Kevin’s 19th is one of 22 stories collected in my e-book They Say It’s Your Birthday – Stories of Celebration and Degradation, available for only $3.99 USD at my creator site. Purchases support me to continue creating new, free content! (Click here to view.)
When Kevin’s parents had divorced, just before Kevin’s 18th birthday, Kevin had chosen to live with his mother, Adrianna. But his father, an industrial chemist, had given him a present before moving out – two large bottles of pills.
“We just developed these, son,” he said. “There’s no immediate commercial application, but you might find they help your relationship with your mother. They’re all mildly addictive, and the addiction will be satisfied by either pill. The ones in the white jar are “good girl” pills – they’ll make someone feel happy and bubbly. The ones in the red jar are “bad girl” pills. They’ll make someone feel mildly nauseous and insecure. Both types promote arousal and suggestibility. The “bad girl” pills will inhibit the user’s ability to orgasm, though.”
Kevin knew immediately how to use his father’s gift. From that day forward, he brought his mother three cups of tea every day – morning, noon, and evening. If he was pleased with her, he would slip a “good girl” pill in her tea. If she had displeased him, he gave her a “bad girl” pill.
The effect was subtle at first, as she began to feel unaccountably happy when she did what Kevin wanted, and inexplicably unwell when she didn’t. She found herself letting Kevin have his own way more often – increasing his allowance, doing his chores for him, cooking him the meals he wanted.
Then he started making more difficult demands.
“Mum, don’t you think you should give me control over the account that dad pays his alimony into?” said Kevin. “Then I can give *you* an allowance, rather than vice versa?”
“I… no….” she started, and suddenly felt scared. She had an apprehension that if she said no she would start feeling sick and unwell. “I – I don’t think so, baby…” she started.
Kevin frowned, displeased. “All right,” he said. “Time to drink your tea.”
“I don’t want any tea, Kevin!” she said, trying to put her foot down.
But two hours later all she could think about was tea. She *needed* the tea. She craved it. And when she finally let Kevin feed it to her, as she had feared, she felt sick.
By the time evening had come around, and she was thinking about her next cup of tea, she had given in, and transferred the household finances into Kevin’s name.
After that, she had to ask Kevin nicely if she wanted money. He would make her kneel, and call him sir, which she found degrading, but it was very hard to argue with Kevin since his father had left. It was worst when she wanted to buy clothes – he would make her tell him what clothes she intended to buy, and he would only allow her to buy them if they were sexy or skimpy. In one particularly degrading incident, she scrolled through pages of lingerie on an online site with her son, suggesting panties she could buy and being told no, until at last, in a small voice, she had suggested a pair of crotchless panties, and Kevin had finally agreed to pay.
Kevin showed her less and less respect as time went on. One morning, four months after his father had left, he greeted her in the morning not with a “good morning”, but instead by saying, “Get in the kitchen and make me breakfast, bitch.”
Her eyes widened, and she summoned up what resistance she had and yelled at him. “You will NOT address me that way, young man.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ll address you how I want, whore,” he said. His voice was measured, as if testing her boundaries.
She went livid. “Get out! Go to your room! I will not be treated this way!”
He just smiled, and left the room.
But at lunch time she felt sick. And at dinner she felt sicker. And then the next morning it was worse still because Kevin didn’t make her tea at all, and she needed her tea.
Finally she came to him and said, “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it.”
“What didn’t you mean?” he said.
“When I yelled at you,” she said.
He looked at her.
She didn’t know what to say. She needed her tea.
“I am a bitch,” she said finally. “I’m sorry.”
“And?” said Kevin. “What else did I call you?”
Her voice went quiet. “I’m a whore.”
He accepted her apology – in a sense. But before he did, he made her bring out all her old clothes, and then he went through them, and anything that didn’t make her look like a whore he told her to cut up with scissors and throw in the bin. Then he took the remainder of her clothes, put them in a hallway cupboard, and put a padlock on the door.
“From now on, you come to me naked in the mornings,” he told her, “and you ask my permission for whatever outfit you want to wear…”
That was the end of Adrianna’s ability to control Kevin. It was impossible to set boundaries when she had to go to him naked every morning, her cunt bare, her large tits exposed, and beg for clothes. Sometimes he allowed her to dress – albeit in slutty outfits, often without underwear. Other times he made her go around with her cunt exposed, or her tits exposed, or completely naked. He was merciless. Once he had set her an outfit, he made no exceptions. If the doorbell rang, she would have to answer it nude, blushing, pretending it was normal for her to be naked. She frequently had to cancel social occasions because Kevin would refuse to allow her to wear clothes for them.
After a month of this treatment, she *tried* to resist, to tell him that it wasn’t normal for a boy to keep his mother naked. He cut her off from tea for a whole day, and then sent her out dressed in nothing but a bra and crotchless panties to visit a sex shop. Mortified and degraded, she shuffled around the shop as patrons stared at her, buying him his shopping list – handcuffs, nipple clamps, nipple weights, clit clamps, vibrators, butt plugs, collars, leashes – and returned home to give them to him. And of course, after that, her “outfits” started to include painful clamps, weights, and anal plugs.
He started groping her, casually squeezing her tits, or slipping a finger between her cunt lips. When she squeaked and protested, he would grab her, push her down over a couch, and spank her ass with a paddle, before feeding her a “bad girl” tea. She stopped protesting, and instead stood still when he groped her, pushing her tits out or parting her legs for his convenience.
He started walking around the house with his cock out. The first time Adrianna saw this, she opened her mouth to protest, but Kevin said, “What are you doing on your feet, bitch?”
“What?” she asked.
“Do you think you’re more important than my cock?” he demanded. “Get down on all fours!”
Surprised, not knowing what to do, Kevin’s mother went down on all fours like a dog.
“New rules, bitch,” Kevin told her. “When my cock is out, and it’s not erect, you keep your head lower than the level of my cock, to show you know what you’re inferior to. When my cock is erect, you find the nearest couch or kitchen bench and bend over it, ass out, legs spread, presenting your cunt. Understand?”
“Yes, Kevin,” she said, weakly.
He stood there, looking down at his mother, naked on all fours at his feet – and, inevitably, his cock stiffened. When it did, he said, “Take the position, mother.”
Distressed, but not daring to disobey, Adrianna rose, and bent over the kitchen bench as instructed, ass out, naked cunt displayed.
“Good bitch,” said Kevin. “Now, to show you appreciate your son’s cock, you’re going to masturbate. You’re going to keep doing it for the next five hours. If I come out at any time and find that you’re not sopping wet, I’m going to punish you. Or, conversely, if you let yourself orgasm, I’m going to punish you.”
He paused. “And your punishment will be to go naked to every house on this street and ask if anyone inside would like to rape you.”
She squeaked with fear and began masturbating.
Kevin left the room.
Adrianna kept masturbating for hour after hour. Her back began to hurt, but the endorphins coming from her pussy compensated. She was terrified that she might orgasm, but she found it disturbingly easy to stay wet. She had to strain hard to prevent herself from giving herself the stimulation that would let her cum. By the end, she was a whimpering, lustful, wet slut that couldn’t think of anything but her cunt.
At exactly five hours, Kevin came up behind her, and pushed his cock into her cunt.
She jumped, and screamed out loud, as she felt her son’s dick violate her – and then, only a moment later, she orgasmed. And orgasmed again.
Kevin laughed, and started fucking her, banging her into the kitchen bench on every thrust. She orgasmed from the sensation, and then orgasmed from the pain, and then orgasmed from the humiliation of knowing she was being raped by her own son, and then orgasmed from the humiliation of having orgasmed.
Eventually Kevin orgasmed himself, filling her wet cunt with his cum. He stayed inside her till his cock softened, and then pulled out.
Obediently, Adrianna immediately dropped to all fours before her son’s cock, and then flinched as he wiped his penis clean on her face.
“Take the little present I’ve left in your pussy and smear it all over your face and tits, mum,” he told her. “You’ll look pretty that way.”
And she did.
Becoming her son’s fucktoy wasn’t so bad, she found. But her degradations were only just beginning. Kevin had no respect for her left whatsoever. After she made herself dinner, Kevin would often deliberately tip it on the floor, and then laugh as she licked it up on all fours off the linoleum, before soaping her tits with hot water and rubbing them back and forth over the mess – which was the only way he let her clean the floors or windows anymore.
He called her his “walking garbage bin”. When he had rubbish – a chip packet or a used tissue – he would push it up her pussy or anus, and she would carry it to the bin inside her before removing it and disposing of it properly.
Nine months into her degradation, he sent her out to get her nipples and clitoris pierced. She came back in agony, but he immediately began to enjoy hanging weights and chains from her new piercings.
He had a series of D-rings installed throughout the house – on chairs, bench-tops, walls – and when he was bored of her, or was going out, he would cuff her hands behind her back, and then clip her to a D-ring by her tits or clitoris, leaving her pinned in place by her womanly attributes until he had a use for her again.
Finally, a year had passed since Kevin had enslaved his mother.
“What do you want for your 19th birthday, baby?” Adrianna asked Kevin nervously, from a position on all fours before his exposed cock.
He thought. “Well,” he said, “you know that pretty girl who lives down the street?”
“Emily?” asked Adrianna. “The brunette?”
“Yes,” said Kevin.
Adrianna froze, thinking that Kevin would ask her to set him up on a date.
But what he said was, “I want to rape Emily’s mother.”
Adrianna’s eyes widened.
“And that hot wife who lives down the street with the fake tits,” he added. “Oh, and I may as well fuck Emily as well. And then watch her fuck her mother.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Adrianna asked.
“You’re going to make it happen,” said Kevin. “I don’t care how. Blackmail. Force. Whatever. But I expect to have those women naked and ready to be raped at my birthday party. You’re going to hold their pussies open for me to penetrate.”
Adrianna had been enslaved too long to even think of disobeying. Instead she said, “Please, Kevin, don’t make me,” implicitly accepting that if Kevin wanted her to do it, she was going to do it.
“Don’t beg, bitch,” said Kevin. “Just make it happen.” And he stepped forward and plugged her mouth with his cock.
Adrianna thought frantically. She could probably seduce Emily’s mother – she thought the woman might be bisexual – and then when she had access to their house, she could probably find something to blackmail both women. Or put cameras up to film them. And the hot woman down the road – Mrs Wendingham – she might be persuaded to be Kevin’s bitch if Adrianna threatened her family.
And as she planned how to procure her neighbours for her son to rape, she realised she had come to accept her new position – that her role as Kevin’s mother was not to guide him and parent him and set boundaries, but rather that her proper relationship to her son was to drink his cum, and display her fuckhole and slutbags for his pleasure, and dispose of his garbage, and worship his cock, and find him pretty women to rape.
And as her son violently ejaculated into her mouth, and she obediently swallowed his sperm, she thought to herself that if this really *was* her life now, and this really *was* what being a mother meant…
.. then she was going to be the best mother she could be.