Now Serving Ch 04

This work of fiction features incest combined with hard BDSM, so please stop reading right here if you don't like the juxtaposition. There's plenty of both. To phrase it differently, this story contains harsh BDSM with incest and incest with harsh BDSM, so please don't read and submit an irate comment(s) if you object to the mix of these two genres.

Otherwise, these chapters contain many of the physical attributes, mental characteristics, toys and devices to be found in my previous pieces. All characters are of legal age.

In the past, many enthusiastic readers have contributed positive and creative ideas. However, it's my custom to complete an entire story before submission, so I won't be returning to Now Serving to make changes.

I welcome your non-irate, non-flaming comments and will try to respond to your questions.

*****

When Janette returned home that afternoon, she was wild with excitement, telling her father that Justine, Angie's mother, was even more beautiful - and hotter - than her daughter, although the two looked more like sisters than mother and daughter. Janette described Justine's appearance in great detail. "Daddy, I'm pretty sure she doesn't have a boyfriend."

"Oh? What makes you think that?" Matt asked.

"Well, she had a lot of sexual tension. And maybe the reason why Angie is a natural sub is because her mother is one too," she added hopefully.

"What are you getting at?"

Finally, Janette told her father what had really happened at Angie's apartment and showed him the photos of Angie bound and flogged by her mother. He whistled, amazed and intrigued, and said he'd call Justine to arrange a meeting.

Only a couple of days later, while he was still thinking about where to meet and what he'd do to the hot MILF, Justine beat him by calling first. The semester's first-quarter marks had been issued. In her hoarse, sexy voice, she explained how delighted she was that every one of Angie's grades had improved from her previous school.

He explained that Angie knew from the beginning about the serious work ethic at his house. Monday-Friday was when homework and studying had strict priority; the weekend was when the girls could play. He took the opportunity to suggest that the two of them meet after school on Friday afternoon to celebrate Angie's achievement and discuss a suggestion he had. Justine, intrigued, agreed and asked him to pick the place.

Two days later Matt was sitting in the dim rear lounge of an upscale club that he frequented. The lounge area was closed, but the bartender knew him and a $20 bill convinced the bartender into letting Matt sit there in privacy, as long as he didn't expect table service. And the bartender warned him that the room was hot as well. Matt gave the guy another $20 so he would be generous with the spirits when Justine appeared, taking her order at the bar when she arrived and giving her an overgenerous pour. He peeled off another $20, inviting the bartender to stay at his post if the action became intimate. Then Matt sat in one of the curved booths, facing the entrance to the lounge.

Justine was late, something he might be able to use later to his advantage. She was saw him at the rear of the dim space and, momentarily confused by the low light, she hesitated inside the door, a big drink in hand. She knew him. And he was quite good-looking. "I'm so sorry I'm late." Matt just nodded.

She was breathtakingly hot, a more developed version of her daughter. Her inexpensive clothing - full skirt and tight jacket over an off-white blouse - covered almost her entire body, but it didn't fool Matt. Big tits, slim legs, straight black hair, wide thick lips, a waif-like haircut. Like mother like daughter.

Matt immediately became excited. This MILF was a prize even bigger than that of her daughter. It's not just that Justine was very pretty. She was the most sensuous woman he'd ever seen. He immediately pegged her as a submissive with a high sex drive.

He knew her - or at least had seen her recently at one of the school's sports events. He'd first seen her at a Parent-Teacher's evening. Their eyes had locked, although they'd never spoken.

"Hello. Sit here," he said, patting the curved banquette close to him. The bartender must have told her that the room was officially closed, so they would have privacy. She placed her tall drink on the table. It looked like a quadruple vodka on the rocks. (The bartender had certainly earned his big tip.)

"Whew, it's hot in here." She unbuttoned her jacket, spreading it open and showing the light, tight blouse underneath. But nothing was revealed, not even a hint of cleavage. Already perspiring, she drank a quarter of her cocktail in one gulp; he wondered why she was so nervous. He was also drinking vodka, except that he was nursing it.

After discussing the girls' grades, Matt added that Justine's information from the girls was not exactly correct. "Angie's grades have gone up, but not in all classes. In fact, her math grade dropped from a B to a B-. I'm concerned about both the girls. Janette's grade in Chemistry dropped as well. They were warned that if their grades suffered, there's be consequences. Remember? You and I agreed on that." Justine nodded, remembering their talk about strictness. We have to do something definite to stop this downward slide. Don't you agree?"

Justine nodded guardedly, apprehensively. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Look, tomorrow is Saturday. Why don't you come over and see my place? You could join us for a morning swim and a celebratory lunch. We'll figure out their punishment then." Justine looked flushed and swallowed more vodka. Matt didn't mention that lunch would be followed by a discipline session. "Bring an overnight bag and stay over in the guest room. I don't like the idea of your driving all that way back to your place in the dark.

"I think you should definitely be there," he said quietly but forcefully. She glanced at him.

"What kind of discipline?" she asked, haltingly.

"The old-fashioned kind," he said promptly.

"You mean spanking?" she asked.

"No. Spanking is for children."

There was a protracted silence while she inferred his meaning and decided how to continue. "What will you use?" she whispered.

"Something more serious than before."

"Before?" she croaked, her breathing more ragged.

"Oh, didn't Angie tell you about the other night?" She searched his face as he nonchalantly looked at his drink.

"A leather tawse," he said in a matter-of-fact way, as if saying "salt and pepper."

Justine took a large swallow, becoming increasingly agitated. "And how did she respond?" she asked tentatively.

"Very well. She took to it naturally and has a high threshold of pain. But you probably know that. Have you had occasion to punish her yourself?" he asked innocently.

"Y-yes, with a paddle, but not for a couple of months."

"Oh? Because she's been behaving perfectly?"

"Nooo. . . . because I noticed that it excited her."

Matt turned to face her directly. "And does Angie take after her mother?" Justine turned to him, her eyes searching his face, but said nothing, shifting around on the banquette. She drained the remainder of her glass.

He wouldn't let it go. He asked, "Does Angie's mother also have a high threshold of pain?"

She squirmed again. "I was raised in a very strict household," she said, evasively.

"Both of your parents were strict?"

She shook her head. "My mother was out of the picture from an early age. I was raised by my father and my brother." It sounded as if they'd both disciplined her.

"How much older is your brother?"

"He's actually a year younger, but has a very controlling personality." Now that was interesting news. If she'd been punished by a younger brother, she must be highly submissive. As if she read his mind, she explained, "My father traveled a great deal on business. So if he wasn't home on a weekend, my brother had instructions to administer discipline himself."

"You still look hot. Take off your jacket." She shifted on the banquette, troubled by his peremptory tone. It wasn't a suggestion.

She noticed the bartender staring at her. "I'd rather not, thank you." He leaned over - she was sitting to his right - and pulled her jacket off her shoulders and down her upper arms, but leaving it dangling around her elbows, constraining her arms. And he saw why she'd been reluctant. Her tight blouse was paper thin, clearly revealing a lacy black bra. Her tits looked much larger, freed from the camouflage of her severe jacket. The dark chocolate nipples were even darker and larger than her daughter's. "Matt, the bartender's right over there."

"He's not only right there, he's also staring at the exhibit you're providing."

Matt was becoming increasingly excited. He leaned forward and clasped the base of her left nipple with his left thumb and forefinger. The rubbery stalk was so big that the bulging tip extended well beyond his fingers. She started in surprise but didn't attempt to move his hand. Instead, she glanced at the bar, but the bartender wasn't there. He could have seen her in an instant. Nobody had ever sized her up as fast as this handsome guy had done.

Matt rolled the other nipple. "Ohhh!" she moaned. She looked down at his broad thumb and thick finger. He squeezed the second nipple and she licked her lips in mild pain. When he pulled the nub, she fell back against the rear of the banquette, her thighs scissoring open, gritting her teeth.

Still squeezing, he twisted the ballooning nipple tip as Justine's head whipped back and forth in excitement. When he twisted the base of the stalk in one direction and the huge tip in the other, she gasped, in the middle of a small orgasm, and was about to scream. Nobody had ever used that technique on her. He stopped, slowly untwisting both pairs of fingers, gradually allowing the 1½ inches he had extended to retract.

He slid his drink, barely touched, over to her. She gulped more vodka, desperately trying to get a grasp on what was happening. "Is that 'threshold of pain' high enough for you?" she said sarcastically. He slapped her breast, hard.

"You'll be punished for that tone of voice." She couldn't believe how quickly he'd read her and immediately dominated her. How demanding he was. How relentless. Just what she wanted.

"I'm sorry," she said, sweating, her thick lips pouting. This relationship was going way too fast. It was like a bullet train. Suddenly, she panicked and had to get out of there. "I'll be at your place tomorrow."

He pulled the jacket back over her upper arms and onto her shoulders. "And you'll be prepared. . . ."

"To stay over? Yes."

"Not just to stay over. To be punished."

"What?" she said, acting astounded, buttoning her jacket. "You said we'd be punishing the girls."

"You all need to be properly disciplined. You were twenty minutes late today. And I didn't care for that disrespectful crack of yours before."

She was silent for a long time, stunned by how wet her pussy became when he slapped her tit, how she'd cum during the nipple torture, how quickly this meeting had gone in a direction she'd never expected.

Could he be the one?

"What, what. . . will you use on me? The tawse?"

"You'll see soon enough. And it won't be just me." She looked alarmed. "That's right, Justine, you'll also be disciplined by your daughter. It's time she had that experience. And you're far from a perfect mother."

"How can you say that to me?" she cried guiltily, her pussy juicing. She felt a little dizzy. It must be the heat and the vodka. She couldn't stop herself from wondering whether her daughter would enjoy punishing her mother. Could it be that bondage and discipline ran in her family genes?

"Because I understand you. And I know exactly who you are and what you need." Justine closed her eyes, unable to stop herself from picturing the crassly humiliating, degrading scene, trying to ignore the spasms in her cunt and the thrilled flush that shot through her body.

Abruptly, she reached for her handbag to pay but he grabbed her wrist to stop her. "It's on me," he insisted. She stared at his hand. "It's already been paid."

"Who do you think you are?" she protested. "You think you can do whatever you feel like?"

He stared at her, smiling slightly. "I think you're the hottest sub I've ever met. And you've even been trained, although you try to hide it. We'll see whether or not you've been properly trained. And you haven't had a man in a long time who gives you what you crave. I can't wait to take this to the next step. . . Actually, I don't think I will wait."

He pushed her wrists together, clasped both and with his strong left hand, pulled her arms across the table till she was chest down on the surface.

Taken by surprise, she made a token effort at resisting, wriggling a little and seething through clamped teeth. He kicked her feet apart and yanked her skirt up to her waist. The bartender - or a customer - could have walked in at any moment. But she was wrong. The bartender was only a few feet away, standing in the shadows, shooting with a video camera - which was another $20 bill from Matt.

"Between now and noon tomorrow, you won't be able to stop thinking about what's going to go down at my house." He cupped his hand on the wet panty over her pussy. "About getting whipped." He pulled down each side of her panties till they were hanging below her groin. "And flogged." He pushed his broad thumb across her bulging clit and between her shaved lips and she began panting loudly. "And caned." He shoved his thumb all the way into her cunt. She grunted. "And you'll think about your daughter and you punishing each other." He started pumping and she groaned, shaking her head back and forth. "And sucking my cock and drinking down my cum." She was shamelessly humping her hips against the edge of the table, mashing her swollen clit up and down against the edge. "And wearing clamps on your tits."

He let go of her wrists and clamped his left hand over her mouth. "And being bound so your daughter can discipline you." She started to cum. "And being fucked in all your holes till you scream in ecstasy." In full climax, she yelled into his palm, the table rocking beneath her as her hips slammed into it. When her cum was finished, she slid down and back onto the banquette, sprawling, her blouse and jacket disheveled, her hair rumpled.

He pulled up her head by the short black hair and looked into her glazed eyes, filled with shame - and excitement - about what had just happened in a public place. Large wet spots dotted her blouse, partly sweat but mostly water from the tabletop, the fabric clinging to her skin, revealing much of her tits. She noticed that the bartender was back at the bar and was staring at her. He'd probably seen everything. But she had no inkling that he'd recorded it.

"Now, is that specific enough?" Matt leaned forward and kissed her voluptuous lips, then reached across her back and down past her ass. He pulled the wet panties up her thighs, the top of which were streaked with her juices, lowered her skirt and sat back on the banquette.

She stood quickly, wiping some saliva off her chin, saw an emergency exit door in the room and walked slowly toward it, weaving from the alcohol.

"You can't go out that way," the bartender said. An alarm sounds at the security company."

She stopped, reeling with humiliation. She spun around and walked across the room toward the main entrance.

"I'll drive you home," Matt called to her back. "You're in no condition to drive."

"I'm fine!" she snapped petulantly and stormed out of the restaurant, holding her unbuttoned jacket together while she walked past the bartender, who was leering at her.

~ ~ ~

Matt went to the bar, slapped another $20 on it and went out the entrance. Justine was walking slowly and unsteadily, her mind a storm of conflicting emotions. He followed her to the parking lot in the rear as she reached her modest, older vehicle, eying her gorgeous long legs.

"You're drunk," he said.

"You can't control me in public!" she spat, drunkenly trying to get her key in the door lock.

"Oh yes I can." He stepped behind her, grabbed a wrist in each hand, and pulled her arms away from the car door and behind her. She was now leaning against him, her jacket open, the excited nipples tenting the thin blouse. They stood that way for several seconds until she struggled futilely to get her hands free. She was breathing hard, her chest heaving. "You're gripping me so tightly you'll probable mark my wrists," she complained.

"So? You'll look better with marks on your skin, and you know it." He looked around; no one was visible. He pulled his thin belt from his pants, bound her wrists in the small of her back, yanked the keys from her hand and guided her around the car to the passenger door. He unlocked it, pushed her in and climbed in the driver's side. She was fuming but also incredibly aroused, bound in a downtown lot where anybody could appear and see her for the submissive, pain-loving slut she truly was.

Justine's apartment was in a mediocre neighborhood on the other side of town, so the drive took a while. Tired from the vodka and from resisting me, her eyelids soon drooped, her head nodded, and eventually she slid down in the seat, her back leaning against the door, dozing, her head rolling back and forth with the car's movements.

The lower she slipped the more her skirt exposed those long olive-toned legs. He helped the sliding skirt several times, first exposing her stocking tops, then bare thighs and finally her panties. He had a good look at the tight French bikini cut. The large plump lips pushed against the sheer fabric. Like her daughter, she was completely shaved. Two hot sluts.

A couple of blocks from her unimpressive apartment building, Matt had just stopped at a light when one of her neighbors noticed them, called "Janette!" and waved from the sidewalk. A Japanese-American guy in his 60s, he had a broad, strong wrestler's body with a huge bullet-shaped head and close-cropped gray hair. He looked puzzled when she didn't wave back and walked over, suspicious of me and noting Justine's slumped head. "My name's Shimanaka. I'm her next-door neighbor. Is she ok?"

Matt smiled and shrugged. "Just a little too much alcohol, celebrating TGIF."

"And who are you?" he asked protectively.

"Our daughters go to the same school," Matt said. This seemed to satisfy Shimanaka. He leaned into the window, unabashedly taking in the site of her sweaty chest, exposed legs, open blouse and big tits, thrusting outward from the position of her hands.

"She's quite something, isn't she?" he said to Matt, smiling lustfully. "Yeah, I'm a lucky guy," Matt said good-naturedly. "Feel free." The neighbor's big hands caressed Justine's tits, hefting each mound. Justine murmured pleasurable but her eyes didn't open, so Shimanaka stroked her belly and thighs. He cupped her mons, his thick middle finger pressing down on the taut this fabric till it had sunk several inches into her slit.

"Very nice, thank you," he said admiringly. Satisfied, Shimanaka backed away and waved. Matt drove off. When they arrived at her place, Matt slapped her face till she groggily opened her eyes, disoriented and craning her neck around till she realized we were outside her building. She turned her back to me, exposing her wrists, assuming he'd undo the belt.

"Not until after we're inside." She whined with anxiety. He got out, walked to her side and opened the door to see her exposed panties, the wet slit saturating the newly creased sheer fabric, when she swung her legs to the curb. He helped her out and stood behind her as they walked inside, his body shielding her hands from view.