TABOO TALES(erotica)

Dinner is (Submissively) Served

Matt noticed that Janice sat down gingerly for Sunday breakfast, still sore from the invasion of her ass. Since he’d received his final graduation gift, he didn’t want to be selfish. He didn’t need his mother all for himself, and thought the timing was appropriate to introduce his S/M mother to other people. And what better people than family?

Actually, Matt had no idea of his mother’s long-ago history with other people. She had been a very bad teenager, something she assumed he’d never discover.

When they’d finished eating, she stood up to get the coffee carafe and refill his cup. Back at the table, she saw her diary lying at her place. Her throat flushed at the sight of it. “You’ll need to be studying that to prepare tonight’s menu for Darielle,” he said.

“But, but I know all the . . . recipes.” She complained. He looked unconvinced. “I know everything in it . . . every . . . last . . . detail.”

“As long as you’re sure,” he agreed.

Janice spent most of Sunday preparing dinner, which she enjoyed, drinking wine all afternoon. She was excited with anticipation.

She did not see Matt until 5 pm, when he had informed her that she, as a servant, would present herself for an inspection of dress and general appearance, before Darielle’s appearance at 5:30. Janice chafed at this new debasement-being subservient to her sister. However, Janice obediently set the dining room table beautifully, including the pair of antique lead candelabra, so heavy they were an effort to lift. Each place setting had a black plastic napkin ring, three inches in diameter and two inches high.

She stood awaiting him. “Put your hands behind your neck, but not clasped at your waist. I want each hand touching the opposite elbow. In her new position, Janice felt her breasts scraping against the rough, thin muslin of her cheap apron. She wore her new lingerie, short skirt and heels, but he had told her there was no need for her white blouse since she’d be wearing a white apron. Except for her bra strap, her back was exposed. Resting on the shelf bra, her tits were so dark they could easily be seen through the cheap fabric of the apron.

Matt judged her appearance acceptable and ordered her to finish preparations in the kitchen after shutting the door. When Darielle arrived, Matt took her into the living room and made them both martinis. “Matt, this is delicious. I didn’t know you could make such a good martini. You’ve really become the man of the house.”

“Yes, in more ways than one,” he said cryptically.

“Where’s my sister?”Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Finishing up in the kitchen. She’s wearing a new outfit just for you.”

“Well, she certainly acted strangely on our vacation, not to mention leaving early in order to be back with you.” They walked into the kitchen, where Janice froze, her head hanging in humiliation, flashing back on the degrading scenes of submission from her youth. Darielle commented on how “cute” her sister looked, just like a real maid. She and Matt sat down in the dining room, which was lit only by the dozen candles in the candelabra. Janice ladled the soup into small, deep bowls, careful to not make a mistake, and sat.

The moment that Darielle tasted the first spoonful of white soup, she put down her spoon. “This vichyssoise is too thick and too salty.”

“I like it thick,” Janice blurted, defensive about her cooking, their sibling rivalry surfacing. “And I like it salty,” she bragged in a patronizing tone, then blushed at the way her words could be interpreted. Like a cock-slut, she thought.

Matt stared at her. “I was kind enough to let our maid actually sit at the table, and then you have the bad manners to contradict an invited guest-not once, but twice. That sort of rudeness will not be tolerated. It demands correction. And we’ll skip the first course entirely. He picked up his and Darielle’s bowls, held them in front of Janice, and upended the hot bowls onto her apron over her breasts. “Owww!” she yelled, the heat ripping through the apron. She sat there hissing in pain as the soup dripped off the soaked apron, revealing her breasts and their hard nipples, dumbfounded that Matt would treat her like this in front of company-even if the company was her sister. “I don’t think you’ll make that error again,” he said. “Now clasp your hands behind your head. Apologize to Darielle.”

“I apologize,” Janice croaked unwillingly, slightly dizzy from the excitement of being ordered into a slave posture in front of a family member other than her son. Darielle sat back, stunned at the debauched scene but deeply excited to see her sister maltreated and embarrassed. She wondered if she would be asked to participate. She’d always wondered whether or not her sister had a masochistic streak.

“I apologize. . . what?” Matt corrected.

“I apologize, Darielle.”

“Or you may say ‘Mistress.'”

“I apologize, Mistress.”

“Ask Darielle to discipline you.”

Her face burning, Janice shamefully asked, “Mistress, please correct me.”

“We’re going to teach you, as an example for your son,” Darielle said. “First, we must have clean clothing at the table,” She stood, walked to her sister, pulled the chair back from the table.

“Please don’t do this, Matthew! Not in front of another person!” Janice sobbed.

“I’m not doing anything, your sister is.” Privately, Janice was grateful that this scene was being enacted with another woman. But she wasn’t sure whether she would have preferred a female stranger to her sister.

Darielle untied the apron bow tied at the neck. With the weight of the soup on it, the apron immediately slid off her chest into Janice’s lap, revealing her reddened breasts. “I can see your big tits! The ones you’ve always been so proud about,” Darielle said. ” Did you know that bra makes you look like a common slut?”

“Yes. . . Mistress, I suppose,” Janice admitted, obviously aroused from her sister’s demeaning language.

“And those marks on your tits look like you must have deserved a thorough beating! Apparently it wasn’t enough for you to learn respect.”

“Maybe we should quiet that fresh mouth of hers,” Matt said to Darielle. She removed the soggy crumpled apron as Matt handed her a soft black ball, used by Janice at the gym to develop hand strength. Darielle plugged it into Janice’s mouth. “That should keep you from speaking improperly.” Darielle kept going. “And let’s get off that damp skirt.” She unbuttoned the front and tugged it off. Janice’s long, stocking-sheathed legs looked beautiful in the candlelight.

“Spread your legs all the way for Darielle,” Matt ordered.

“My, my, those panties are completely sheer-I can see your whole pussy!” Darielle said. “Is that the way you like it, you tramp?” She prodded Janice’s mound through the panties. “It’s so smooth, you probably shave your pussy every single day?” Janice nodded reluctantly, unable to explain that she had to. “Jesus, your panties are sopping wet! Do you want to catch cold?”

“No, Mistress,” she mumbled through the gag. Darielle unhooked the garter belt’s snaps from the stocking tops and pulled the panties all the way off, running her hands over the series of marks on Janice’s abdomen. She rehooked the garter belt’s snaps to the stocking tops. “Now get up and serve our entree. Janice cringed as she stood before them, ball gagged, hands behind her head, wearing only the maid’s white cap and black bra, stockings, garter belt and heels. She turned to the kitchen, realizing she was now exposing her whipped ass and thighs to her sister’s view. She was lost in a swarm of thoughts, wondering if Matthew would force her to suck his cock in front of Darielle, whether he would cum in her mouth or shoot all over her face and tits while Darielle watched, gloating. Maybe he would even whip her and fuck her, with Darielle urging him on. Or maybe Darielle would whip her while Matthew was fucking her. Or maybe Matthew would whip her while Darielle was fucking her with a strapon . . . .

After serving steak, pomme frites and green beans to Darielle, Janice leaned over Matt with the serving dish. “Put it down on the table and lean over more,” he said. He held his hand out to the side and slapped first one breast and then the other. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked in air. He clamped his hand over her pussy and fingered her wet slit. “Now serve me and sit down.” The main course was excellent.

Afterward, Darielle walked to Janice and whispered in her ear. “Since you like to show off your tits, they should be marked all the way around. Slapping will hardly do.” Janice started to perspire. Darielle carefully aimed the bamboo at the outside of her sister’s left breast and tentatively let go. But Darielle was surprisingly strong, and the cane connected to the base of the breast flesh with a solid “Thwack!” making the heavy breast bounce in recoil. Janice’s only visible response was a strand of saliva that escaped from the ball gag and descended to her chest.