Copyright© 2001-2003

There was an old man of Calcutta
Who spied through a chink in the shutter.
But all he could see
Was his wife's bare knee,
And the back of the bloke who was up her.

All the signs are there - Catherine is having an affair.

After eighteen years of marriage it seemed like an impossibility - yet the woman who makes my supper is not the woman who I've lived with all these years. What I mean is that she looks the same but Catherine certainly does not act the same as she has for these many years.

Oh certainly we have aged, matured, grew in all ways. Yet the transformation that I'm talking about has happened in a matter of weeks and not over years.

Just two days ago I unexpectedly appeared in her office, guessing her mystery lover was a co-worker. Sound hypothesis, as Catherine spends at least ten hours a day at work - and has earned the partnership she has achieved at her law firm. Yet, all seemed normal and I felt the fool for my suspicions.

That same night I caught a glimpse of my wife's white breast before she slipped her silk nightgown over her head, it had what I assumed to be a dark purple hickey upon its normally unmarked surface. I couldn't sleep a wink that night.

Yesterday I sat in my car, following her from our home to her office, and then back to our home. Obsessive right - but if she was cheating on me, it had to be with someone?

My wife has changed these last weeks - she cut her long thick hair, the first time since before I knew her, so it was short and stylish. Sure it looked good, but why cut it now... and so unexpectedly? Then there was the lingerie - and I mean always. Stockings, always thigh high, lace panties and bra, sometimes a chemise. Then there was the skirts, never below the knee and always taunt upon her shapely ass. I'm not sure if I've seen her wear anything but a short skirt within the last month.

Last night I purposely strode into our private bathroom and found my wife drying herself before the filled tub. Catherine always enjoyed a lengthy bath on a Friday night. I pretended that I didn't know the bathroom was occupied, as I always granted her the privacy she craved for her baths, and started to back out. Then I looked down and my blood turned cold when I saw that her normally well-trimmed but full brown pussy was gone.

I didn't sleep a wink last night.

Who was shagging my wife?

Saturday I didn't go golfing, as I normally do, so depressed was I. And Catherine didn't go out so I didn't think there was a way to find her mystery lover unless she left the house.

So I just sat and watched sports.

Doug woke up late, as usual, and sat next to me on the couch for a while - watching football. Then he got up, showered and left the house like it was on fire. All perfectly normal, of course.

Catherine was upstairs, singing beautifully to herself as she stripped down the beds and cleaned the upper level of our home. I've offered to get someone to help with the chores, she always said she enjoyed doing the mindless work - helped her escape from the stress as a corporate lawyer.

What will help me escape from this maddening weight of my life feeling like it was coming to an end.

With slow heavy steps I went upstairs as Catherine had gotten most of the bed sheets to the basement and I could hear her singsong voice distantly through the heating system. The laundry room was downstairs, and I knew she would be working in the basement for at least the next thirty minutes.

Our home was pretty big for the three of us - and I've worked incredibly hard these last dozen years that we've lived here, just to enjoy it. It had five bedrooms - only two are occupied. The third is used as an office for my wife and I. The last two as spare bedrooms.

The two bedrooms had the doors wide open and the windows wide, letting in fresh air. Doug's bedroom was an organized mess, as any sixteen year olds should be; with model world war two aeroplanes hanging in the corner, from a large quantity of various books on the shelf, old hockey trophies, his computer, a pile of clothes... all normal.

I stopped before I passed the doorway and looked into his room carefully.

Something had stopped me and I wasn't sure what.

I went into my son's room and looked around - I don't come in here much, but it all appeared normal. Next to his desk stood what was obviously a computer case - what was that next to his monitor then? Two computers?

That couldn't be what I had seen, as the computer case next to his desk was hidden from the hallway. No, was something else.

There - upon the bedside table - a razor in a drinking glass.

Why was that peculiar?

Doug doesn't shave.

It had dried white shaving cream and several hairs stuck between the blades - he hadn't cleaned it after it was used. Those hairs - thick brown, some gray... curly... !

My god!

It couldn't be. Doug and his mother? Impossible.

Right?

My heart was racing and my legs wanted to run out of there - to escape these ludicrous thoughts that I was having. Catherine and her son!

Unconsciously I backed out of the room and down the hallway - somehow I ended up in the garage fumbling to open my Jaguar's door.

I never even went back till late Saturday night - drunk. At first I thought to confront the two - already convinced that it was real. The whore! She will ruin everything in her life for her taboo relationship - I will kick the bitch out of my home.

How I drove home in that shape, is a miracle.

The house was dark and my bedroom silent. I lay upon it and let the tears flow.

I don't know when I awoke - but my cloudy mind was clearer and the pain in my soul renewed. I was still alone.

My head spun as I stood but with patience and determination, I was able to make it to the bathroom. I pissed and then puked my guts out. When I stood before the mirror and brushed my teeth, I saw the note stuck to the mirror.

"Honey. Taking Doug to his friends and then going to Marys' -

back late. C"

Lying bitch!

Then it hit me - what if I had put two and two together and come up with three? A middle-aged mother and professional wife wouldn't sleep with her own adolescent son would she? Crazy. My wife was too smart to do something illegal and immoral as that!

My head pounded as I hung upon this theory - I stumbled back to Doug's room.

I saw that my wife had made the bad, closed the windows and tidied up the clean clothing.

The cup with the soiled razor was gone.

I spun about for a minute, lost in the organized mess, wondering what I was doing here. It was all a figment of my imagination after all!

If Catherine was shagging someone, and all the signs told me she was, it couldn't be with Doug.

Could it?

I turned the monitor on - already noticing that the box was running.

I'm a Systems Analyst currently, but I was once a programmer - I changed my career solely for the money. My son used Windows while I was used to various Unix operating systems - for some reason I found it comforting for his choice, as it made my nosey peeking that much easier.

I stole through the desktop in a matter of minutes. Nothing untoward.

Then I opened his mail - finding hundreds of correspondence from his friends, a couple from his teachers and a few from my wife or I. I looked in the latest email - from his friend Pero:

"Hey shitforbrains. Sorry you couldn't make it. Who is the girl

you are poking now anyway?"

That black sinking feeling was returning.

I organized the mail by sender and looked at the last from my wife:

"Hi honey. I bought the razor like you told me too - doing these

things for you makes me feel so horny baby. Your father came to

the office today, he might be getting suspicious - you keep saying

he won't be a problem but I am worried. I love you darling and I

want you. PS - I'm going to miss my pussy!"

That was the final proof to disintegrate my life, as my heart turned to clay and my soul clouded with oil.

What I told myself was impossible was happening - she was a willing participant, the bitch!

I kept searching, don't ask me why, looking through my son's web cache, the temporary files and then manually searching the file system.

I read more of my wife's email, several which were much more graphic and obviously intended for our son. It seems that she loved the taste of his sperm, if what she wrote can be believed - though she had never felt the need to even sample my own.

Then I came across an earlier email from Pero:

"... no such thing as mind-control buddy! What makes you think

you have a drug that works?"

'Mind-control'?

I returned my son's computer and room to how I found it.

With a cold determined heart I went through my home - looking for drugs that was alluded to in the email. What would they look like, these pills? Were they pills?

Could this be how Doug seduced his mother? Was there such a thing as 'mind-control' - its all science fiction wasn't it?

My son had a large collection of keepsakes in the basement - mostly old toys, clothing and books. But since I was searching my home like a madman, I immediately noticed that one of the boxes on the top of the pile had none of the thick dust that its neighbours had.

I pulled it from the pile and bent over as I opened the lid. Inside was several binders, a few vials of clear liquid and a small box of Polaroids.

Carefully I held up the vials and starred hard at the contents. Was this the stuff?

The first binder seemed to be a chemical compound and recipe, for the lack of a better word, to create what must be in the vial.

The third binder was lengthy descriptions about actions and reactions. Effects of the drug?

The small box of Polaroids almost made me sick - it was Catherine and Doug, naked, fucking and smiling.

I disappeared for a week and the box went with me. I locked down the bank accounts and changed codes for the house, banks and credit cards.

During that week I sat in a hotel a few hundred kilometres away and read every word in those binders. Finding that the fifth binder was my son's diary for the last three months.

It was all contained there - finding the drug, testing it on his teacher and then his mother. It seemed it didn't do much for his teacher, that was the reason for the second test subject, his mom. He used it on his mother - then went into detail about the things he did with her the next few months. It was all there - every incestuous detail. Even the times and type of copulation, to the minute. And he made small notes in the margins, small additions about what clothing his mother wore and her reactions to his instructions, for instance.

My son looked like the end of his world was about to happen when he came home from school to find me standing angrily inside the doorway. There was no pretence, he knew I had his box - his drug - the evidence. It was written upon his face.

"Dad!"

"Close the door Doug." He did, letting his school back drop to the floor.

"Dad let me explain?"

Explain how he had found the original binder with the formula to make this mind-control potion, then use it to enslave his mother as his personal sex toy?

Could I forget the things I read, the graphic photos I've seen? Things even a husband never knew, never experienced with the woman whom he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with?

Catherine always claimed she didn't like attention to her ass, or more specifically her ass hole. Yet, Doug was attracted to that part of her more than any other. I've read description after description, how and when, about fucking his mothers ass. The thing was, he had written in the margins how much she enjoyed it, sometimes begged for it - his tongue, finger and especially his cock. He explained that his mom often wild when he was inside that part of her and he guessed that she loved it more than he did.

Perhaps it was a fetish, but my son seemed to enjoy viewing his mother with his ejaculate upon her. Many of the pictures in Doug's files showed his sperm on her face, his favourite place, her ass and her breasts. The notes were more descriptive, and it appeared that he probably shot his sperm upon every inch of his mother - her hands, her feet, her hair... everywhere. Within the notes, my son also describes how he enjoyed watching his mother lick his sperm up. As an example, he had her get him 'off' three times one afternoon - each time in the same glass cup. At the end of the day, she drank it down at his instruction. From his notes, it appeared that Catherine more than encouraged this behaviour - begging for her son to come on her face, wanting to go to work with her bra wet from a morning tit fuck, rubbing his sperm into her smooth ass cheeks before climbing back into her marriage bed.

Oh yes, things in this home have changed!

"Shut up boy." Wisely he did. I was ready to beat him to a pulp right then.

"Was it for the money?" His mother had always been firm with dispensing money to her child - believing he should earn it. His diary never mentioned why he used the drug on his mom - so to my logical mind, there had to be some rational reason.

Doug couldn't meet my eye and stared at his feet.

"Or just the sex?" With my wife - his mother!

"At first it was because it was fun." He was barely whispering.

"Fun to enslave people - your mom?" I was almost screaming.

"Later it was for the money and maybe the power."

"Your mom is mine Doug." He nodded, looking lost.

Did I still want her?

I knew I did - I came to that conclusion last night in the hotel room. But the woman I wanted was the new woman, the sex slave.

"You will help convince her that everything is fine until I 'reprogram' her." Words from his diary - used often. I was picking up the lingo!

Again he nodded.

I let out a sigh - perhaps of relief that my son as not fighting me about this. I had been ready to force it out of him with my fists, if it had come to that.

This is what I had resolved, after reading all that material - discovering a darker world than the one that I've lived in - it was better to mold this 'power' to how I saw fit. To be the dominant rather than one of the slaves.

And yes, I believed all that I read - it made sense out of this crazy world I found myself in. My son had used some type of drug to enslave his mother for his own incestuous enjoyment. Its the only thing that made sense of the craziness I found myself in - I just couldn't believe my wife would have intercourse with her own son without some type of persuasion. As outrageous as that 'persuasion' seemed.

Then there was the other idea I had; I've worked for years, making good money definitely, but always for someone else - and never for the wads of cash that some of my employers made. What Doug had found could bring me the riches and power that I've barely dreamt about.

It also brought me something else I've not considered, a truly submissive wife, Catherine.

From the photos I've seen of my son and his mother, it was obvious he had used her in nearly every way imaginable. All the while she wore this smile of satisfaction, of ecstasy - I'll never forget that look as it seemed to stare at me through the photos. The woman looking through the photo's was enjoying the things she had to do - the perversions her son ordered her to do.

The door behind Doug opened and in strode my wife. I saw her face take on a thankful look, a scared look and then turn very angry, "My god Ron - where the hell have you been these... !"

Doug motioned lightly and softly spoke, "Mom - 'Doe'. Take it easy mother... everything is fine. Go start supper." From the diary I've read I knew that 'doe' was the keyword that my son has implanted in his mother. It took a second after he had spoke it - but I saw the angry leave her and she suddenly became placid.

She smiled at our son and strode past me, as if I was not there, toward the kitchen. Her 'master' had spoken.

Had I seen a look of surprise in her eyes when he spoke her keyword?

It may have been my first true sight of the drug in action but I was impressed at the small display. Catherine was a strong willed and intelligent woman - when her blood was boiling, she could vent her anger in some very aggressive and loud ways. Obviously she was not as strong willed as the control her son had over her!

"Good boy." He was again looking at me carefully, maybe for some sign of a trick or even compassion. "Tonight she is mine again?"

"Yes sir."

"After supper I want you to go to Pero's till I allow you back in my home." He nodded submissively. I had read within the diary how Pero and my son had tried to use the drug on the other boy's older sister - it hadn't worked, but regardless, they discovered the older teenager thought nothing in life could be better than two young studs to keep her happy. Mostly she had her younger brother to satisfy her, Doug enjoying his mother instead, but I knew from my son's graphic descriptions of their threesome's that my boy would not be too bad off staying at his friend's house.