Fold, Spindle, and Mommy-rape Pt. 1 by DiscipleN

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

Am I totally off the mark here, or should a mother not be exceedingly cross at her child when he rapes her? I’ve tried to find the answer from books, support groups, or anyone having a reasonable pedigree, but the topic quickly chills psychologists and social workers alike when I ask them. Nobody seems to be talking about this! It’s almost as if other mothers all over America don’t have to deal with their son raping them on a regular basis. Right, and panda cubs are less cute than koalas. Well, this mother has had it up to her ovaries with incestuous sperm and is determined to put an end to the silence about this national tragedy!

I was so looking forward to having children and loving them and raising them to live successful, happy lives. My dreams, beginning before high school, were very precise on the matter. I would marry a handsome building contractor, spend a few years just for ourselves, but not too many, creating the perfect home and being the perfect husband and wife. Then after much careful planning and yes, education, we’d have two children, first a son for him, and then a daughter for me. Our boy would become a great sousaphonist, and my little girl would grow up to fight for noble causes like abandoned pets and corruption at the horse track.

Some readers might think my dreams were perhaps a bit too specific, but a woman should always know what she wants, in advance. I am strong. I am woman. I can do anything a man can do, as long as I’m married to him.

Henry was not a building contractor, exactly, but he was hired regularly, on cash contracts to caulk the windows of leaky old houses and newly constructed town homes. I figured he just needed to apply himself a little more, and soon he’d be hiring illegal aliens and managing projects for the city. He was rather handsome, until misfortune intervened in my life plan. We’d been married nearly a year, a year of true marital bliss, when a construction site crane toppled down and smashed Henry’s left arm and left leg, leaving him scared all along that side from forehead to pinky toe.

The very good fortune from that terrible accident was, Henry was still able to impregnate me. With my tongue firmly stuck out at Miss-fortune, we did have a son. We named him Race, after a character from Henry’s favorite, classic cartoon show, or some new reincarnation of it. Henry watched a lot of television after his accident. I tried not to mind, and I didn’t complain at all about the name he chose for our nine week old fetus. I would be the one who named my daughter, Patricia Annabel Chloe Cutter. I looked so forward to calling my darling daughter to my side, ‘oh PattyAnnie, come to Mommy!’

I was sure I could nurse my devoted husband back to health and inspire him to take the county contractor’s exam. I bought him audio tapes about how to empower himself and succeed at government test taking. I wanted everything back that had been lost since his accident and more by the time little Race arrived home, but Henry never seemed to understand how important this was to me. I asked him if he really preferred watching television to supporting his family. He told me to shut my fucking trap, or he would shut it for me. I had to learn this the hard way, many times in our house, but there are already too many stories out there about that social issue. Little Miss-fortune had remembered not too kindly my moment of defiance. My story must press on, for the sake of mothers like me who need to decide what to do about having a mommy rapist for a son.

Compared to many other boys in our foothills town, Race at least HAD a father around to learn him a man’s way, while his mother worked two jobs to support them. Henry never had disability insurance, having worked under the table all his life. Our church’s compassion support ended right after Race was too old to be legally aborted. Not that I’ve ever considered abortion as anything but the vile murder of a human soul. Even godless terrorists know that; may God wipe them from the face of the Earth. With the decline in our family income, and Race’s birthing and other medical bills, suddenly, the idea of having a daughter right away wasn’t as endearing as it had been in high school. I began to neglect my duty as a woman cleaving unto her man.

Henry didn’t seem to mind, much. Oh, he hollered and hit me regular for a while, but after he started buying porno books, video tapes, and going out and liquoring up wrinkled, old floozies, a fact I was only too happy to ignore, he settled down and took his parental chores firmly in hand. With Race he did not spare the rod nor spoil the child. My fair haired boy grew up tough and fierce. Our neighbors often complained that he was bullying their children. I consoled them with a few wise words about the high spirits of children, their susceptibility to the lies of Satan, and whatever cash I had saved in the cookie jar.

Sometime around late puberty, Race finally convinced me he needed more serious help than the Lord Almighty and his born again flock. He killed his father with our ‘coon-n-‘possum gun.

That was the scandal. I went through a lot of trouble convincing the police to report it as an accident, I know very well that Henry did not keep the gun loaded. Race would have had to steal the key his father kept in his old caulking toolkit, unlock the fishing and tackle box where the shells were hidden, climb on a chair to reach the gun hanging over our fake fireplace, and sneak into the shower and wait for when his dad next limped to the toilet with a porno mag for the purpose of spilling his seed into the septic tank. The police found bits of ear on the hallway wall opposite the bathroom door. I think they just didn’t want the notoriety of charging a minor with an adult crime, because we made a deal before any of the forensic evidence could be analyzed. They wouldn’t book charges if I booked the boy with the county psychiatric ward.

Not only did I sign Race’s future care over to the state, I threw out all the guns in our house and all of Henry’s porn. Fortunately, the county mental center for juveniles was packed to the gills with abused, rural children, and they relegated him back to my custody, but they didn’t shirk their compassionate duty. Ronald Thames, a dedicated social worker, spent the next three years visiting Race, working with him, and checking on the evolution (pardon my french) of our family situation. It all came to a sudden end when Race discovered Ronald’s attempts to improve our family situation in my bed, weeks after Race had turned eighteen and was no longer under Ron’s care.

I’m not sure why everyone got so upset. Race’s feistiness had been mellowing for nearly three years before I decided Ronald was my best chance to bring dear little Patricia Annabel Chloe into our lives. Ronald was married. So I knew he wouldn’t want to claim the child as his own. I had grown out of my widow’s sorrow hours after Henry had been buried in the ground. Race was beginning to understand and accept the responsibilities and troubles adulthood had placed upon him. And lastly, we were almost rich!

I’d learned my lesson about flaunting my good fortune in front of Miss Fortune. After Henry had told me he had no disability insurance, I went straight out and placed a life insurance policy on him to the tune of five hundred thousand dollars! Every week, no matter how hard it was to withhold, I stuffed a ten dollar bill in the family bible we kept in the living room bookshelf. I was the only one who ever touched it. Each third month, for ten years, I paid the insurance bill, knowing that any day, Henry would rise, healed by the Lord, and take up once more his place as the provider for his family. When he did, his family would already be protected by this compassionate, economic shield.

I paid off the mortgage to our house, hired a real contractor with real, migrant workers, to finish it in style, and enrolled myself in a class to earn a real-estate broker’s license. Half a million dollars is a fabulous prize, but it wouldn’t last a lifetime. I even bought my son a Sousaphone. Backed by the freedom of a high interest rate savings account and reassuring signs that Race had learned to redirect his violent urges, I set out to seduce the moderately attractive, but very hard working, Ronald. He fell under my spell with in a week of my early teasing. Not bad for a thirty five year old woman. (Ronald was twenty five.)

While Race went to his Sousaphone lessons, I dragged my carefully selected victim into my room in order to fill the yearning in my loins. I wanted a daughter! Unfortunately, my son had occasional misgivings about playing the Sousaphone. Instead of attending his lesson, he goofed off with friends. Returning earlier than I expected, he caught me pretending to orgasm for our hard working social worker.

The first time, he kept the discovery to himself, but he promised to return from his next lesson earlier and get a good seat outside my window.

On my third attempt at getting pregnant, my ‘act’ was interrupted by motion at the window. Thick, milk colored fluid, splashing upon plate glass, drew my attention. There, beyond my son’s healthy dose of sperm, Race grimaced in the throes of his orgasm.

I didn’t handle that scene very well. My redirected attention caused Ronald to notice the window. He leaped off me and hauled his medium sized instrument into his jeans. Completely red faced he ran out of the room, begging forgiveness from the Lord.

A week later, I received a beautifully worded letter explaining that he was no longer the right man to help my son. On the same day, after reading the letter to him, Race decided privately, what he needed help with would not come from a man. After honestly considering my own sins and failure to be a mother worthy of his son’s honor, I thought it wise to reintroduce my family to God’s merciful forgiveness. I dragged him to church with me.

My first rape occurred after his first attendance at sunday school. It was late Sunday night, and I was sitting in the living room reading selected verses from my bible when Race wandered in and looked at me funny.

“Mom, that sunday school teacher is a real ditz.”

“Be careful about profaning against the servants of the Lord, Race.”

“No, really. She read this story about a guy who died before he could get a kid on his wife. So God tells the guy’s brother to give the wife a kid, but the brother refuses and earns God’s wrath.” Race shook his head in disbelief. “As if that weren’t screwy enough, because God says in the ten commandments, not to hanker after a guy’s ass or his wife. But then everything got stupid when the teacher tells the class that the message from this story says that masturbation is a sin!” My boy was showing his repressed, but very real, clever side.

“I don’t think it’s wise to judge the word of God, Race.” I told him, sincerely.

“But that’s not in the bible!” Race angered. “It’s just something the dumb teacher said.”

“Don’t you take that tone with me, young man.” I suggested.

“Aw, you’re no better than that guy’s wife.” My son dismissed my warning. “You just want another kid, a girl,” he said with distaste, “and you’re willing to break a whole commandment to have one.” Race had moved right in front of my position on the couch to stare, mockingly at me.

“We are all sinners.” I reminded him.

“Yea, but I just break what some dumb church teacher says is a sin. You broke one of God’s big ten.”

“All sins are equal compared to the light of God’s forgiveness.” I paraphrased.

“Yea, really? Are you sure about that?” Race had caught a glint of incandescent light in his eye.

“Honey, how can you doubt God’s love? Do you doubt my love?” I smiled and reached out to muss his hair. He ducked under my arm and then sprang on top of me!

“Race, what in heaven’s name?” I yelled.

“Screw heaven, mom. I’m tired of jacking off and being told I’m sinning. If that guy’s brother is allowed to put his seed in the guy’s wife, then I can put mine into you!”

“Get off me this instant! That’s ridiculous! I’m your mother. Get your HANDS out of my blouse!”

“Oh mom, you’ve got the best tits!” His initial momentum had knocked me to one side, nearly down to the couch cushions. The weight of his eighteen year old body wasn’t unbearable, but I found it hard to fight him at that angle.

“Stop it, I say! That’s my brassier.” I had never hit my son, nor had I ever wanted to. I didn’t particularly like it when Henry use to beat him, in fact I preferred it when he’d beat me instead of our defenseless child. I would often intervene and take blows that were meant for Race. All of a sudden, I was confused. Race wasn’t hitting me, but his hands were very forceful. His knees tried to corral my thighs, but they were too strong for his legs to control very well. I tried pushing him away, but he grabbed my tits real tight through my bra and hung on. I hurt myself trying to escape.

“This is a real mother. How do you take it off?”

“OW! You don’t. You get off me!” I ordered. I tried twisting my body to shake him off, but his legs were easily strong enough to ride out my attempts.

“Stop fighting me mom. I’m going to give you that baby you want.”

“It’s not right. You’re my son!” I tried rolling off the couch, but he dropped one foot to the floor and countered my movement.

“That must be a whole lot better than daddy’s brother.”

The kid had a point. Henry’s brother James, made Henry look like a model father. Fortunately, James was still serving a twenty year sentence for nearly killing a woman police officer while raping her. There wasn’t a parole board on either side of the rockies that would pardon him.

“So you want to end up like your Uncle James?” I tried to reason with my son, as his hands suddenly broke the front clasp to my bra. His fingers zeroed in on my nipples, which had become quite hard.

“No way. You aren’t going to tell no cops.” He had already reasoned it out. “You know what I did to father, and you know why, and you didn’t tell anyone.”

“But why are you doing this?” I tried to pull his grip off my naked tits and his hands out from under my blouse.

“Because you’re such a fucking tease, Mommy! For the last month you’ve been waving your short short skirt covered ass and deep cleavage in front of Ron, and I had to watch you do it! I’ve decided that I might as well have some, now that he’s gone.”

“No, son that’s evil. You have to stop!” My woman’s arms proved stronger than his young one and I finally extracted his claws from my mauled breasts. Or maybe he simply decided to switch tactics. Although his hands stayed from my rumpled blouse, they flew right to his shorts and unbuttoned them. A second later he had unzipped them.

“Don’t you dare do that!” I shouted anew. This time I was able to twist out from under his weight and jump off of the couch. The little guy was fast then. I can tell you that. He spun around behind me and dove for my ankles. I was already off balance and when his hands pulled my feet out from under me, I fell front down to the carpet.

“OHH, UMPH! <thump!> Race, I mean it. You’re really making mommy angry.” I felt his hands reaching up under my skirt. It wasn’t as short as the ones I used to seduce Ronald, but it wasn’t a far reach for him to grab my cotton panties beneath it. “NOO!”

“But mommy, you’re going to like it so good, when I put my dick inside you. I remember how much you liked Ron’s. Mine’s bigger!”

“I was faking it!” I honestly thought it might make him reconsider. I tried to push myself up, but Race had already thrown his weight on top of me, trying to disentangle my panties from my hairy bush. “OW!” My arms had gone numb after my fall. I didn’t have the strength to push myself up and get away.

Instead, I tried rolling, but before I could wrench my hips around, his young fingers found my cunt. “Ohh NOO! You have to STOP that, honey!” It felt like I had been spitted and the shock stopped me mid-roll. I just had to reach down and pull his hands off me, again!

“Wow, Mommy, I never felt a pussy before!” He marveled at the same time he shouldered me back on my stomach. “You gotta let me feel your puss. It’s awesome!”

“Okay,” I squirmed, unable to disengage his deeply probing fingers. My clit swelled up from his eager attentions. “But you have to get off of me after you do!”

“Sure mom. Wow, this is great!” He reached right through my vulva and diddled curiously on my g-spot. My flesh responded with energetic secretions.

“Honey, you gotta stop now.” I told him.

“Just wait a minute, I’m still feeling you.” He batted my hands that were trying to block my backside. “I can’t get a good feel. If you get up on your knees, I can finish a lot quicker.” He eased most of his weight off of my back.

It seemed like a reasonable offer. I had no reason to believe my son wouldn’t honor his promise. He was a messed up kid, but he had never been a liar. I got my tingling arms underneath me and without his weight, I was able to draw myself up on all fours.

He felt around inside my cunt for another few seconds and then withdrew his hand with a slurp. Thank heavens! I sighed and shook my head. “Now, I’m not going to punish you this time, but – OOOOOF!!” Something wide and hard stuffed itself into my slick fuck box. “No son, I said you couldn’t DO THIS! You promised me you wouldn’t.”

His young rod kept forcing its way inside it’s mother’s cunt. “I said I’d get off you when I was done feeling around inside of you. You didn’t say I couldn’t feel around you with my dick!”

“NOOO, that’s all wrong. You have to pull out!” I tried to make my break and scramble away.

He was ready for me. He’d wrapped his hands around my waist and simply fell over my back to keep me from rising. All I ended up doing was dragging him a few feet before my arms gave out again. His cock did pull out, quite a bit of it. Then he thrust it back in.

He must have taken my momentary exhaustion for capitulation. “See, I told you you’d like it when I got in you!” His fuck motion began a first rhythm in my cunt. The thick head of his prick never left my birth canal, but its seemingly amazing length drew in and out of it’s captured hole for several seconds between each stroke. My cunt had never felt so full.

“You can’t fuck your mommy! Stop it, right now!” I gave him my sternest voice, one he had rarely failed to heed. It failed. My son’s thick cock continued to stroke inside his mommy.

“Be quiet, Mommy. I’m still feeling around inside you. I want to get off, but you’re spoiling my mood.” His first lurches were uncoordinated, but he soon found a rhythm that worked for our disparate bodies. His hands locked around my waist in case I tried to leap up again. It took his cock several tries before he could pound his meat into me with a satisfying sensation. Satisfying? He thought it was awesome! “Oh, mom. It feels so good! I know I can cum.”

“Ooo, when I get my hands on you…!” I threatened. My stuffed pussy was generating volumes of slick fluid for his raping cock. I tried hard not to think about his fuck tool plowing into my cunt from behind, but my body was unable to not think about it. God’s design was being fooled by a devil.

“I know you’ll love it too, mommy. I read all about it.” He tried to lead me astray.

“What do you mean, read it?” I asked hotly. His hands had begun to loosen their grip. They were reaching for my tits again. My yellow blouse was still secured by three buttons, but my brassier must have fallen off somewhere closer to the couch. Nope, it was stuffed up under my armpit. Whenever his balls slammed into the back of my thighs, my body hurled forward and my armpit contracted around the cotton and foam rubber ball of lingerie.

“Those books you threw away after dad died. I grabbed a whole bunch of them before the garbage men came.” Race started bucking his oversized cock into me as he grew more excited. They tell all sorts of great stories about mommies and their boys.” Yep, his hands had found my tits again and he was trying to pinch my nipples. “The mommy’s always complain at first, but after the boy fucks his mom, she likes it so much she wants him to fuck her lots more. She even sucks on her son’s cock and let him fuck her in the ass!”

My cunt lurched, and my nipples punched out at their fresh invasion. “That’s disgusting! Race, this isn’t a book. You’re raping your mother. It’s really, really wrong! I don’t like it at all. You’re hurting me!” The last bit was an exaggeration, but I needed everything I could think of to try and stop him.

“But that can’t be!” He cried, “You’re all wet inside, just like it says in the books.” The slick goo in my drooling passage allowed him to increase his penetration. I could feel his cock head banging into my womb’s entrance. If my son came right now, he’d shoot his incestuous sperm right into his mommy’s baby oven.

“I am not.” I openly stretched the truth. “You’re getting me all wet. Pull out now and let me dry myself!”

“Not, <huff> until I, <puff> cum!” Race shouted in defiance. His plunging tool rippled from the pleasures it was extracting from my sperm sluice. I could feel it throb, producing similar tremors in my weeping sheath.

He was about to cum. His rhythm lost steam as his entire frontal musculature started twitching in anticipation of an explosion. My unprotected and very fertile womb could not be allowed to drink from it’s progeny’s fertilizer. I took my last chance.

“I said, NO, damn it!” I screamed and reached around for his cock and grabbed it. Without my arms to support the rest of me, I fell head first to the carpet, but I twisted and curled into a fetal ball. This resulted in a very rapid extraction of my son’s bulging cock from his mother’s dripping hole. Freed from my cunt, but not my grip his cock was aimed towards my left side, particularly at my tit there. Lust hot cum blasted out from his dick and poured all over his mother’s side, coating my breasts with white, sticky fuck sauce, warming my nipples deliciously. I was tempted to rub its heat into my rigid bumps.

“Christ! I’m CUMMING!” Race exploded. He hollered all manner of fuck talk he’d read in his dad’s porno books. I breathed a sigh of relief. My son had just spewed loads of his cum onto my body, but none of it, I hoped, had reached his mother’s breeding place.

Race pulled my hand off his retreating hard-on. He jacked it swiftly to get every drop of cum on my body and to feel the last surges of delight in his orgasm delirious head. I prayed my thanks to God, knowing that right had been done in the end.

But Race wasn’t finished with me. He’d read far too many of those wretched, raunchy, mom-son novels to believe they were anything but the secret truth between man and woman. Actually, I was scraping his fuck slime off of my tits, using the balled up bra to soak up his lost sperm. It was chilling fast, when he crawled around to my head. I thought he was going to apologize.

“That wasn’t fair, mom. You’re suppose to let me preg you. No wonder you don’t cum during a fuck!”

“I’ve heard quite enough of your mouth for one day, mister…” I glared at him and sat up on my knees. “I’m going to ground you so hard for what you did to me, you’ll be digging up for an air hole- <glorp!>.” Race shoved his limp cock into the word ‘hole’, choking it off at the source. I shrieked and nearly bit him!

“I’m just starting to have enough of your mouth, mommy.” He delighted. “Now suck me good, like is says in my books.” We began a war of arms and hands struggling to extract his cock from or keep it inside his mother. I was still stronger than my son, but he was just as horny as when he first assaulted me, and I was weary and still confused by the entire situation. How could any boy rape his mother? Now he was raping my mouth! I struggled as best I could, but I couldn’t make up my mind as to just how angry I should be. I was terribly angry when he surprised my exposed cunt with his first cock thrust. Now I was nearly furious at the vulnerable meat pressed between my jaws, but all I could think about was how, for most of my son’s life, his father would beat him for the slightest thing. Even if I bit him, how would Race know that physical punishment for raping his mother was more meaningful than any of the hundreds of beatings he’d taken without provocation? I was powerless to stop my boy from raping me!

“Moan for me, Momma. Moan like you did for Ronald. I’ll cum again, inside your noisy mouth!” His prick plunged my only way to rebuke him. “Damn, your mouth feels almost as good as your puss.”

“Nggllgghh!” I gurgled defiantly.

He laughed and reached for my blouse, tearing the last of it from my tits. His hand mauled me, and his cock dived to the back of my throat. I choked. My lungs were being abused from two directions.

“I’ve got plans for you, Mommy. Since you didn’t take my cum where it belongs, I’m going to turn you into a cum lover, like in the books.” The idea must have spurred his second arousal that day. I felt his cock pulse with promise. “Sperm is suppose to be delicious and healthy, and you’ll be addicted in no time.”

I stamped my feet with disbelief and a desperate need to breath! If he didn’t cum in my throat quickly, I would suffocate. Already, stars winked at me around the corners of my eyes. Lids shut, I thrashed my body, but he was stronger this time. And having just ejaculated all over his mommy’s body, he wasn’t due for another blast for a while, I feared.

Occasionally, when his dick pulled back far enough, I could suck a little air through my nose. I realized that thrashing around frustrated his rhythm not his attack. He latched onto my tits and leaned to suck on them. To get air, I had to compromise. I still stamped my feet, as it was the only way to continue signaling disapproval. His knees pinned my arms to the carpet. His mouth sucked a hard nipple and his teeth teased it. Now he was making it more difficult for me to match sniffs of air with his pumping prick. I groaned, barely holding on to consciousness.

“That’s more like it!” Race gloated! He pumped me harder and twisted my other nipple with sharp finger nails.

“NGHHHHHHH!!”

“Heh. You’ll learn, Mo- Ooohhh!” His bucking hips stalled. “Uuunnnggghh!” Whatever he had imagined in his head tipped his balls over the edge. A flood of sperm surprised me. So soon? I gulped but mostly coughed. Sperm flew out around the edges of my mouth. He pistoned further gouts from his firehose deep into my face. I swallowed and swallowed. The only bit I could actually taste was what I had coughed up. It was not at all sweet or any manner of tasty, mixed with my saliva and stomach acid.

“Momma! Suck me dry!” He bellowed. His head shook, eyes clenched shut to keep the explosions inside his victorious head. The prick in my mouth dove hard and deep, a final plunge. It’s last squirts barely tickled my gullet.

“MMNGH! MMNGH! MMNGH! MMNGH!” I spent the last of my air screaming against his cock. My face must have been blue. He looked at me, with a smile like a cartoon Kaiser.

Finally, he pulled out. “Not bad for a first rape, huh, Mom?” He sat up on his knees, still pinning my arms.

I gasped for air. My eyes were open, but I lost all sight. It was that close. There was nothing I could say. He continued to taunt me with his conquest.

“Wasn’t my cock real good? Much better than that social loser.”

“Hey, Mom, you should lick that cum from your lips.” I didn’t, so he used a finger to wipe it into my lips. My tongue tried to reject his finger, but he tweaked a nipple with his other hand. I yelped and his finger pushed the last of his ejaculate into his mother’s face.

“There’ll be more. Some books take whole chapters before the mommy begs her son for fresh cum.”

I continued to breath. My sight slowly returned. His knees lifted but left bruises on my forearms. Instinctively, I huddled my arms around my breasts. My knees were already clenched together. Race stood. “I’ll run a bath for you, Mom.” He left me.

Later, I wondered why I had not cried. In terms of battery, his rape barely matched his father’s lesser assaults. Race’s betrayal fully wrenched my heart. Water crashing into a tub was the closest thing to tears in our house.

I clawed myself up with the help of a chair. Hearing the tap close. I wobbled down the hall. I hardly had anything left to strip when I reached the bathroom. I expected Race to leer at my ministrations. Instead he handed me a towel and left, closing the door behind him.

His face had lost its evil. His heart hadn’t though. I was sure. He was his father’s son.

I stayed in the hot water until it shivered me. I needed to feel safe. But after two hours, I was nearly blue again. I crawled out, some energy returned, but cold. After drying, I wrapped the towel around my torso and sat on the toilet. I had to make him understand.

I heard him watching television. I snuck out and locked myself in my room.