Chapter 33

Getting out of that house without help was difficult. I nearly fell trying to get out. My mom had to help me get out. The guys inside were laughing and howling. “Don’t go away mad, white boy! Just go away!”

“Your momma’s pussy was nice though!” one of them ridiculed me as we left. I was livid.

Mom knew better than to say anything. We got into the van, and she knelt in the back. I let her stay there because I didn’t’ want her in the passenger seat.

“Take your clothes off,” I demanded angrily. I was red in the face. I wasn’t mad at my mom, but I did take it out on her. This wasn’t my normal role-play of a hard ass. My emotions were an equal combination of anger and resentment for what happened and embarrassment. I hated appearing weak. I hated needing help just to leave their house. I kept picturing my mom’s face when she had to help me manage my wheelchair and navigate the steps. She didn’t look down on me with pity, and she seemed just as afraid as I was – but she had the ability to walk, and I needed her help.

I was supposed to be the one to protect HER now. I was her master, and I had to rely on her, and I wasn’t angry with my mother about that. I wasn’t really mad either. I was feeling sorry for myself as I often did, and it manifested as anger about the entire scenario.

I knew I sounded bitter. My mother didn’t complain or even question my order. “Yes master, sorry. I should assume a cunt like me would have to be stripped naked when I am being transported to suck dicks. Are we going home, or can I fuck a few more strangers before we get home?”

There was a subtle humor in my mother’s tone. That was almost always there anyway. Mom had a smirky sort of sense of amusement about some of this new arrangement. I think part of it amused her, but it also was a defense mechanism for her to make sense of it all. She wasn’t used to the BDSM power-exchange elements of our relationship any more than I was. She had always used humor as a way to deal with stress.

Yet, in that moment I didn’t want her to seem so eager to be humiliated. I felt like she was patronizing me.

“I shouldn’t permit you to talk so much. I think I like you better with a cock shoved down your throat,” I said angrily.

“Oh, promises, promises! I am still hungry. Can I crawl up there and play with you, Master?” my mother asked with genuine delight in her tone.

“Cunt, learn to take a hint. I just told you that I wanted to hear less of you! I’ve been overlooking your smart mouth, Vixen. I am going to stick a thumb tack in your fat ass for every word you say from this point on in your fat, filthy ass and leave you tied up on the Johnson’s steps tonight if you say another word!”

Mom grew silent, and I felt like I had offended her. I knew I had come across very harshly.

“You can say YES MASTER, when I tell you something to show me that you understand my orders, cum gobbler!”

“Yes, Master,” Mom sounded deflated and a little sad. There was a long pause and she finally said “I am sorry that you are mad. It was fun tonight while it lasted, Master. That’s fourteen words, I think. Are the thumb tacks going to break the skin and make me bleed?”

I genuinely chuckled over my mom’s question. She had asked it so honestly and was willing to accept the punishment just to apologize to me. “Technically, that was thirty-two words if you count the question, and yes it will break the skin and probably bleed a little. You’ll get used to it!”

I know I sound like an ogre for hogtying my mother’s wrists to her ankles and leaving her naked on our neighbor’s steps. I filmed myself pushing thirty-two thumb tacks into her butt cheeks. The first few she nearly woke up the Johnsons with her cries but after the sixth one she pretty much accepted each one with only a wince and a seething scowl.

“When they wake up and find you here, tell them you were instructed to clean their house and obey them this morning because you were too talkative after I took you to a gang bang.”

“Yes, Master,” Mom said. I stopped filming and kissed my hand. I brushed the kiss onto her forehead. She smiled at me, and I rolled my chair back to our trailer. I felt guilty about leaving her outside all night. We live in a pretty sleepy trailer park at the end of a street but there could be racoons or bugs outside.

I had a tough time falling asleep as I reflected on the events of the evening. I kept thinking about TT and how she seemed amused when the guys at her house were mocking me. I kept reading things into her face. She looked a little stuck up, and sometimes I imagined her expression suggested “I shouldn’t be sucking on random black guys’ dicks, but my parents pushed me out of the house and I am doing this to SPITE them.”

She never said anything like that, but I imagined that part of the reason she lived as she did – was that she was hoping they felt guilty about what they made her do (Even though it was her choice).

I got up and worked on the videos I shot that day, but my heart wasn’t in it. I put it away and jerked myself off to go to sleep. It was something I used to do A LOT. I hadn’t had to do it recently, and I felt a little guilty wasting the cum, but after I shot my load, I often felt a sense of peace and relaxation and was able to get some sleep.

That morning, I awoke and immediately looked out of my window. I didn’t see my mom lying on the steps, so I assumed that the Johnsons had found her and immediately put her to work cleaning up. I wondered if they would feed her breakfast.

It felt surreal not doing our normal daily morning rituals and just eating breakfast. I couldn’t imagine going back to how things were now because even one day without listening to my mom sing “Fartman” joyfully while dancing around with toothpaste all over her pussy and asshole felt like an eternity without her.

I focused on editing videos and uploading them. The immediate reaction on the Only Fans site was very positive, with many people asking questions and theorizing about my relationship with TT. I intentionally edited out any video of “Black Jerry” and I believe they thought TT belonged to me now.

I made several preview videos and posted those up and after a few hours had a lot of content created. I didn’t have to focus on creating new content and dealing with my mom, so I was far more efficient that morning. I still missed playing with her and checked the window every now and then to see if I could see her.

I was about to go over to my neighbor’s house and bring my mother a t-shirt so she could do lawn work if they had any (and also check up on her). I was having a tinge of guilt about whatever the Johnsons were making my mom endure. I had tortured to make her confess and done some pretty rough things with her but the simple face I wasn’t there – and that meant that whatever was happening was completely outside of my control.

I realized that I was becoming a bit possessive and that my mom was probably fine and could handle herself. She could always refuse an order she didn’t really want to do anyway.

I got a text that I almost didn’t recognize. It was from Dana, and I hadn’t bothered to add her to my phone after our last conversation. She told me call her. What did this feminist want with me this time? I assumed she wanted to complain about the content I posted of my mom walking the streets.

“What gives?” she asked angrily when I called her back.

“Are you mad that my mom worked the streets?”

“No, she is a sex worker, and more power to her. What she did should be legal. It’s completely voluntary,” she began. Then what on earth was her problem? “Did you convince Sandra Smith to start serving you for free now so you could exploit her too?”

What? I was perplexed by the question. Dana went to high school with Sandra, and she recognized her immediately on the video I shot of them. I had left out her pimp, but I never made it sound like Sandra had to obey me – at least I didn’t intentionally do that.

“Actually,” I told the smart-ass bitch that I had given Sandra ALL of my mom’s earnings, plus five hundred dollars for filming it with us because it was a fan request.

There was a very long period of silence. I assumed she was speechless because she felt foolish for accusing me of being cheap and was about to apologize. It was the only reason I waited to hear her give me one. Instead, she lambasted me. I won’t give you the blow-by-blow but basically it boiled down to her being angry that when she had been interested in filming content, I had low-balled her, and she accused me of trying to exploit women.

“How am I exploiting her if she wanted to be out there walking the streets voluntarily, like you said? And she agreed to five hundred plus every dime my mom made. I had no idea she’d make so much!” I countered.

“Not HER! ME!” Dana was exasperated that I didn’t quite get her point. I admit that she didn’t make it easy because she was jumping all over the place talking about misogyny and the patriarchy and how sex-work is honest work.

“Have you ever even done sex work?” I asked once I could get a word in.

“No, I had a guy offer to pay me to fuck him, and a few jokers try to pay me to make content, but you know this town. There aren’t any legitimate sex workers filming content that I am aware of besides you!”

“Why do you want to work for me so badly?” I asked. “You seem to hate me.”

“I don’t WANT to work for you,” she demanded angrily before softening her voice. “I don’t hate you either, Jerry. I just wanted to get paid fairly and then to find out you paid Sandra all of that when you know I am trying to leave my parents’ house and offered that makes me feel like crap.”

“I don’t think you’d want to film that kind of content. They were legitimately getting in the cars with total strangers and fucking them,” I said.

“I don’t want to work as a prostitute on the street, but I’ll do anything your mom does at your house with the other actors you bring in.”

“Those aren’t actors. They are her clients,” I explained that most of them pay for sex.

“I get to keep 100% of what they pay,” she said.

“I only charge forty dollars an hour if they agree to be filmed,” I said.

“Leave it to you to charge the actors to be in the content that you profit off of,” Dana added snarkily. “If you are still interested in shooting me, I can be free today.”

“Oh yeah, I’d love to shoot you,” I joked.

I could almost picture her lemony face when I made the joke. She didn’t laugh.

“How much do you want?” I asked.

“Same deal you gave Sandra. Whatever your mom makes, whatever I make, and five hundred dollars cash,” Dana negotiated with confidence.