Fold, Spindle, and Mommy-rape Part 3 [mF, inc, nc, rape] by DiscipleN

– all characters herein are 18 or older by the time they act sexually. –

I managed a full night’s sleep after a long shower, until Race woke me the next morning by pulling my jaw open.

“Huh? Race? Hey! NO!” I shrunk back. His hands grabbed my head and pulled my face back to his outthrust prick.

“Remember what you promised.” He cautioned. “You even said you needed my cum several times a day.” His cock pressed my lips.

All I could remember was how sick I had felt. I wanted to fight him, to prove he would never win, as God was my protector. I was simply too groggy. I let my son’s hard prick slide into my mouth.

Head limp, he used me like a doll, fucking my mouth quickly. His hands bobbed my head to his preferred pace. “Suck me, Mommy.” He urged.

I debated it, decided it might get his rocks off sooner… I closed my lips around his pumping shaft and sucked.

“Soo goood! You’ll be my slave, soon, Mommy.” He smiled. “I just know it!”

He lasted nearly a minute before I tasted his cum. The hint of rancid meat remained, but my stomach didn’t rebel this time.

When he left, he didn’t run the shower, but I saw that he had laid out clothes for me. They were as slutty as my wardrobe offered, a tight pair of jeans, a low cut blouse with frills at the cleavage, red, semi-transparent panties. He had failed to pick a bra. No. I discovered, he had taken all of my bras, but only from my dresser. I found yesterday’s pair in the hamper. I showered quickly and donned the bra, my mind working on what I would actually wear, probably my most frumpy things. It was a work day howev- “EEWWW!!” I clamored.

Upon fitting a breast into the first cup, a cold, wet sticky mass adhered to my nipple. Then the smell hit me. Don’t tell me, Race had cum once, before assaulting my mouth this morning! Was that why he had lasted longer than usual? I dried off both cups, as best I could, with tissues. I was determined not to wear what my son had decided for me. I went downstairs wearing a man’s shirt and a sweater and an older pair of dress slacks. Fortunately, Race hadn’t raided my supply of control top panties.

I fixed breakfast and demanded to know where my bras were! I didn’t think anything odd about multitasking this way.

“You don’t need them. They just get in the way, and I like looking at your nipples through your shirt.” My son was pouting, no longer sex crazed having cummed twice, he must have reverted the good boy I knew him to be. Okay, not quite. “I want to feel up your titties, when ever I like. So then I can get hard and fuck you even more.”

“Look at you.” He continued, “You’re sweating. At least take off your sweater when you’re cooking.”

It was the sensible thing. I felt I shouldn’t reward his lustful side, even for being sensible. I embraced my sweat.

After sending Race to school, I had only a few minutes to search before hitting the road and work. I found my bras stuffed under the couch. It was a heavy hide-a-bed, with a low edge to the carpet. He must have pushed them under one at a time. I had to retrieve them in the same way. Some tore.

Arriving late to work, I felt I had escaped. Why should I ever return to my house and my raping boy? I took off my sweater.

It was a good day. I managed to put two places into escrow that day. The commissions would be small. The market had weakened and every day more agents fresh from online trainings knocked on the company’s door.

I celebrated by buying a nice set of sensible home attire. I almost rented a hotel room.

“Mom! What did you buy me?” Race halted practicing his Sousaphone and ran from his room upon my late arrival. He saw the packages in my arms.

“The next time you set out clothes for your mom, you can set out these.” I wanted to encourage the good side of his actions this morning.

After ripping into the boxes and sacks, he turned a mean eye to me. “You’re suppose to buy sexy things!” He stamped his food and marched back to his room.

I was folding the items my son had strewn in his rush to find hot mom clothes, when he reappeared. He threw something at me! I turned but too slowly, it struck my shoulder and hit the floor. “That’s YOUR homework!” He shouted and stomped back into his room.

White letters,”Raped Mom, Raping Son”, across a red banner stared up at me from the carpet. This time the cover showed a photograph of a young woman with small breasts and a timid smile.

After stacking the folded clothes, I placed the book on top and carried the pile to my room.

Race sat naked on my bed. “You forgot something, Mommy.”

To avoid yet another argument and bruises, I sucked my son’s cock until he poured hot, sticky goo into my stomach. For dinner I made a vegetarian main dish with broiled fish as a side entree. Race ate happily. By bedtime, the flavor of my son’s spurting cum had much improved. He thanked me for being his mommy fuck face and went to bed.

I read myself to sleep and dreamed of “Raped Mommy, Raping Son.” It was a story quite unlike mine and unlike what I had expected. In this book, the mommy had taken charge of her rapes. She controlled her son more than he controlled her. He had to follow her strict schedule, but he could rape her however he liked, as long as he told her in great detail all the ways she was a mommy cunt slave.

I awoke to my alarm. I had set it very early. I had to prepare myself. I promised, today would not like the previous day. I reached over to stifle the singing alarm. A worse alarm erupted in my head. I couldn’t move my arm. I looked around and saw that my wrists had been tied to the corners of the bed. Sharp, cords bit my skin. They ran in opposite directions over the edges of the mattress, tied to the frame’s legs, no doubt.

“Yeow!” I yelped, forced to relax my arms. The clock sang merrily.

Race shuffled in, rubbing his face. He was naked above, but his pajama pants prevented me from seeing the state of his manhood. “I thought I shut that off after tying you, Mommy.” He blinked and stepped closer, just waking up. “Sorry.”

My son climbed onto the bed and cuddled against me.

If I hadn’t been terrified at being bound I would have patted his head. My legs were free, but trying to shift them caused the painful cords to cut me. “Let me go, Sweetie. I have to talk with you this morning. I read the book. I think I understand them, a little better. Tying me up is just going to make me angry again.”

“But you’re ready, Mommy.” He looked up, plain faced.

“For what?” I worried.

“To begin your training. Now that you’re my cum slut, Mommy. I have to start on raping you for real.”

I opened my mouth to object, vehemently, but nothing issued.

He looked at my reddedned wrists. Flakes of skin peeled from beneath cords.

“Do those hurt?”

“YES!” I cried. Still trying to collect my argument.

“Good.” He brightened. Turning to his pajama pants he shucked them to the floor. His cock was just coming to life.

“It’s not good, Race. You’re really hurting me. I could lose my fingers, if they don’t get enough blood!”

“Then I’d better not waste time.” He got to his knees and straddled my torso. Soft cock dangled in my face. “Suck me hard, Mommy Fuck Face.”

My jaw opened at his utterance. I started, “We have to talk, not rape. Please, untie me!”

He fitted the bulk of his soft mass into my mouth. I tried to spit it out, but he simply grabbed my head and forced it into me. “Now suck. Hurry, or your fingers will fall off.”

I sucked and sucked. I tongued his prick and made it hard in a few seconds. I tried my best to make him cum. It had to have been his first this morning. Unable to pull him into my sucking maw, he withdrew a full sized prick.

“Thank you.” Dragging the covers away from my body. He quickly opened my nightgown. “Playing with your titties will keep me hard. They’re so soft and sensitive!” He marveled at my naked breasts. He stooped to suck on one. I did groan then. He looked up and smiled.

“Let me go!” I demanded.

His hands continued to reveal my sleepwear. Fingers crept under the leg hem of my panties. They tickled my dry vulva. His mouth alternated between my nipples, and they hardened to his sucks and tonguing and nibbles. His fingers pressed softly against my sex.

I threw a knee at him and hit his hip. “Get off and untie me!” I yelled. I was loosing it. If I broke now, I would be locked away for murdering my son.

He giggled.

That was it. I could take no more. If I had to tear wounds into my arms to escape my son’s raping mouth and fingers, that was blood I must to shed. I readied myself for the worst possible pain, when a line from last night’s book interrupted. “You can rape me. You can fuck me. You can even breed me, but I’ll never let you fuck my ass!”

My cunt twitched. My nipples grew infinitesimally larger. I huffed, barely whispering, “You can hh-rape me. Hhh. Fuck me. Even breed, hhh, me. Don’t ever fuck my ass.”

“Mommy?” Race looked up again. “What?”

“You can rape me. You can fuck me. You can even breed me, but I’ll never let you fuck my ass!” I stared back.

My son’s eyes grew wide. He giggled. “You did read it!” As if by programming, Race reached away from my cunt and fumbled with the cord biting into my right wrist.

“It’s too tight.” He complained. “You shouldn’t have struggled.”

I looked away. “Yes.”

He rolled off the bed and onto his feet, no longer the groggy son. He returned with sewing shears and quickly cut me free. “Now turn over, Mommy.”

I was free of the ropes but not of my raping son. I needed to do what he told me, or I’d be tied worse the next morning. I curled to one side and got up. My hands and knees sank into the soft mattress. “Honey, I did read the book, but you have to listen. You can’t fuck an ass without lubrication. I know the book says that the son’s hard prick forces its way into the mommy’s ass, and it hurts her, but you have to believe me. Raping a dry ass will hurt you more! Let me get something to help it.”

“I guess so.” He had felt my dry cunt, more than once, and he knew he had to lube it, despite books that said I would gush from being fingered. He let me get off the bed, but only after removing my gown. I stood half naked and rummaged through my cosmetics. I returned with cold cream.

He reached for it, but I pulled it away. “You can have it, Honey, but first you have to listen.”

“You just want to pretend.”

“No. Race. I love you. I hate what you’re doing to me. I’ve tried very hard to make you understand that you’re endangering your immortal soul. But I failed.” I emphasized with great regret in my voice. “I can’t stop you from being the rape son you’ve decided to be. But I will never be the raped mommy, ever again.”

“It’s too late, Mommy. I know you can’t stop me.”

I hugged my boy to me. “Yes. You can rape your mommy, but I can refuse to be raped. Do you understand, now?”

He felt stiff against me, but the length of his prick pressed along my thigh with less force.

“That doesn’t sound right at all.” He pouted. “Are you making fun of me.”

“Does this jar of ass raping cream look like I’m making fun of you?” To demonstrate, I opened the jar and dug a finger through it’s soft mass. Bending over, I rubbed the cold goo against my butthole. “You have to put it on your penis, too.” I offered it to him.

Then he did get it, a little bit. “You called it raping cream.”

“Yes honey, for your raping cock.” I awaited his enlightenment.

“Only, now, your ass can’t be raped.” His face was suspicious.

“For my ass, I call it fun goo.” It was the first name I thought of. Stupid, really.

I felt my son’s cock shrink. He was appalled. “No! You don’t have the right!”

For a second, he looked at the large sewing shears. Scowling, He knocked the jar of cream out of my hand and slid off the bed.

“You’re wrong!” He muttered. His dick had fallen low. Turning away, my son trod out of my room. “You’ll see.” I heard him vow.

He was eating cereal when I came to breakfast. We maintained silence while I whipped up eggs and toast. Finishing his bowl, he rinsed it and put it on the washing rack. Then he collected his school things and left the house.

I had the worst day at work. Not one client called. The accounts in escrow bounced, and the office manager took me aside. He told me that my desk rent would be increased next month. I stamped my foot and returned home. Race found me sobbing on the living room couch.

“I won’t be able to work. We’ll be out on the street. I’ll have to sell the house. There’ll be no money for college.” I poured out my heart to my son.

He grinned. “It’s no fun raping a willing mommy.” Race leaped upon me and tore off my clothes.

I fought as hard as ever, but experience had honed his skill at raping me. I was naked and under his rampant prick faster than ever before.

“Suck me, Mommy.” He gripped my head and pushed his cock into my mouth. I spat and spat, until I couldn’t breathe. I wanted him to suffocate me. Nature rescued me, and I vomited.

It was only a setback. He dragged my stinking body to the tub and ran hot water. With the corded shower head he rinsed my face and fouled tits. Then he washed his vomit soaked groin. His commanding prick never waned. Pulling me dripping out of the tub, he half carried me to my bed. I retook to fighting him, but my legs were pulled apart despite my frantic blows.

“It’s time for you to understand, Mommy. I want a real rape mommy.” His knees and hands kept my legs apart, while I pounded on his thighs. Positioning his steel rod, his hands flashed to mine, capturing them. When he sank his weight upon my naked tits and stretched my arms, his cock speared my cunt. It drilled through my dry vulva and clenched opening. He grimaced from the pain and pumped hard prick into his mommy’s fuck hole. I screamed and screamed.

“Now are you going to be a good, rape mommy, or do I have to chain you to our home?”

“It won’t be our home, Son.” I was babbling, my cunt had begun to secrete lubrication and his prick was spitting pre-cume. The pain between us eased. “The tax man will come and take it away!”

“You let me worry about that. I’ll pay the rent for your office. I’ll find clients for you.”

“How?” That was ridiculous.

He ignored me. His body worked thick prick in and out of my moistened cunt. “Gonna fuck you good, this time.”

Adrenalin surged through me. “You can’t!” I yelled. “Take it out! If you want me to suck you, I will!” I wailed. “Don’t you want to make Mommy your mommy suck face cum slut?”

My son’s prick made the only noise in the room. It’s terrible slurps and sloshes wrecked me. “Stop! I’ll suck it good, Honey. Let mommy suck out all that nice fuck juice!”

“Oooohhhhh! I don’t know why I ever stopped before. It’s soo good, Mommy. Your slutty cunt feels incredible!” He worked his prick in and out of me, and kept calling me “Slut!” and “Mommy fuck cunt.”

“I’m going to cum so hard inside you, Mommy!” His pistoning shaft and heaving loins battered my groin and raped my wet cunt.

“Don’t do it! Don’t cum in your Mommy Fuck Cunt!” I was lost to him. There was nothing I could say. “It’s a sin to breed your mommy.” I cried.

“You finally understand!” My son roared. His hips shot forward, nailing my ass to the bed with his rock hard shaft. I convulsed from his impact. Then liquid fire erupted inside my cunt. His cum blasted into me. He resumed his fucking, to maximize penetration with each load fired into his mommy’s baby oven.

After flooding my womb with his incestuous sperm. He fell across me, keeping his prick inside, to plug my hole. “That was the best.”

I moaned. “Nooooo.”

Another spurt leaked from his still hard cock.

Five minutes later, he fucked me again. Another dose of young sperm invaded my holy grounds of conception. After plugging me for 1 minute, he made me suck his cock clean. He left to fill the tub in the main bathroom. I used my shower instead.

When Race laid out clothes for me the next day, I ignored them. This time he shredded my bras, all of them. I wore what I picked, but suffered his hands under my shirts and blouses and sweaters and robes. In the ensuing days, after groping me, he would get hard and throw me to the ground, or bend me over something, or push me up against the wall. He and his prick could rape me two or three times a day. After a few day’s he had to rest, to recharge his sperm. That slowed but didn’t stop him. He was just as likely to orgasm in his mother’s fuck slot with dry heaves as often with floods of fertile cock cream.

I never stopped fighting my son. I told the doctor that I was studying Karate, to explain the bruises. I told Dr. Kalter that I knew of women who took Karate to defend themselves from their sons. When I asked how many mothers, not able to defend themselves, did he personally treat? He said, with great astonishment, “None.” No doubt I had tread upon doctor-patient confidentiality. I pursued the matter elsewhere, but found similar denial. He told me, a year later, that I was pregnant.

How Race managed to pay my rent and bring clients to my desk was a mystery, until I caught him posting a picture to a website adorned with pictures like those on his books. They turned out to be collector’s items. Some of them were worth thousands of dollars, to the right buyer. It turned out my son was a genius at finding foolish buyers. He’d saved a dozen boxes of his father’s books. They paid for my desk and property taxes. His income was very close to my own.

I didn’t figure out his trick to bring clients to me, men and women, until my pregnancy could no longer be hidden. Apparently, there was a special forum for highly paid computer nerds who liked MILFs. Every day, Race posted pictures of me, suffering his attacks, and swearing that I was the best realtor in the area, but didn’t know about the pictures. By hiding my face, enough were curious to meet me in person. They were not my best clients, but they were steady clients. None of them attempted to rape me. A couple of them made rude passes at me, but my non MILF forum clients were just as affronting.

While I was pregnant, my clients halved. One complained that he had been gipped and threw a wadded printout on the floor upon seeing me. The forum address underscored a picture of me on Race’s bed, fighting futilely to keep his raping cock out of my bruised pussy.

To be fair, during the third trimester, Race only raped my mouth and ass. He occasionally tied me up to fuck, but he didn’t cum as hard. He simply tired of my resistance. Some days I would go limp and think of Anne. My old tennis friend must be getting it twice as hard. She was amazing.

A year later, she and I played a match and shared late lunch afterwards. I vocally admired her tan, perfect skin. “You must handle your boy’s with the fine grace of a suffering saint.”

“Lainey? Did someone kick you in your head at your last Karate class?” Her head tilted. She had learned to ignore my bruises.

I looked up from sweet little PattyAnnie in my arms, partially named after my friend. “Oh, I guess I can tell you. I never thought I could tell anyone.”

Sensing something wrong, Anne leaned closer, glancing once at my baby nursing at her rape mommy’s, purple mottled breast. Catching my eye with earnest concern, my friend asked. “What’s the matter?”

I confessed. “Race is a terrible Sousaphone player.”

end