Chapter 2: Mind-Controlled Mommy Dominates Her Sons

Note: Thanks to wrc264 for beta reading this!

Sirvard Vahan – The Goddess Cancer

I strode behind my husband as he pushed the shopping cart, buying things for the family. He wore a cock cage and nothing else. I watched his broad back, red from the whip that I carried in my hands. No longer did that abusive dog threaten me.

I ruled.

And I would show women how they had to rule their husbands. Their men. No longer would we be enslaved by them. Forced to dress in bulky clothes and cover our hair. So here I was, in my leather bustier, my round breasts lifted up and down full display as we marched through the grocery store.

It was in our Muslim neighborhood. Almost everyone who shopped here were women wearing the hijab. Some were Somalian refugees, others were Arabs or Pakistani. I was Armenian, brought to this place by my dog of a husband.

CRACK!

The whip struck across his back. He grunted from the blow. “You missed the lettuce! Walked right past them!”

“Yes, Mistress,” he groaned as he stopped the cart.

I smiled while I broadcast my message to all the women here. They clutched at their heads as I imposed my divine will on them. No longer would we have to obey such dogs. That we would have to submit to them. Withstands their open hands and closed fists.

No more shall we be abused and degraded. We were in charge.

Men must serve women. They must obey them. A wife must dominate her husband. A mother her sons. A daughter her father. A sister her brother. Men must serve women and pleasure them. Spank them when they’re bad. Put them in their place.

Fatima Al-Mufti

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing in the produce aisle of the grocery store. The sight of the pale-skinned woman in a corset whipping a man wearing some sort of cage around his cock. My cheeks burned. What was going on? How was this allowed? This was disgusting.

“M-Mother,” gasped my daughter Jamila. “That man...”

“Don’t look,” I gasped, unable to follow my own advice. It was so shocking to see the muscular man. He was middle-aged but looked so strong and powerful.

CRACK!

The woman’s whip struck his back. He grunted, but it almost didn’t sound like pain.

But pleasure.

“You have to squeeze them and make sure they are not bruised, dog!” the woman hissed. “You are shopping for your family! You must learn this now! You serve me!”

“Yes, Mistress,” the man whimpered.

“What is going on, Mother?” my daughter whispered.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, confused.

Around the strange pair, other women watched, nodding their heads. Some were pulling off their hijabs and exposing their hair. I gripped my shopping cart, looking around. I was bewildered by this sight. I wanted to flee. I swallowed as the woman glanced at me. She smiled as she stood there in her heeled boots, her shaved nethers on display. She was wet with her perverse lust.

Thoughts pressed on my mind.

I gasped as they pushed into my thoughts. I released the shopping cart and grabbed the sides of my head. The words lanced into my mind like burning irons. I screamed, my knees buckling. I squeezed them shut as they plunged to the very core of me.

Men must serve women.

What? That wasn’t what Allah wanted.

They must obey them. A wife must dominate her husband.

A wife was supposed to submit to her husband ... right?

A mother her sons. A daughter her father. A sister her brother.

These words were so radical, but they resonated in my mind.

Men must serve women and pleasure them. Spank them when they’re bad. Put them in their place.

“Yes,” I breathed, the pain diminishing. Those thoughts made such sense. They echoed in my mind.

Men must serve women.

I stared at the woman. She smiled at me. She had done this. She had given me this revelation. I stumbled towards her, leaving my shopping cart behind, my heart thundering in my chest. My blood felt so hot. So alive.

Men must serve women and pleasure them.

“Mother,” my daughter gasped, grabbing my arm. “Mother, I ... I...”

I stared at Jamila, peering into her eyes, and seeing this desire in them. The same desire I felt. This heat that swept through me as I pictured my husband and my two sons. They were all back at home. I had to go shopping while they watched the soccer game.

“Come,” I said, marching away from the shopping cart. “I know what we have to do.”

“Yes, Mother,” my daughter said, glancing at the woman. “Who is she?”

I glanced at the woman, a shiver of heat rushing through me. She stood so strong and proud. “Inspiration, Jamila. Inspiration, my dove.”

“She is,” my daughter groaned.

The woman glanced at us and smiled. She had such confidence in her. Such authority. She wasn’t human. She was something more. Something more. I felt like I stood in the presence of a divinity. A goddess in the flesh like the Christians believed.

“She’s holy,” I whimpered and rushed past the living incarnation.

I rushed in my dress out into the warm day. I moved towards the car. I was allowed to drive it here, though my husband sometimes grumbled that I shouldn’t. That he should drive me around. He was just lazy. He didn’t want to wait while I shopped for groceries.

Not when there was a soccer game.

My pussy burned with those words. Men must pleasure women. I shuddered, seeing my two sons. I had to dominate them. Control them. I was told so by the goddess. I climbed into the old Toyota, my daughter slipping into the driver’s seat, her hijab coming off. At sixteen, she had a long fall of black hair around her dusky face. Her features smooth and beautiful.

Not like a Western girl who had to slather so much makeup on to hide the ugliness of their souls. I backed the car out, my body on fire. Images burned in my mind. Spanking men. Standing over them as they knelt. Grabbing my son’s head and forcing him to eat out my pussy. I deserved to have orgasms, too. Not just my pig of a husband.

I had no choice in marrying him. My parents arranged it before Arif brought me to America.

I drove fast, my body on fire. I wanted to rip out of my dress now. My daughter squirmed beside me. Was she thinking about dominating her father? I hoped she was. To put that man in his place. I grinned as I turned onto our street.

“Are you ready, my dove?” I asked Jamila.

“Yes, Mother,” she said. “I’m so ready.”

“Good.” I sped down our street and turned into the house. It was old. One story and three bedrooms. My sons had shared theirs since they were boys. Many others who lived on the street were Muslim, too. As my car drove past them, people clutched at their heads.

They heard those divine words.

I quivered in delight as I spread the holy message of the Goddess to all I passed.

I pulled into our driveway, glancing at the yard next door where Usain clutched at his head. Another man who had to learn his place. He groaned, his fingers digging into his temples. He glanced up at us.

I climbed out and snapped, “Go to your wife and beg her to beat you!”

“Yes!” he gasped and scrambled to his feet, running back into his house.

“Look at the pig,” I said, smiling. This was so freeing. No longer did we have to cower. It felt so right So proper.

“Yes, Mother,” my daughter said with delight as I marched up to the front door. I burst open onto the living room.

“Yes, yes, yes,” my oldest son, Fayiz, shouted. He was seventeen, tall and strong. He wore a tank top and shorts, a soda in his hand. “Come on! Just get there— No!”

“You godless pig!” my husband shouted at the TV.

My presence washed over them. My two sons, sitting on the couch, clutched at their temples. My husband on his recliner squeezed at the armrest. His back arched, his bearded face twisted with the power of the Goddess’s words.

I stood there, watching on with a big smile on my lips. It was an incredible sight to see them being educated. The heat swelled in my cunt. My pussy clenched as I watched them change. I watched them become the men they should have been.

“Fatima,” my husband Arif croaked. He closed the recliner and staggered to his feet. He stared at me, his eyes so wide.

“Mistress!” I snapped. “You godless son of a pig! Mistress! And kneel! Kneel before me!”

He did. To my utter delight, my disgusting husband dropped to his knees and pressed his face into the carpet. I smiled as this rush of triumph shot through me. I stared at him lying prostrate then glanced at my sons staring at me.

Fayiz was tall and strong, his body fit from sports. This incestuous lust shot through me. The Goddess’s words were clear. Men were here to pleasure women. Even sons to their mothers. And my sons were so handsome. Muktar was my youngest, only fourteen. He wore glasses, a gentler soul that was often bullied for liking to read by his own father.

“Jamila, my dove, take your father to your bedroom and do with him as you would,” I said. “Spank him. Fuck him. I don’t care. He’s yours.”

“Thank you, Mother,” my daughter purred and strode past me. She had such confidence now. “Daddy, crawl after. We have so much to do. I am going to ride your cock, but now that you won’t be my first. I’m no virgin! He was a White boy. A Christian.”

I smiled at those words. Arif had watched her like a hawk, controlling her. Keeping her from dating. He had plans to marry her off like I had been. I had no idea who this Christian boy she was talking about, but I could see the shock on my husband’s face.

He would have beaten her before for that.

Now he crawled after her as she said, “Doesn’t that make you happy to know that I have taken a man in my pussy. That I have ridden his cock. Even sucked it. I have drunk his cum.”

“Y-yes, Jamila,” he groaned.

“Mistress, Daddy,” she purred as she vanished down the hallway to the bedrooms. “I’m your Mistress now, Daddy. I think I will let you watch the next time I fuck him.”

Their words cut off as her bedroom door slammed shut.

I glanced at my two sons. Muktar stared up at me with this look of awe on his young face. He pushed up his glasses, adjusting them on his dusky face. He wore his black hair short, like his brother. Both were clean-shaven.

Fayiz trembled there. He looked shocked that I was in charge. The game was on behind me, the announcer cheering on their team, the Michigan Stars. I ignored it as I licked my lips. Both my boys were sexy in different ways.

“Turn that off,” I purred while I quivered here. “Then strip me naked.”

“Yes, Mother!” my sons both gasped. They both lunged for the remote, grabbing it. Fayiz jerked it from Muktar and turned off the TV.

The boys jumped to their feet and rushed to me. They slid their hands over me and started undressing me. Fayiz found the zipper to my dress and drew it down. I quivered in delight as they pulled the heavy thing off me. They threw it down, leaving me in a bronze bra and panties. My large breasts quivered, my pussy soaking my panties.

Fayiz reached around me and undid my bra clasp with such skill. I knew he was dating various American whores, fucking them with his father’s blessing. The hypocrisy that he encouraged his sons to fornicate and would beat his daughter for just glancing at a boy swept anger through me.

Things were changing. I heard muffled grunts from my daughter’s room. She was punishing her father. I quivered in delight as Muktar knelt before me and drew off my panties. My youngest son gasped as he stared at my shaved pussy.

“Mother,” he breathed. I knew it was his first cunt. He wasn’t out there banging the girls. He was a quiet boy, and yet he was just like his father. Ordering me around. Lording over his sister. He was bullied by his father and brother, so he took it out on his sister.

“Mmm,” I purred as I stood naked before my sons. Their eyes roamed my curvy body. I was still in shape. Arif made sure that I did. He didn’t want me to get fat. He wanted me to be attractive when he threw me down on the bed. “My boys. Strip! Let your Mommy-Mistress see your bodies. Your cocks!”

“Yes, Mom,” groaned Fayiz.

I slapped him, cracking my hand across his cheek. “Mommy-Mistress! Address me with respect!”

“Yes, Mommy-Mistress,” he gasped and ripped off his tank top, exposing all his gloriously muscled flesh. He had chiseled pecs and a washboard stomach. I shuddered as he shoved off his shorts and underwear.

His cock popped out. I quivered at the sight of my son’s big dick bobbing before him. I licked my lips. He didn’t inherit his father’s cock, that was for sure. I shuddered at how gorgeous that dick was, my cunt clenching.

Muktar was a little slower. Shyer. He drew off his shirt. He had a slender form. Boyish. I wiggled my hips, my boobs swaying back and forth as he adjusted his glasses. He unsnapped the button of his jean shorts and pushed those off along with his briefs.

His cock wasn’t as big as his brother’s, but he still made my knees feel weak. I had two sexy boys who were delicious in different ways. I licked my lips, my fingers sliding up and down their cocks. I could touch them. Stroke them. Do whatever I wanted to them.

“Fayiz,” I moaned, my pussy on fire, “do you ever eat out the pussies of those White whores you fuck?”

“No, Mommy-Mistress,” he breathed, his cock twitching as I rubbed at the crown, smearing precum around him.

“Perfect,” I groaned. “Fetch your father’s belt, Muktar. You’ve been a bad boy.”

“Yes, Mommy-Mistress,” my youngest gasped and darted for the hallway. He vanished down it as I kept playing with my eldest son’s big dick. He shuddered as I did that.

I kept playing with Fayiz’s cock as I waited for Muktar to hurry back. My eldest son stared at my big breasts. I could see the lust in his eyes. The burning need to please me. I loved that. No more condescension. No more thinking that his age meant he could disrespect me the way his father had.

No, no, he would pleasure me now. He would give me what I craved. I was in charge now.

Muktar came running back holding one of Arif’s belts. He thrust it at me, his dick twitching. I took it from my son and smiled. My youngest trembled as I snapped my fingers at the couch’s armrest. He knew what to do.

I loved the way my son bent over it. I moved behind him, admiring his rump. His cock twitched between it. My pussy clenched as I gripped the belt. I glanced at Fayiz as he watched. I grinned at him, savoring my newfound power.

“On y our knees and eating my pussy, Fayiz,” I purred. “I want you to devour me. Make me cum!”

“Yes, Mommy-Mistress,” he gasped and rushed over to me. He dropped to his knees before me and pressed his strong face into my shaved twat.

I gasped as he licked and lapped at my pussy. He stroked through my folds. He lapped at me with such hunger. I couldn’t believe how amazing that felt. He stroked through my folds. He teased me with that hungry mouth of his.

I trembled there, my back arching as his tongue swept through my folds. My big boobs quivered back and forth as he devoured me. I had never felt anything so good in my life. I had never had anyone eat my snatch. It was amazing.

“Yes,” I groaned, staring at my youngest son, almost forgetting I wanted to punish him. “Yes, yes, Fayiz. That’s it. Make your mommy cum! Oh, that’s being such a good son. A strong son. Yes, yes, yes, get that tongue in me!”

His tongue plunged into my pussy and swirled around in me. I gripped the belt as the pleasure swept through me. The wonderful feeling of his tongue stroking my inner depths. His lips rubbed on my labia, even brushing my clit.

I drew back the belt and swung it.

CRACK!

The leather slapped across my youngest son’s rump. He grunted at the pain. A wave of delight swept through me. I smiled at the red spreading over his butt-cheeks. A shy flush.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I moaned, grinding my cunt on my eldest son’s face. “Mmm, you’ve been a bad, bad boy, Muktar.”

“Yes, Mommy-Mistress,” he groaned as I drew back the belt. “But I’ll be good for you. The perfect son! Obedient and—”

CRACK!

“Mommy-Mistress!” he groaned.

“Yes, yes, be a good son,” I purred, savoring his brother’s tongue sliding through my folds. Licking me. Sending delight rushing through me. “Obedient, and Mommy won’t have to punish you. Much.”

“Yes, Mommy-Mistress,” groaned Muktar, his reddened ass clenching. He was such a gorgeous boy. So sexy.

My left hand clutched at Fayiz’s head, holding the stud to my cunt. My eldest son feasted on my incestuous pussy as I drew back my arm. I swung.

CRACK!

My pussy clenched around Fayiz’s tongue as his brother groaned from the spank. I shuddered, swaying, reveling in this power.

CRACK!

I loved the sound of the belt slapping over my son’s body. It was so wild. This wave of power swept through me. I trembled here, enjoying every moment of having my cunt licked out. My son stroked through my folds. He teased me.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I moaned.

CRACK!

“Oh, Fayiz, eat my cunt!”

CRACK!

“Yes, Mommy-Mistress,” he moaned into my pussy. “You taste so good.”

“Mmm, that’s the pussy that birthed you,” I groaned, savoring this moment. The heat of his tongue stroked through my folds. The power I had over him. “Yes, yes, you’re all Mommy’s. Both of you are!”

“Yes, Mommy-Mistress,” Muktar groaned, his ass so red.

CRACK!

He gasped, his body quivering. His cock twitched beneath his thighs, his balls looking so swollen with his need to cum. I quivered here, my heat pounding in my chest. The wild beat swept through me as my eldest son swirled his tongue around my clit.

He sent such delight surging through me. I groaned, reveling in how amazing this felt. How wonderful it was to have his strong lips nibbling on my bud. I shuddered, holding my strong son to my pussy. I gripped the back of his head, my pleasure building and building.

My big breasts jiggled and bounced as his tongue slid through my folds. It was an incredible rush. I enjoyed every moment of it. Every last second of this heat rushing through my body. I quivered with the delight of this ecstasy.

“Yes, yes, you’re going to make Mommy cum!” I moaned. “Mommy’s going to drown you in her pussy cream!”

“Please, Mommy-Mistress,” groaned my son. He suckled on my clit.

I gasped, the pleasure surging through me. My orgasm built and built. I swung the belt.

CRACK!

The sound echoed around me as I rose towards my climax. I shuddered, my big boobs bouncing and heaving as Fayiz suckled hard on my clit. His strong lips felt so amazing around it. My cunt clenched, the pressure building in me.

The belt slipped from my hand and landed on the carpet. My back arched. His tongue slid over my bud. I gasped as the sparks showered through my cunt. My incestuous orgasm burst inside of me. I gasped as the most ecstasy I had ever felt swept through me.

“My Goddess!” I howled as my pussy gushed juices.

Cunt cream swept out of me. It was an incredible rush to have all this ecstasy surging out of me. I enjoyed every second of it. This wonderful heat burned through my body. Stars danced across my vision. I groaned, trembling through the bliss.

It was an outstanding rush. I shuddered, grinding my cunt on my son’s face as the rapture swept over my mind. I drowned in bliss as he licked at my twat. He gathered pussy juices.

“Mommy-Mistress!” Fayiz moaned between his licks.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I gasped, savoring the feel of his tongue sliding through my folds. He lapped at my cunt with such hunger. He stirred me up. It was an incredible passion to have him feast on me. “My Goddess!”

I reached the peak of my orgasm, my pussy rippling and writhing. I trembled here, my heart pounding in my chest as my son licked and lapped at my cunt. He stroked his tongue over my folds. It was an incredible rush.

But I needed more.

I needed my son’s cock in me. I stared at Muktar’s dick. He was the size of my husband. I shuddered, wanting to feel my youngest in me. My good boy’s cock. He had taken his spanking, and I would reward him by working my twat up and down his cock.

“Oh, Muktar,” I moaned, “lie down on your back on the floor. Mommy’s going to use your cock to make me cum. I want to feel your jizz spurting in me. Maybe you’re going to breed your Mommy-Mistress. Mmm, how does that sound?”

“Wonderful, Mommy-Mistress,” he groaned and rose from the armrest.