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This is a work of ADULT fiction. It is contains highly graphic depictions of extreme sexual behaviour. It is not suitable for children under the age of 18.
Tommy & his Mum, part 8: Beaten Boy
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Jean settled on the couch, more than ready for her afternoon nap. Her day had flown by, filled with the usual chores that seemed to run her life. Of course, she would never complain about why her bedsheets required laundering every day, or why the shower must be thoroughly rinsed each morning. Sometimes she mused that the gods were punishing her for her perverted indiscretions with her son by making her a clean freak. As much as she loved waking up in a bed soaked with her son's urine, as well as plenty of her own, and wallowing in a tub that served as their mutual toilet, Jean couldn't bear to let 9:00 am arrive without everything washed and scrubbed. Then it was off to the base commissary or nearby mall to take care of the day's errands. Jean had taken to riding her bike whenever her destination was in range, and her firmed up figure showed the result of the constant exercise. Her affair with her son had awakened an awareness of her body. She had never been one to wear flattering outfits or sexy underwear before their dalliances began, instead preferring conservative clothes that didn't encourage lecherous leers at her ample bosom and generous, but not fat, bottom. But now, she had a barely conscious need to look good for Tommy, not only when they were alone, but also in public together. She secretly enjoyed the appreciative glances that her new wardrobe of sun dresses, low-cut tops and shorts attracted, and there was an added guilty pleasure when she thought of what these men (and occasional woman) would make of her incestuous, kinky affair with the son she loved so dearly. After her return from the markets, Jean would either attend whatever PTA meeting, bridge party, garden club or tea party scheduled for the afternoon. Even though Jean no longer felt she had as much in common with the other housewives that attended these activities, she still played the part of the good mother and neighbor. Besides, she also enjoyed the jealous looks and whispers she knew her suggestion of cleavage and nearly fully exposed thighs incited. This was so new to Jean, this feeling of youth and sassiness, and it was all due her relationship with her son, and the associated sexual awakening. If only those chattering hens knew that she would much rather be home with her son, making love and performing all manner of filthy acts on each other. More than once, Jean had overcome her penchant for total cleanliness and refrained from washing her hair after a particularly wet morning bathtub peeing session with Tommy, in order to leave the faint scent of his wonderful piss to sniff when the ladies became intolerably boring. Finally back home most days around 3:30 or so, Jean would prepare the supper items so that they would only need heating up when dinner time came, which was usually squeezed between their typical after school sex romp and Tommy's homework hour. Then she would change to her robe, which usually covered her nude body, unless she was in the mood for some sexy lingerie. Tommy always expressed special admiration when she took the time to "doll" herself up, but she didn't make the extra effort most days, instead saving it for Fridays or when a holiday meant no school for the next day. For some reason, the prettier she made herself up, the more she wanted his piss to streak the makeup, or his cum and shit to soil her nighties. After getting comfortable, Jean would recline on her couch with a glass of wine (only one, because she never wanted to drift off into an alcohol induced deep sleep and waste a minute of her too short times with her lover, her son) and patiently await her son's return. More than once, her finger would search for, and find, her clit when the nasty day dreams of what she would be doing in a short time engorged that sensitive little spot. Sometimes she masturbated to the point of orgasm, but usually it was little more than a self tease that gradually built until Tommy came home, at which point the poor boy was often sprung upon almost as soon as he closed the door. Not that he ever griped. This day was Wednesday, meaning that Tommy would be an hour later because he stopped by the dowdy but sweet piano teacher's house for his weekly piano lesson. Jean had finished her chores and errands early (Tommy hadn't wet the bed the night before, she noted when she awoke, somewhat disappointed), and decided to afford herself an orgasm, not thinking she could hold off the extra time, given the unusually high level of horniness she was experiencing that day, no doubt brought on by two matters. First, because she was ovulating. Jean had discovered that her sexual urges increased during periods of ovulation and menstrual flow, and she was glad Tommy enjoyed throwing blood into the mix with the piss, shit, prepubescent seminal fluid and her copious vaginal flow that were such a prevalent part of their sordid sexual activities. In addition to that, Jean's mind had been preoccupied of late with an impending visit from Tommy's teacher, Miss Emily. Keeping her promise to her son, Jean had called his teacher to invite her over for dinner. Expecting a polite but cool rebuff, Jean was somewhat surprised when Miss Emily accepted, and also asked if her son Jack could join her. Jack was also in Tommy's class, and they shared the same piano teacher. Tommy had never mentioned if Jack was a friend, only bringing his name up once that she could remember, telling her of the piano teacher's idea that he and Jack might perform a duet at the next piano recital. Tommy seemed receptive to the idea, but had spoken nothing of it since. Perhaps the boys would discuss it when Miss Emily and Jack came over for dinner, a visit that was planned for the coming Friday evening. When she allowed herself to masturbate with abandon, Jean's orgasm came quickly, and this day's session was no exception. With the fresh memory of that same morning, when Tommy showed his newer aggressive side by grabbing a handful of her hair as he stood facing her as she kneeled in the tub, then forcing her face to his cock just at the moment he unleashed a hot spray of piss directly into her mouth that had gaped open in surprise at the roughness of his grip, Jean attacked her clit with abandon, rubbing and slapping it, craving a quick, but assuredly short lived respite from the sexual cravings that never left her for long these days. Jean remembered the submissive mewl that arose from her throat as the feeling of nasty helplessness overwhelmed her, and she gratefully swallowed every drop of the salty liquid that her youthful master had insisted she take. At least, that was the role she assumed then, one she enjoyed. Another mental image that came to Jean as she pleasured herself was the obvious appraisal of her breasts by Miss Emily that day when Jean picked Tommy up from school. Even now, her nipples hardened as she remembered the teacher's fixed gaze upon her cleavage during that brief moment. It was just a look, but Jean was sure she detected a flicker of desire, or at least interest. The very possibility that the strict teacher might have an interest in Jean that went beyond a parent/teacher relationship increased the pleasure Jean was currently experiencing. Before she knew it, Jean came with a cry, then fell into a light sleep that went unbroken until the sound of the bathroom door closing stirred her. Confused by the darkness, which had apparently fallen as she slept even though the sunsets were coming later with summer approaching, Jean tried to get her bearings. Adjusting the robe to cover her breasts, which had spilled out of the robe that barely contained them, Jean rose from the couch when she heard the shower running. She wondered why Tommy was showering. That usually waited until morning, when the residue of their wickedness required a good cleansing. She also wondered why he slipped into the house without waking her. Normally, Tommy was ready for sex with his mother as soon as he arrived home. Jean couldn't remember the last time five minutes had passed before they were embracing, their tongues entwined in a passionate kiss, their hands groping each other's body. Jean tapped on the closed bathroom door. This, too, was unusual. Neither mother nor son bothered with closed doors, be it bathroom or bedroom. In fact, each would await the other before relieving their bladder or emptying their bowels. Even these most private personal activities were opportunities for love making, and the toilet was seldom required. At first, Tommy didn't answer his mother's knock. She repeated it, a bit louder this time. Instead of hearing the quick invitation inside she expected, Tommy asked his mother to wait. Frustrated, Jean opened the door anyway, and entered the bathroom. It only took a glance at her son's slight naked frame, covered with soap as hot water coursed from head to toe, to start the flow of moisture in Jean's ever-ready cunt. She quickly dropped the robe and prepared to join her son. She was quite taken aback by his reaction. "Please Mom", he pleaded, "not now, ok?". Jean didn't know what to say. From the very first day that they had discovered their mutual sexual attraction, neither mother nor son had ever spurned the other's advance. Indeed, it seldom took more than a touch or glance to initiate yet another session of their messy lovemaking. Despite her son's protests, she playfully reached out to pinch Tommy's little bottom. It was then that she first noticed the many red welts on his back, bottom and legs. "Tommy! What happened to you?". "Nothing, Mom". "Nothing, my foot! You have nasty red marks all over your backside". "Mom, please. Let me take my shower, ok?" Jean took her son by his shoulders and spun him around. She was not angry, just alarmed at those mysterious marks. Something or someone really did a number on her baby boy, and she intended to find out how those welts got there."Tommy, now you listen to me. Those marks are serious. A couple were nearly bleeding. Now, I want you to tell me this instant what happened". Jean seldom pulled out the "Mother Card" on Tommy. For one, he was normally so well behaved and obedient, it was hardly ever necessary. Two, their bond was closer even than Mother and Son. They were friends, lovers and partners in the most deviant of sexual acts. For the first time, her command was rebuffed. Tommy quickly pulled from his mother's grasp and turned his face back into the shower, ignoring her. Jean was dumbfounded. Realizing she was getting nowhere, she gave Tommy his privacy. Looking back as she closed the door, she saw those dreadful wounds once again. In the back of her mind, Jean thought of how they were somehow sexy, so red against Tommy's white skin, the water almost making them shimmer. The wetness between her legs increased despite her concern for her son. Jean scolded herself for allowing such an abhorrent thought, that a wound on her son's delicate skin would somehow stir such a feeling in her, enter her mind. "My God", Jean thought, "what is wrong with me?" Yet, she knew. Nothing was normal anymore. Pee is for drinking. Shit is for eating and smearing on bodies. Mother and son, doing the most abnormal things. Why was she surprised that the sight of red welts on her son's lovely bottom would arouse her? Jean leaned against the door and collected her thoughts. Tommy was obviously disturbed by whatever occurred that left those welts. She decided to suppress her sexual urges, have a glass of wine and determine the best way to coax his troubles from him. She went into the kitchen and helped herself to a large glass of zinfandel. As she was putting the bottle away, she heard Tommy go from the bathroom to his bedroom, obviously in a hurry. Waiting for his door to close, Jean went to her own room. Sipping her wine, Jean pondered her next move. She decided to shower herself, slip into her full length, low cut satin night gown and approach her son slowly, perhaps with an offer to rub lotion on his wounds, with a promise of no questions until he was ready. Moments later, Jean was enjoying the hot stream that was turning her skin pink, and the wine that warmed her insides. Realizing that her lingering horniness might interfere with her resolve to not pressure her troubled boy for sex, Jean changed the setting of her hand-held showerhead to massage and aimed it at her clit, which was exposed by her free hand. The hot pulsations brought her quickly to orgasm. Her knees weakened, Jean lowered herself into the tub, brought her knees back and apart, then aimed the spray directly at her anus. Tommy had discovered how easily this stimulated a bowel movement, and it happened this time. Jean moaned as her sphincter loosened and tightened in rhythm to the massager, responding to the pulses with an offering from her bowels. Jean had long before come to crave the feeling of release that shitting anywhere but a toilet brought. Her mind seemed tuned to her asshole as it expelled her excrement with gradual internal muscle contractions. As she felt the hot turd push through her stretched opening, she could not resist the temptation to push it back in with her index finger, loving how her bowels seemed to fight her attempts to reverse their efforts. More shit pushed out around her finger, as she was unable to stop the flow, so Jean took advantage of her relaxed anus and pushed two fingers as quickly and deeply as possible. Jesus, how she loved the feeling of fullness her fingers and shit gave her rectum. This was new for Jean, playing with her own shit without the benefit of Tommy's participation. When alone, her masturbation sessions were of the ordinary, clit rubbing variety, like earlier on the couch. But Jean was determined to rid herself of nasty inclinations, as much as was possible. It wasn't long before she wallowing in a tub full of shitty water, using her fingers to spread her excrement over her cunt (the risk of infection only intensified the wonderful feeling of perversion), then her breasts, finally up and into her mouth.As she cleaned the foul substance off her fingers, she used her other hand to spread her labia. Jean felt her bladder loosen, and the position she was laying in allowed her piss to go straight up, then right back down onto her open vagina. The hot piss stimulated yet another orgasm, causing Jean to moan and roll around in the nasty pool of water, shit and piss. Finally sated, Jean forced herself to drain the tub and return the shower setting to the overhead fixture, and went about the task of washing the fetid residue from her body and hair, which required two shampoos and rinses. After that came the task of scrubbing the tub with disinfectant, which always seemed to set the guilty feelings that always came after sex, even masturbation, at ease. That ease did not come. Not only did Jean feel a bit guilty over pleasuring herself in such a nasty way; she had done it to that excess for the first time without her young son as a partner. The piss and shit fetish they explored almost daily had become "their" wonderful secret, and a close bond had grown between them as a result, a bond much closer than mother and son or lovers normally shared. Jean felt she had just cheated on Tommy in a small way, a feeling she never experienced after a pre-afternoon nap masturbation session. And making it even worse, she had enjoyed it immensely, experiencing multiple, intense orgasms. Jean put those thoughts out of her head and focused on the problem at hand, that of finding out the reason for those red marks on her son. She left the bathroom naked and returned to her bedroom. She chose a full length satin nightgown, the green one that Tommy favored, probably because of the plunging neckline that offered him easy access to the full breasts that he enjoyed suckling so much. The gown hinted of sex without outright exposing her body. Perfect, she thought. Tommy would not assume she desired sex, although that wasn't true. Jean grabbed a bottle of lotion that had aloe in it, and proceeded to Tommy's bedroom. Without knocking, Jean slowly pushed the door open and entered the room. Tommy appeared to be asleep, face down into his pillow. The top sheet was pulled up to just below his shoulders. Jean crept in and sat lightly on the side of her son's bed. Slowly, she pulled the sheet down. Tommy stirred, then tried to pull the sheet back up."Now, now Tommy", Jean said in a voice just barely above a whisper, "I'm just going to rub a little lotion on your back. I won't ask any questions until you're ready, ok?” Tommy nodded his assent, then released the sheet. Pulling it down, Jean gasped at what she saw. The red welts were more numerous than she had first thought. They went up to just below his shoulder blades, down over his bottom to just above his knees. Some were just slightly red, but many were dark red, nearly bruised. Fighting her angry impulse to demand what happened from her son, Jean kept her promise and poured some lotion over Tommy's back. He twitched, then relaxed, as he grew accustomed to the cool liquid. Taking care to not irritate the sores, Jean spread the lotion, first on her son's back, then working slowly down to his buttocks, where it seemed the worst of the welts were. Despite her concern for her son, Jean felt a strong urge to slip a slick finger into her son's anus. Indeed, her finger did part his cheeks, but then she saw the worst of the welts, deep red nearly to the point of bleeding, right beside his puckered brown hole. Tears of caring mixed with anger welled in Jean's eyes as she oh so carefully applied some lotion to the angry sore. Tommy's butt cheeks clenched reflexively, momentarily grabbing the finger Jean was using. The sight of her son's cheeks tightening and the way he slightly raised his hips was just too much for Jean to resist. Carefully, she pressed the finger into the opening of her son's ass, letting out a sigh as she felt the smooth warmth just past her baby boy's sphincter. Just as quickly, Jean regained her composure and withdrew her finger. Without thinking, she put it into her mouth, savoring the taste of his ass. Then Jean returned to her task, squelching the urge to continue the molestation that she wanted to do so badly. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, Jean finished applying the lotion to the backs of Tommy's legs. Something about the hot redness contrasting against the alabaster skin of her son's backside gave Jean chills that she couldn't explain. Concern for his welfare was the only thing keeping her from licking him, as she so wanted to feel the heat from his wounds. Jean tried to ignore the wetness that had drenched her hairy pussy. It was unnerving to her that she couldn't suppress sexual desire for her son at a time like this, and even more disturbing to her that the wounds she was treating had stimulated that desire. Jean's hand had started massaging her breasts, which had also begun to ache with desire. Shaking her head, Jean tried to collect her thoughts. To distract herself, she gently prodded Tommy to turn over. Once again, he seemed reluctant, but eventually complied. Jean gasped again when she saw more welts, not as many but all located on and around his genitals. Even the head of his small cock was red, and his balls appeared to be slightly swollen. Sensing that an erection might only increase her son's discomfort, Jean did not linger long on his cock, despite an urge to grab that lovely member and masturbate her son. Before things got out of hand, so to speak, Jean pulled the sheet up to Tommy's waist. He was looking at his mother with a mixture of sadness and slight desire, which prompted Jean to do what always seemed to calm her son. Dropping the shoulder strap of her gown, Jean pulled her right breast out and leaned to offer the nipple to her son's mouth. Just as she expected, Tommy took it gratefully, drawing it into his mouth and began suckling as if a baby. Jean drew her boy to her breast and cradled him, gently rocking as she pondered how to draw the story of how the welts came to be on her precious boy. Despite her curiosity, Jean savored the present moment, knowing that Tommy would tell her when he was ready. Until then, his mouth on her breast was pure heaven. |