his pleasure. Taryn couldn't remember the last time Richard had ate her out, or sucked on her breasts. It was no wonder why Taryn let her pubic hair grow wild, all that would stop that morning. Taryn took great care in shaving everywhere that a woman should shave. She cleaned and preened herself after the shower was over, trimming up her bush so that the "wild wilderness" was gone. The shower took longer than she had expected, but felt the time was well-needed, as she wanted to be presentable for her Master.
There was that word again that stirred up feelings of bliss and fear in her. Part of her loved having a Master, and she was happier than she had been in years because of it; she felt complete. Another part of her was scared of this development and wanted to find a way out of it, writing the whole experience off as a bad night of drinking. Taryn knew it was not the alcohol that made her do what she did last night. That was the most sobering thought, for this morning she was not drunk and yet here she was throwing on her sheerest robe in order to cook breakfast for her son . . . her Master.
All through cooking breakfast she checked the note and the clock regularly. She wanted to everything to be perfect for him; she wanted to show her Master that she was a good Slave. The argument of "what the hell was she doing?" continued in her mind, regardless of what she did to do to push it out. With no time to spare, at six-twenty-nine, she picked up the tray and walked up to her son's bedroom.
Owen woke up with a yawn and looked around the darkened room. He felt a little tired and sore that morning, and contemplated going out for a run, but decided against it. Glancing out at the window and seeing the rain that poured outside confirmed it, he would visit the gym instead. Slumping back down on the bed he rubbed his eyes and tried to shake the feeling that something was different this morning. He looked around the room and wondered what it was; nothing was different. He could see no new boxes to show any extravagant purchases, that one might regret the next day. He hadn't done any shopping yesterday, all that he had done yesterday was go to school, study and go out with his mother.
His mind froze as that last thought crossed his mind: his mother. What had he done to his mother? Why did he do it? How could he do it? He had completely dominated her and made her swear to be his Slave for life . . . but why? Sure, he had loved the whole experience and felt more alive and turned on than he had been in his whole life. The power and pure excitement that coursed through him during that experience was unbelievable, and yet natural. The strange thing was that everything seemed to be second-nature to him. Nothing seemed stilted, awkward or strange to him, and that what scared him the most. He could grow to like it, he already loved that feeling of power he had when he ordered his mother around and she complied. It was a double hit of excitement, one jolt of excitement when he ordered her, the next when she complied. The sooner and more diligently she complied, the greater the thrill. Was this what he really wanted? Until last night he had never thought of his mother in a sexual way. He had never harbored deep, lustful feelings for her, but last night he not only fucked her, he made her his Slave.
Was this really the way that he wanted to live? Did he really want to spend the rest of his life barking orders at his mother? What about other women, what about a girlfriend or wife? Did this mean that he wanted them to be his Slaves to? The man he was last night was not the man that he thought he was, or wanted to be. He sighed once more and rested his head back on his pillow to try to sort it all out.
Perhaps he was getting worked up for nothing, perhaps his mother didn't remember the previous night. After all, they had been drinking, perhaps she would just see the whole evening as a drunken game. Owen would see how his mother would react and follow her lead. He wouldn't apologize right away; he would wait until she talked to him about it. They could share a laugh over the silly and dangerous game they had played and see it as nothing more than the alcohol.
Owen looked at the clock: six-twenty-nine. A fuzzy thought hit his mind: Six-thirty, something was supposed to happen at six-thirty, and he wondered what appointment he had missed. Was there an early morning class that he had forgotten about? He searched his mind to figure out what he was supposed to do that morning, damn, he would have to skip breakfast.
Breakfast! there it was, he had ordered his mother to deliver him breakfast at Six-thirty this morning. He had given her very specific instructions on what he wanted and how he wanted it delivered. Panic settled in as he thought of what he would do if she actually did bring him breakfast in bed just like he told her to. What would that mean? Would that mean that she liked this new arrangement and wanted to be his Slave? He glanced at the clock and saw it turn to six-thirty and watched it intently, hoping it would turn to six-thirty-one. If he could skip over this minute it would be okay, then he would know that she wasn't coming and . . .
Then the door opened up slowly and his mother backed into the room, pushing the door open. She was carrying a tray of breakfast and from where he lay he could see that she had indeed carried out his instructions to the letter. Owen glanced at the clock and saw that it was still six-thirty; she was even on time. One glance at his mother standing there, closing the door with her foot, holding the tray of breakfast, left him speechless. Her red hair fell down her back in its naturally body-wave. She was wearing makeup for the first time in a long time, and her face looked quite pretty. She was wearing a white, silk robe that floated away from her body and it was his guess that she was naked under that robe.
Taryn smiled at him with a look of fear and apprehension in her eyes, waiting for Owen to say something. Owen looked at her and at once he was turned on, and the dark feelings of power returned. It wasn't just the way she looked; it was the whole package. He had given her an order and she had carried it out, she had even put in a few extra touches here and there. She had prettied herself up for him, just to bring him breakfast. The morning paper was on the tray beside the breakfast and a flower was in a vase in the center of the tray. Owen's cock was hard and throbbing as he drank all this in, Taryn was the first to speak.
"Good morning, Master. I brought you breakfast, like you ordered," Taryn said with a timid and apprehensive manner.
Her son hadn't said a thing and as the seconds ticked by, Taryn felt like a monumental fool. Obviously she was wrong in doing this! He didn't expect her to be standing there with breakfast, dressed only in a robe! She waned to cry and run out of the room, she was mortified that she had read things wrong: it was only a one night game. He didn't want her there, he didn't see her as his Slave.
"Excellent work, Slave," Owen said and smiled at Taryn, in response she let out a sigh of relief. "Bring me breakfast, Slave," he said, and watched his mother immediately move towards him.
Just looking at her carrying that tray of breakfast towards him caused his cock to twitch. Man he was hard and needed to take care of it soon, he thought as Taryn floated over towards him. Then a nasty thought hit him as he smiled up at her.
"Put breakfast down over there," Owen said as he pointed at his dresser.
