Story: An Incentive For Ethan, Part 12

Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven

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From the moment that Melissa gave in and called her own son “daddy”, the power dynamic in the household was changed forever. 

Ethan took the opportunity to swap their bedrooms, giving himself the larger master bedroom with the queen bed – which he redecorated with dark black bedclothes, purchased using Melissa’s credit cards – and he consigned his mother to the single bed in his former room. 

To make matters worse, he had Melissa redecorate the walls in childish pink, buy pink bimbo-ish bedsheets, and acquire a large plush rabbit and plush bear to sit at the foot of her bed.  He put children’s books on a shelf for her, and crayons, paper and building blocks on a table.  He put locks on her cupboards, so that she had to ask her own son permission to take clothes from them – and most of the time he would allow her to wear nothing but a single pair of panties, or a cooking apron. 

She hated calling him “daddy” – it was perverted and wrong, and it made her cringe internally in disgust every time she did it – but that was of course precisely why he loved making her do it.  And her first attempt to backpedal, and tell him that she wouldn’t call him that name, was her last, because his punishment was swift. 

He forced her into an adult diaper, and then took her out in public to a mall, wearing only a sundress over the diaper.  He made her walk from shop to shop with him, never letting her stray or rest, as she begged for permission to visit the restrooms, until finally she gave in, and pissed into the diaper in the middle of a crowd of unsuspecting shoppers.   

Then he led her into a back corridor of the mall – largely out of sight, but not entirely, and wrestled her sundress off her, leaving her naked but for the diaper. 

“I can leave you here,” he told her.  “I’ll take the car home.  Is that what you want?” 

His body was blocking Melissa’s nudity from the shoppers on the main thoroughfare, but Melissa’s brain was still screaming at her that she was nude, but for a diaper, in a public place.  Her tits were on display – doubly so because she didn’t dare cover them with her arms, certain that Ethan would slap her if she did. 

“No,” she mumbled, looking down. 

He grabbed her tit and slapped it, hard.  “What was that, cunt?” he asked. 

“No, daddy,” she mumbled.  “Please take me home and change my diaper, daddy.” 

“Louder, cunt,” Ethan insisted. 

“No, daddy!” she said, louder.  “Please take me home and change my diaper, daddy!” 

And she was loud enough that a couple of shoppers out on the thoroughfare turned to look, and saw her there, with her tits out, wearing a diaper, eager to please a man half her age.  She could see the looks of disgust on their faces before they pointedly turned away. 

“Good girl,” whispered Ethan.  And he did take her home, and he did change her diaper – and after that he let her use the toilet normally.  But the packet of remaining diapers remained in her bedroom, a constant reminder of what would happen if she was a bad girl. 

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She still spent most of each day on the milking machine, and under the combination of regular daily milking and lactation supplements, she was beginning to produce a good amount of milk.  Between milkings, her tits felt sore and swollen, and her milkings – though still painful and humiliating – began to come as a relief each morning. 

Ethan told her that she was a good cow.  He delighted in seizing her by the tits each morning and roughly pulling her to the breakfast table, where he would squirt her first release of milk into his cereal bowl, before slapping her tits and calling her a slut. 

“Thank you, daddy,” Melissa would say meekly, in response to this treatment. 

Then she would be expected to make breakfast conversation, in line with Ethan’s list of allowed topics. 

“I was thinking about why I deserve to have my tits hurt,” she ventured one morning. 

“Mm? And why is that?” asked Ethan, between mouthfuls of cereal. 

A few months ago, Melissa might have had trouble with this, and thought that she *didn’t* deserve to have her tits hurt at all.  But that wasn’t a direction of conversation that Ethan would allow, and besides, Melissa only needed to think back to Ethan’s father, who had lectured her extensively on this specific subject. 

“It’s because I’m a stupid slut,” she said.  “I can’t think properly unless a man is controlling me, and the best way for a man to control me is to beat my tits until I do what I’m told.” 

“That sounds about right,” said Ethan.  “Do you need your tits beaten right now?” 

She didn’t.  She didn’t want that to happen.  But she knew what would happen if she said no – so she just said nothing, and blushed, and her son took that as a yes.  He came around to her side of the table, and pulled her breasts to rest flat on the wooden table surface, and then he began to slap them with his hands, again and again, until Melissa was crying. 

And once the tears started, he pulled her over to the couch by her hair, and then he raped her. 

Melissa might have been able to claim that the whole thing constituted horrible abuse – except that she orgasmed with her own son’s cock inside her.  Twice. 

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Ethan still sent his mother to do the shopping, but he would dress her in tight yoga pants, with no panties, and a tight white T-shirt.  He would make her masturbate to the edge of orgasm before going out – while thinking about her sister, of course – and so by the time she got to the shops there would be a visible wet patch on her crotch, where her pants tightly hugged the clear outline of her pussy mound, and there would be wet patches over each nipple, where her tits had leaked milk into the shirt, making her nipples and areolae clearly visible through the now semi-transparent fabric. 

On one trip, an older man at the checkout asked her if she was pregnant, and who the father was.   

Completely without thinking, Melissa replied, “Daddy.  But I’m not pregnant yet.”   

And then she went bright red with humiliation when she realised what she had said, and ran from the store in embarrassment, leaving her shopping behind. 

Except that she had to come back for it, because Ethan would be angry if she returned home empty-handed, and when she did, everyone watched her… 

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Her degradation continued with Ethan’s friends.  They already knew that she behaved submissively with Ethan, and Ethan had encouraged them to call her “cunt” or “bitch” and order her around as if she were a servant. 

But now he no longer let her wear clothes in front of them.  When he had his friends over for movies or videogames, Melissa would answer the door completely naked, calling each teenaged boy “sir” and welcome them to “her Master’s house”. 

They loved staring at her naked body, and calling her names.  They laughed uproariously when they learned she now called Ethan “daddy”.  And Ethan encouraged them to make her the focus of their cruel games. 

One favourite game was to see what objects they could fit up Melissa’s pussy.  Melissa would lie on the couch with her legs spread, her fingers parting her pussy lips, and the boys would scour the house for weird things to stuff up her cunt.  Melissa would close her eyes and flush with humiliation as they shoved bottles and rolling pins up her twat, then her high heeled shoes, then rags and clothes, and then hairbrushes and toilet brushes. 

Another was to make her revolting alcoholic drinks.  They would start by mixing two thoroughly unappealing fluids – such as beer and vodka – and then they would add “secret ingredients”, which ranged from hot sauce, to mayonnaise, to their own spit.  She was pretty sure one of the boys pissed in the drink one time.  And then they would make her drink it, and rub her pussy in front of them as she did. 

They thought she was funny when she was drunk.  It was particularly funny for them because they would make her talk to them, in her slurred, tipsy speech, after her fourth or fifth “mystery drink”, and she would still be bound by Ethan’s list of approved topics. 

“I love it when I’m raped,” she would slur.  “Or when I’m objectified.  I love being treated as an object for boys to shove their dicks into.  It’s the best…” 

Another game involved throwing garbage at her tits.  The boys would find chip wrappers, or plastic soda bottles, or loose bits of food that had fallen on the floor, and they would fling them at Melissa’s fuckbags from progressively increasing distances.  Sometimes they missed, and hit her in the face or the cunt. 

It was during one of these games, when Melissa had been moved to the furthest distance that the house interior would allow – standing at the back of the kitchen as the boys lined up at the front door – that Ethan declared, “First lad to hit her tits at this distance gets to fuck her.” 

Melissa’s eyes widened.  She didn’t want to fuck one of Ethan’s schoolfriends – even if they were 18.  She particularly didn’t want them to cum in her unprotected cunt… 

But they were already flinging their garbage at her udders.  On the first round, every boy missed – although Ethan’s tall friend Geoffrey caught her a stinging crack with a cock bottle on her pussy – but on the second round, Ethan’s shorter, fatter friend Cole managed to land a piece of wet lettuce that had fallen from a hamburger directly on her left nipple. 

There were cheers. 

“Take her to her bedroom and have fun, Cole,” said Ethan, winking.  “It’s the pink one.  Slap her around if she gives you any trouble.” 

“Please, daddy, no…” begged Melissa. 

But Ethan had no mercy.  “Shut the fuck up, cunt, and focus on making my friend happy.  Weren’t you just telling us how much you love being raped?” 

All the boys were laughing and cheering now as Cole grabbed Melissa by her boob and half-dragged her up the corridor to her bedroom. 

“Please, you don’t have to do this,” she begged the overweight, pimply boy as he pushed her towards the bed. 

“Oh, please,” he said.  “As if you’d stand around us naked and let us do all these things to you if you weren’t into it.”  

He winked and said, “I’ll tell you what.  Let’s check your cunt, and if it’s not wet, I won’t do anything except suck on your tits a bit.” 

He reached down between her legs – and of course, her traitorous fuckhole *was* wet, and so Cole laughed and pushed her down on the bed. 

“Please…” she tried, one more time. 

“Ethan says you’re only allowed to talk about certain topics,” said Cole, as he unzipped his fly and extracted his cock.  “Is begging me not to fuck you one of those topics?” 

“No,” she admitted. 

“Then why don’t you try one that’s permitted?” he asked.  He paused, knees between her legs, the tip of his cock an inch from her pussy, waiting to see what she would say. 

She ran through the list in her mind, searching for something appropriate – and then settled on the one that she *knew*, deep down, instinctively, was correct. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.  “Thank you for treating me the way that I deserve…” 

Cole smiled. 

“Any time, cunt,” he said. 

And then he pushed his cock between his pussy lips, and Melissa was once again lost in the humiliation, degradation – and pleasure – of being raped.

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