Chapter 5: Back to the Clinic II.

Hi everyone. Kate Muggleton back again. You know, when I began this memoir, I thought maybe a few people might be interested enough to read my first chapter, and they might carry over to the second, but I didn’t expect to go beyond that because I thought interest would wane swiftly. However, here we are, four chapters completed and beginning a fifth. Let me remind you how chapter 4 ended, and I’ll tell you about my subsequent adventures.

My son, Tommy, upset because his football club had told him they would cut him at the end of the season, got drunk with his girlfriend and two of her friends. No matter his age, a boy always needs his mommie when he’s hurt, so Tommy called me and asked me to come and get him.

Of course, I immediately put on a dress and drove to his girlfriend Gina’s house. Getting there, I found Tommy in Gina’s parents’ hot tub, drunk and passed out. Gina and her two friends, Jennifer and Charmaine, were in the tub with my son. Gina invited me to join them, but I demurred, preferring to take my son home immediately.

However, as Gina pointed out, with Tommy passed out, it was unlikely that even the four of us could carry him to my car, even if I were prepared to let him get in with wet shorts. Reluctantly, I agreed to join the girls in the tub, but only if Gina could provide swimwear.

Gina took me up to her mother’s bedroom and handed me a bikini so tiny as to be obscene. I refused to put it on until, using her dominance over me, Gina sexually stimulated me until I docilely did as told, donned the garment and then followed her back to the tub.

After walking out Gina’s back door to the admiration and catcalls of my son and the others, my typical flirtatious nature took over, and I strutted across to the tub like a woman who knew she would win the swimsuit section of The Miss Universe Pageant.

When I got back in the tub, Gina’s friend Charmaine, a tiny, gorgeous young woman with legs and breasts to die for, instantly cuddled and caressed me. Various other things of a sexual nature happened, which culminated with Gina riding my son’s big cock as I tongued her clit and his balls.

Gina then offered me my son’s cock to either suck or ride. Knowing that my willpower to resist was hanging by an unravelling thread, I summoned the last of it together and managed to dress and stagger out to my car before I did the unthinkable and had sex with my son before those three.

When I started my car, Tommy stumbled out naked after me and jumped into the car.

Readers, I will continue with my story.

After getting in my car, Tommy stayed awake long enough to buckle his seatbelt, before he passed out. Driving home, I bit my bottom lip as I watched my son’s erect, deliciously long and thick cock gently swaying and bouncing to the car’s movement. Eventually, I could no longer stand it and ran my fingers lightly over its head.

“Hmm,” Tommy moaned as he pushed his hips up, trying to create more contact with my hand. Unable to resist, I wrapped my dainty hand around his shaft and gently pumped it. “Yes,” my son groaned. “Suck it for me, baby, please.”

That wasn’t something I could do whilst driving home, so I gripped tighter and pumped faster. I got home and parked in our garage and saw that Tommy was about to cum. Unwilling to waste his delicious seed, I undid my belt, got on my knees, leaned over and took my son’s hard cock into my mouth. As soon as he felt my tongue lashing his glans, Tommy held my head, groaned, and filled my mouth with his tasty semen. Once my son’s orgasm ended, I licked and swallowed until I was sure I’d gathered all of my son’s spend. Delighting in its taste, I smacked my lips and sat up.

Letting go of his slowly deflating cock, I tried to rouse him, but he was dead to the world. All I could do was leave him to sleep off his drunken stupor and go to bed because there was no way I could carry him. Entering my room, I locked the door because I was in no mood to try and convince a drunken teenage male that he wasn’t having my sweet pussy that night. If Tommy was sober, I might have considered letting him make love to me again, but I didn’t want to be subjected to his inebriated, fumbling advances.

Sure enough, around four hours later, my door rattled, waking me up. Finding my door locked, Tommy chuckled and said, “Thanks for coming and getting me, Mom. See you in the morning.”

I woke sometime later, back to craving a smoke. But fearing another phase out, I ignored my craving. However, I sat up and propped myself against the headboard. I wanted to think more about why I’d suddenly started allowing sexual relations between myself and my children and why I had begun submitting sexually to every advance I received. Never before had I been so easily tripped into bed or compromising situations.

I knew my husband John’s continual job promotions were part of the problem. As he climbed that corporate ladder into rarer and rarer air, his absences became more frequent and prolonged. What was worse was that his next promotion was likely to be to VP, and although that would be a real feather in my husband’s cap, it would mean even more travel and a heavier workload.

’You need to start travelling with him,’ I told myself. ‘The kids are old enough to look after themselves, so your travelling with John won’t be a problem. ‘Plus’, I added with a giggle. ‘I’d get to shop in London, Paris and Rome!’

If John agreed to allow me to travel with him, it would cure a number of problems. The first, of course, being it would keep the slut Amanda, his secretary, out of his bed. I didn’t mind John fucking her. As I’ve noted earlier, that is the price you pay to stay married to a rich, successful man. But she had designs on becoming Mrs Muggleton number two and supplanting me in John’s bed permanently instead of only when my husband felt the need to empty his sack into her.

Second was that John often bemoaned Amanda’s lack of poise and grace when she accompanied him to formal events. As we all know, most business dealings at the level my husband is at are done over a quiet drink and meal, not in the corporate office. Amanda’s lack of elegance demeaned my husband and made him appear less than he was. Taking me to those events, and I say this with all due modesty, would mean he’d dazzle every man there and quite a few of the women, too.

Third, and with how I was at this moment, probably the most important, travelling with John would take me out of Edgar, Frank, Liz and Gina’s clutches. Though, being under Gina’s spell didn’t bother me that much. If I brought Gina to our bed, John wouldn’t object as long as he could partake of her delights, too. Of course, our son would, so that was off the table.

But none of the above is what had me concerned that morning. No, it was more that I suddenly seemed to be a lesbian. Every hot-looking woman that had come onto me since I attended the clinic, including my daughter Krissy, I’d joyously had sex with, and I couldn’t understand why.

Yes, I had sex with my sisters and mother for my father’s enjoyment. And, yes, I’d experimented with my best friend Cath Loughlin when we were teenagers. Plus, I’d brought women to our marital bed so I could titillate my husband with a lesbian fantasy show. But before my first visit to Edgar Fontaine’s hypnosis clinic, where I let his receptionist Liz Donnelly have sex with me, I’d never indulged in lesbian sex for my own pleasure. I’d only ever done it for the men in my life.

An incident from my earlier life seemed important to my current situation, so I closed my eyes and relived my memories of that day.

Mobile phones were rare in Australia at the time of my remembered event, and the cost of using the few available was prohibitive. Plus, the network coverage was patchy at best. Most telephonic communication was by way of the good old house phone, or landline, if you prefer.

I thought my mother had gone grocery shopping because her car wasn’t in our garage when I came home from school. So, taking advantage of my perceived rare aloneness, I took the portable phone up to my room and phoned my best friend, Cath Anderson. We chatted about the dreamy boys at our school and agreed that John Muggleton, the captain of our school’s First Thirteen, and his best friend Mike Loughlin were amongst the dreamiest of them. As we bantered back and forth, describing what we’d let them do to us, I pulled my panties off and played with my love button.

That meant, of course, that I breached several house rules simultaneously. I hadn’t stripped naked as soon as I walked through the door. I’d taken the phone to my room —probably the biggest breach of protocol. And I was playing with myself. Something I was only to do if my mother or father said I could. Masturbating to orgasm was exclusively done for my father’s enjoyment or as a reward for serving him faithfully.

Mom could allow us to orgasm as a reward for exceptional behaviour if my father was absent on one of his many business trips.

It turned out that my father had taken Mom’s car to be serviced, and she was home. She walked into my bedroom to collect the soiled sheets and other laundry items I should have already bundled for her to take and found me on my back with the soles of my feet pressed together and knees spread wide, thumbing my clitoris as I described to Cath what I wanted John Muggleton to do to me.

Of course, I had plenty of experience with all kinds of sexual activities other than penetrative sex, so I could fill my descriptions with vast amounts of salacious details. On the other side, Cath had been raised in a strict catholic family and had zero experience with the male anatomy, let alone sex.

“And exactly what do you think you’re doing, young lady?” Mother said sternly from my bedroom door.

“Oh, shivers,” I squeaked to Cath as I swiftly disconnected the call. Then, kneeling, I bowed my head and offered the phone to my mother. “Talking to my friend, Cath, on the phone, Ma’am,” I admitted.

“Clothed and with your door shut? What are your father’s rules regarding that, Miss Kate Ashley Shephard?” Mom asked.

Feeling about two centimetres tall, I stated, “We are to remove all clothing as soon as we have shut the front door and then carry them to our room and place them in our clothes hamper. Our doors are to remain open at all times so that Dad and you can monitor our behaviour, Ma’am.”

“Regarding the house phone, Miss Kate?” Mom questioned.

“I am only to use it in your or Dad’s presence to ensure I don’t try to hook up with boys, Ma’am,” I replied meekly.

“Masturbating?”

“I’m allowed to only when permitted to by Dad or you. Typically I’m given permission to to reward my good behaviour, Ma’am.”

“And your behaviour today, Kate Ashley Shephard, has it been good?” Mom asked, knowing it hadn’t been.

“No, Ma’am,” I swiftly acknowledged. “I have committed several breaches of protocol and must be corrected to ensure my bad behaviour does not become ingrained.”

“Go to your father’s study and select an appropriate cane for your correction, Miss Kate. Bring it to my room once you’ve made your choice.”

Standing, I swiftly disrobed, ran downstairs to Dad’s office, and selected a cane. I didn’t pay any attention to which one and took the closest to hand. Racing back to my mother’s bedroom, I stopped outside until I got my breathing under control, then stepped through the door.

Walking through the door with my eyes downcast, I closed it and immediately knelt. Then I held the cane above my head, bowed and said, “This worthless piece of female flesh had chosen her correction’s instrument, Ma’am. She apologises for her atrocious behaviour and promises she will do better in the future.”

“Kate, you are always apologetic for your bad behaviour,” my mother said severely. “Yet, you continue to exhibit it. How do you expect to find a strong man to serve if you continue to act like a brat? No, Kate, this sluttish behaviour ends today, or I will cane you until your ass and breasts are black and blue.”

I knew my mother’s question was rhetorical, so I remained kneeling and quiet, looking down.

Sighing, Mom said, “Assume correction position one, Kate. I will administer five corrections on your breasts, followed by five more on your behind. You will thank me for each correction.”

If you remember, position one is standing looking down, with my feet spread shoulder width apart, my hands behind my head, and my elbows back.

Predictably, Mom’s first strike hit both of my nipples simultaneously. “One, thank you, Ma’am.” I intoned. Her second was on the underside of my generous mounds. “Two, thank you, Ma’am.” The third was slightly below the second. “Three, thank you, Ma’am,” I said softly, trying not to allow my arousal to show in my voice. Number four struck across my nipples again. It was swiftly followed by a fifth in the same spot. “Four and five, thank you, Ma’am,” I said, my voice barely short of a moan of desire.

“Turn,” Mom demanded.

Turning until my backside faced my mother, I bent at the hips, placed my hands on my thighs for support, and arched my back so that my ass was presented sexily to my mother.

I heard a whistle as Mom swung the cane at my ass. The cane was a long, slender length of bamboo that flexed and acted like a whip when swung. Wincing, I quietly said, “One, thank you, Ma’am.” Mom’s second strike was across the backs of both upper thighs and stung like crazy. I wanted to twitch away and complain, but I gasped, “Two, thank you, Ma’am.”

“Would you like to be excused from your last three corrections, Miss Kate?” Mom asked.

I’d have preferred to receive my last three strikes and be done, but that wasn’t the required response. So I submissively replied, “Yes, Ma’am. What would you have this piece of cock receiving meat do instead?”

“Lick me to orgasm, Kate,” Mom demanded. “You may masturbate and climax when I do.”

I knee-walked across to my mother and then looked submissively up at her as I tongued her tangy pussy. Grabbing a handful of my hair, Mom moaned and ground her clit and entrance against my lips and mouth.

“That’s it, baby,” Mom groaned. “Suck on my clit and lap where you came out of.”

My mother was totally into the fantasy of her daughters sexually stimulating the area we’d exited from, so her words weren’t shocking, and I did as asked and swiftly brought my mother to a crashing orgasm.

My correction over, I said, “I apologise for forcing you to correct me, Mother. Your baby girl will endeavour to be better behaved from now on.”

“Do you need to cum, Kate?” Mom asked.

“Yes, please,” I replied.

“Lie on your side and lift your top leg as high as possible,” Mom demanded.

When I complied, Mom knelt between my thighs and pressed her soakingly wet pussy against mine and then ground against me until we exploded into an orgasm.

Thinking about having sex with my father and later with my mother after being corrected gave me some insight to begin unravelling the reasons for my current behaviour. It seemed that after my first session at the clinic, I felt the need to be corrected for my bad behaviour. However, I wasn’t able to communicate that need to anyone, so I sought out situations where I put myself in someone’s power, hoping that they would correct me and then forgive me for my actions.

Of course, they didn’t know I was seeking correction. They only knew that I was willing to let them dominate me. That led them to take liberties with me that they wouldn’t have if I weren’t so willingly submissive. Which, of course, led to more bad behaviour and the need for further correction.

’What you need, Mrs Kate,’ I told myself. ‘Is a Master or Mistress!’

I had plenty of people wanting the role, that was for sure! Liz Donnelly, Frank Pritchard, Siobhan, Gina Matthews, and even my son usually showed dominance over me when we played sex games together. My husband, John, was the clear candidate to take over my father’s role as the monitor and corrector of my behaviour. However, I doubted that he had the time even when he was at home. And what would happen if he was away for an extended period again? Over the time of my described misdeeds, John had been home for less than six days in five weeks and wouldn’t be home for at least two more.

Gina was less future trouble than Liz or Frank, but I, despite all my recent liaisons with women, didn’t think I was a lesbian. I’m clearly bisexual, but my preferences lean strongly toward men. Thinking the possibilities through, I discounted accepting my son’s girlfriend as my Mistress.

That meant that none of the people currently holding dominion over me were suitable to be my Master or Mistress. Which led to another problem —how do I get out from under their thrall? Of course, once I found a suitable cane holder, I could confess my issues to them and leave them to rescue me from the clutches of the others.

As I mused, I heard my door rattle. Finding it locked, Krissy called, “You okay in there, Mom?”

Swinging my feet out of bed, I crossed to the door, put my long silk nightie on and opened the door. “I’m fine, baby girl,” I told her as I reclined against the headboard again. “I got up really early morning to bring your drunk brother home from Gina’s place.”

“Why didn’t he just stay the night?” Krissy rightfully asked.

However, I thought Tommy’s reasons weren’t mine to explain, so I shrugged, smiled and teased, “Even you need your mommie from time to time.”

Climbing onto the bed and snuggling into my side, Krissy laid her head on my shoulder, then sighed and said, “I sure do, Mom. I thought that playing with you as we have would ease my desires. But, instead, I get hornier every time we play.”

“I think we need to take our time and explore more, honey,” I said, using my curled finger under Krissy’s chin to tilt her face up so I could kiss her soft, pouting lips. “But we need to be careful not to reveal what we’re doing to your brother or father.”

“Speaking of, Dad,” my daughter replied. “Have you thought any more of allowing him to be my first and helping me seduce him?”

I had, but I wasn’t prepared to tell her what yet. I needed more time to encourage my husband to fully explore his fantasies about his daughter and admit them to me before I could progress my plans. With him being away, that, of course, was impossible.

John had phoned home twice since leaving to check in and ensure the house hadn’t burnt down with us in it. I realise that most wives would expect more, but I knew I had to allow my husband the freedom to be whom and what he needed to be during these trips, or he’d likely decide his wife and family were an impediment to his career and divorce me. John isn’t cold or unemotional but is intensely focused on advancing his career and would swiftly cast aside anything that impeded that. So the fact he doesn’t call home much during his trips is a non-issue as far as I’m concerned.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of anything to deter or distract my daughter from her intentions, so I shook my head and admitted that I hadn’t yet.

As we’d chatted, Krissy’s hand had found my big, firm breast, and she was idly kneading it as she rolled my nipple softly between her thumb and forefinger. Knowing my door was unlocked and fearing Tommy’s propensity to come barging at the most inopportune time, I flicked my daughter’s nipple and said, “Come on, let me up, and I’ll go and make breakfast. What do you want?”

Twisting mine in revenge, Krissy giggled and said, “I feel like a big plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns, Mom. Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” I answered, swatting her bottom when she stood.

That earned me a double nipple twist when I stood, but the little witch scampered away before I could retaliate. So, wrapping my long robe around my shoulders, I slid my feet into my slippers and walked to the kitchen.

Once I made a big batch of eggs, hash browns and bacon, I sent Krissy to get her brother. With Krissy snickering as she walked behind him, Tommy staggered into the kitchen with bloodshot eyes and sat in front of his plate.

“Rough night, bro?” Krissy teased. “I heard that Mom had to drag your sorry, drunken ass home last night.”

Trying to act what he thought was manly, my son replied, “Well, it’s not every day you hear your expected career is over before it had even begun!”

Shocked, Krissy asked, “The Lions dropped you?”

Taking a huge mouthful of scrambled eggs, Tommy chewed thoughtfully, then answered, “Not immediately. But I’m down to the under twenty-ones until the season’s end, and then I’m dropped.”

Having heard enough of my son’s pity party, I growled, “Tommy Peter Muggleton, quit your whining because when has that done you any good? Now you can take the club’s decision to drop you like you are, whinging and moaning. Or, you can go into the club on Monday morning, talk to the coaches about what they need you to do to improve, and then prove them wrong! Do you think your father rolled over and acted like a whipped cur the first time things went south in his career?”

“Well, I,” Tommy started.

But I was on a roll, so I added, “Of course, he didn’t. Every time he missed a promotion or screwed up a deal and was chastised, he learnt from his mistake and got better. So you can sit there stuffing food in your face and wallowing in your self-pity. Or you can act like a man, take your setback as it is, a setback, discover what you need to do to be re-signed, and show the club what you’re capable of!

“That way, if they still drop you, you can walk away with your head held high, knowing you gave an AFL career your best shot. And guess what, Tommy? Even if The Lions decide you’re not what they want, the sun will still come up tomorrow, the birds will still sing, and your family will still love you! So, my darling boy, life is not football, and you will get over being dropped, or so help me, I will put you over my knee and spank you!”

After my tirade, I stopped and blinked, quite amazed at myself. I don’t recall ever going off at anyone like that before, let alone the men in my life. Don’t get me wrong; as they grew up, I disciplined my children when necessary, especially when John wasn’t home. But I rarely raised my voice. As my parents did, when my children broke family rules, I talked to them calmly and quietly and asked if they knew why I was correcting them. However, I most definitely didn’t use physical correction as my parents had with me.

After breakfast, Krissy headed to work, and Tommy had something planned with Gina, so I was left home alone again. But, as I’ve written, there is nothing unusual about that. However, being alone that day grated at me for some reason, so I phoned Cath and asked if she’d like to get coffee somewhere. Her husband, Mike, was playing golf and wouldn’t be home until close to dinner, so she swiftly agreed to meet.

We arranged to meet in an hour at an old favourite, the Three Monkeys Coffee and Tea House in West End. Cath said she had a friend from Venezuela staying with her, so there would be three of us.

Dressing in my bright yellow, floral print, V-necked, short-sleeve mini dress with my cream, wedge-heeled sandals, I expertly did my hair and makeup, got in my Audi, and drove to West End. Finding a park, I strutted into Three Monkeys and found Cath already there with her friend.

Once I sat at their table, Cath said, “Kate, meet my friend Juana. Juana, this is my oldest and dearest friend, Kate Muggleton. Kate and I have known each other since fifth grade. Well, I was in seventh, and Kate in fifth, but we somehow became friends anyway and have been ever since.”

Holding out my hand, I smiled at the beautiful Venezuelan woman before me and said, “I’m not that old, you know? But Cath and I have been friends forever.”

Unfortunately, Juana’s English wasn’t up to my quip, so it went over her head. She smiled anyway and said, “Pleased to meet you, Mrs Kate.”

With my newly found bisexuality making me consider almost anyone a potential conquest, I looked Cath’s friend over. My first thought was that she resembled Anck-su-namun from the movie ‘The Mummy Returns’. Juana has long black hair in a fringe cut and dark, almost black eyes, set in white on white corneas. Her nose is straight and thin and sits over a small mouth with pouting lips.

Juana is tall for a woman, though not as tall as me. I estimated she was close to 177 cm (5 ft-9). Slender, no more than 60 kg (132 lbs), with breasts slightly smaller than her hips (I guessed 34-25-35), and a minimum of a C-cup. Juana is exotically beautiful, and she sure had my motor purring!

Juana appeared to check me out with equal fervour, and when our eyes met, we smiled, feeling an instant connection spark. For me, this connection felt different. I didn’t feel my typical response to a sexually dominant potential partner. Instead, I felt as if I needed to own, to take this beautiful, middle-aged woman as mine. It was a new emotion for me, and I felt my juices flowing from my naked pussy.

Juana’s conversational English was reasonably good, so she could explain how she and Cath had met over the net when they played Farmville together. Each had needed extra contacts to request supplies from to enable them to complete tasks. Although Facebook games were beyond boring to me, I knew that millions played them worldwide.

Juana had worked as a reporter for Valencia’s El Carabobeño newspaper, but her rabid anti-government views had put her life in danger. Cath had fleetingly met Juana face-to-face when Cath covered an Australia vs Venezuela football match. So, using her many contacts in Australia’s parliament, Cath petitioned for political refugee status for Juana. When Juana’s status as a refugee was confirmed, Cath paid for her to come to Australia.

Juana left Venezuela with virtually nothing more than the clothes she wore because when the Venezuelan government got wind of Juana’s defection to Australia, they’d frozen her bank accounts. That meant that Juana currently lived on the generosity of Cath and Mike. However, I knew my friends well and knew Juana would be looked after.

After lunch and a couple of coffees, Cath needed to visit the lady’s room. You may have noticed that we women tend to go together, but when Cath announced her need, I caught Juana’s eye and almost unperceptively shook my head. So, instead of accompanying her rescuer, Juana relaxed back and made room for Cath to slide through.

Waiting until my friend was out of earshot, I placed my hand over Juana’s and asked, “Does Cath know you’re a lesbian, honey?”

Juana gasped before replying, “Mrs Kate, how did you know?”

I patted Juana’s leg and answered, “Your desire for me is blatant, little one. If I asked, you’d already be kneeling between my shapely thighs, lapping my pussy.”

Blushing despite her mocha latte skin colouring, Juana admitted that was true and stated that she didn’t know if Cath knew she preferred women to men or not.

Cath returned and said she needed to head in to work and prerecord some segments for her show. I suggested Juana accompany me home because Cath’s place would be empty. Mike was at golf, and Cath and Mike’s eldest, Phil, lived with the dominatrix Siobhan. Caoimhe, Cath and Mike’s daughter, Phil’s sister, spent most of her time with her brother and Siobhan. Caoimhe is Siobhan’s submissive, but I had yet to discover if she and her brother played together, too.

Once Juana and I were alone in my car, an awkward silence overcame us. I didn’t know the woman at all and had no idea what interests she had. Plus, after my last experience of sharing my life with a new friend and being attacked for living it, I felt reticent about doing it again. Luckily, we got to my home before the silence became unbearable.

Our garage has an inner entrance to our foyer, and the foyer opens into the lounge room, which open plans with my kitchen and dining area. The right side of my lounge holds the curving staircase up to the bath and sleeping areas. I planned to lead Juana into my kitchen and make either coffee or tea, but she stopped in the middle of the lounge, seemingly stupefied by the sheer size and opulence of the room.

“Oh, wow, Mrs Kate,” she said in awe. “Your home is beyond beautiful. How many staff do you have to maintain it?”

“Just little ole me,” I giggled as I took Juana’s hand and unthinkingly kissed the back of it before lifting it and rubbing my face on it.

At my actions, Juana turned to face me, then her pretty lips parted slightly, and her eyes lidded. She purred, “You take care of all of this yourself, Mrs Kate? That’s impressive. My Mom and Dad own a house similar to this, and we have three servants.”

Kissing up Juana’s inner arm as I pulled her closer, I pointed out, “Yes, Juana. But from what you said, you had eight brothers and sisters. Here, we have only the four of us. Although my husband, John, is away on business now.”

“You are living alone, Mrs Kate?” Just Kate, please, Juana. Mrs Kate makes me sound old. No, my son and daughter live with me. My son, Tommy, is at his girlfriend’s place. He and my daughter, Krissy, should be home in time for dinner, around three hours from now.