Perverts 'R' Us

Mommy's Bust: Act One

By Perverse Verberations ( F/b, viol )

I come walking into our one bedroom house. It's not a bad little house and it's situated just on the outskirts of the better part of town. It's what's inside that causes my stomach to churn. As I enter, I am expecting to be in trouble. Sure enough...

"Get in here!"

It's my mother and she's hopping mad. I can tell this from her tone of voice, and I can also slightly detect that she's been drinking.

"NOW!" she screams.

I know I'm a few minutes late, but I can't understand why she's obviously THIS mad. Her anger and alcohol are NOT a good combination. I begin to shake and get into character. Mom likes me to be perfectly respectful at all times but especially when she's angry. I've learnt over the years and through all the whippings to do EXACTLY as she tells me...

"Y... yes, ma'am! I'm coming..."

I drop my bag and hurriedly go to her. I step into the room just as she's zipping up her skirt. I see that her upper body is only covered by her bra and I spot her blouse, which is lying over the chair. As I am entering the living room, she quickly steps over to me, with her large bust wobbling angrily, and grabs hold of me.

She stands with that large bust in my face and I can't help but notice her dark brown nipples dimly showing through the shear material of her sexy little bra. She often walks around in little more than a bra and panties or just in a robe. However, the underwear that she typically wears around in the house is not very revealing. Not like this bra that she is wearing to work. Lately I seem to be taking more notice of the fact that my mother wears very little and I've been getting very interested in this fact.

"I told you to be home on time!" she exclaims and forcefully turns my head toward the clock. I look at the clock but my eyes turn back to look at her bust. Luckily she doesn't take notice, since she is so angry. "And look at what time it is. You're nearly ten minutes late and you know I have to be on time for work!" She painfully twists my head back around to face her.

"Sorry," I say softly.

She doesn't seem to hear me and I stare at her in fear, with her dark eyes smoldering. Mom is half-Indian and so her hair is nearly black, her skin is coco, and her eyes are black. She has a roundish face and high cheek bones and I've heard quite often from people, such as my aunts and some of mom's co-workers, that the guys at her work love her exotic look.

When I was younger, I looked a lot like my mother except a lighter version of her with my blond hair, green eyes and fair skin. As I grow older, I'm looking less and less like her. My face is getting narrower and less rounded and my hair is turning a light brown.

Lately I can't help but think that as I look less like her she's been getting meaner toward me. Oh sure, I've gotten whippings often, but she's always made it up to me afterwards and she's always called me her "special little man". In the past she would give me gifts and take me places. Lately though all that seems to have changed...

"Are you LISTENING TO ME!" she yells.

"Y... yes ma'am." I hurriedly say and quickly lift my eyes up to hers. I had unknowingly gone back to looking at her chest. "I'm sorry, mommy. The teacher held me for a few minutes after school..." I fall silent as I look into her unsympathetic eyes.

Mom purses her lips, causing them to go livid, and she securely holds my chin and tilts my face up toward her. I squinch my eyes, knowing what's going to follow. She doesn't usually hit me across the face, but I know the signals by now. Sure enough, I feel the back of her hand as she strikes me across the face and I fall to the floor. I curl into a ball, with my cheek and mouth stinging. She's really angry and I so I do the only thing I can. I pull tight and pray it won't be too bad.

"I don't give a fuck why you're late. I only care that I might be late for work!"

"I'm sorry, Mommy. I won't be late again. Honest!" I cry out.

"God I'm so sick of you!" Mom then begins kicking me. Her kicks land all along my back and legs. "You are so goddamned pathetic!"

"Please, stop, mommy..." I cry out softly.

I know better than to fight back. I tried that a couple times, and on one of those occasions I got a broken arm for my effort. If she'll do that to a six-year-old...

"If not for you, I'd be way ahead than I am right now. I would have been better off squeezing out an actual turd instead of a useless piece of shit like you!" she screams. "I should have listened to my sisters and had you vacuumed out!"

A couple kicks land on the back of my head. I begin sobbing badly, from both the blows and the words. The words hurt far, far worse. She stops kicking me and I look up to the sight of her standing over me. Again I look upon her bust. They now have hardened nipples that poke easily against the soft yielding material of her bra. They seem to stare at me angrily and I can't help but flinch back from them slightly. I look at mom's face and she is sneering down at me.

"Mommy, please..." I sob out.

She merely starts kicking me again but harder and more deliberate. I watch her fury through my fingers and whimper. I know that begging her to stop won't work but I try anyway. Her large bust jiggles around and I hear her past remarks echoing in my head...

"It's because of these large tits that I am so successful in a 'gentleman's club'. They're what allows us to live in such a nice house and neighborhood. Not that you appreciate it! Not that you appreciate what these babies do for you! They're what puts food in your mouth and the clothes on your back, you little ingrate!" (She literally throws this fact in my face on a daily basis.)

"I'm a hot-looking young woman, but it's my tits that make the real difference, so you had best start REALLY appreciating them! I have to constantly put them on display for those fucks! Men are pigs! It's my tits, my tits, my tits..."

Mom often says that men think with their dicks. What do women think with? It seems that it's her boobies that are kicking me. Hurting me, as they wobble...

"Pleeeeeassseee...." I sob softly, as her beliefs rattle around in my mind.

Mom hates her job and all the assholes. That's what all men are. Assholes. On more than one occasion she's blurted out how she would love to castrate every asshole in the world. On occasion she will eye me and warn me not to become an asshole. Whenever she talks like that I usually try to find a way to get away from her, with a cold shiver running through me. What's worse is that she'll get a peculiar smirk on her face as she describes how she'd love to do it to an asshole. Just 'GRIND' his nuts into the dirt...

Mom is panting and beginning to sweat a little, with beads all along her upper lip. I'm now hurting bad and my ribs hurt whenever I breathe. Especially now, as I'm sobbing.

"Mom... mieeee..." I gasp out as the air is kicked out of me.

After several minutes, mom stops kicking me. She is breathing hard and I am sobbing loudly. This is the worse beating that I've ever gotten. It's made worse by the fact that it seems so unfair. At least in the past it was because something like bed-wetting, or me making messes, or even 'talking' back. I've taken care of all those problems. I still bed-wet but I hide the fact, even though we share the single bed sometimes. I only get to sleep in it when she's nice and lets me share it with her so that I don't have to sleep on the floor at the foot of it...

"Now, listen to me you little..." Mom seems to stop and think. "You little...asshole," Mom hisses and my stomach knots up. She's NEVER called me that before! "I'm not putting up with it anymore. I might have to put up with this kind of shit at work, but I'm NOT going to put up with it here in my own home! I'm leaving now, and when I get back I expect the house to be cleaned and a nice dinner waiting for me. If I come home and it's not ALL done as I've said, well then you're going to find yourself in a world of shit!"

"Y... yes, mommy," I whimper through my tears, with me tentatively looking up at her.

"I've got to get to work now. You had best have everything done when I get home, or we'll pick up where we've left off," she tells me.

"Yes, ma'am."

Suddenly, she seems to notice for the first time how things have gone. Her face becomes kind looking and even slightly worried. She crouches down to me and I flinch, but hold still. Deathly still. Mom begins to rub my head.

"Look. You're ten years old now, far too old to be babied. OK, kiddo? So, start shaping up or I'll have to get really drastic with you," mom says softly. She always gets nice after beating me.

"O... OK, Mommy. I'm... I'm sorry for being so naughty." She likes it when I talk like this.

She leans over and pecks me on the forehead and then leans back and smiles warmly at me. "That's my little man."

Then she looks at her watch and then quickly stands and heads out for work, while putting on and buttoning her blouse. I'm left on the floor curled up, with my face still stinging and the back of my body aching. My ribs especially hurt...

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