The Son Who Could
by Anal_king© 

I sat up rubbing the cobwebs from my eyes. The clock on the nightstand read 12:24 in the afternoon. I wasn’t feeling well and had to take the day off on account of a virulent stomach flu I caught the other day. The cramp in my stomach made me fly off the bed and rush into the bathroom. After I relieved myself, I took a quick shower to wash away the dried sweat which had accumulated on my body. Once I threw on some pants, I went downstairs to whip up a light breakfast. My wife, Dorthea, had already left for work a few hours before, so I had the whole house to myself. 

As I sat there chewing my toast thinking about what I would do with my time off, the doorbell suddenly rang. I shuffled over to the door making out the shape of the mail carrier through the glass paneling. He had a package that needed my signature. I signed for it and thanked him. The label on the front had my name typed on it but no return address. I laid the package on a small table where we kept our keys and mail and returned to the kitchen to finish my breakfast.

Since I didn't have to work today, I thought it only fair to clean up the house a bit, so my wife wouldn't come home to a pigsty. I began in the kitchen and worked my way up to the bedrooms. We had three in total: one for me and my wife, the second for guests and relatives, and the third, which used to be our son's room, was now converted into a home office, where we kept our computer, printer, and fax machine.

Dusting around the office suddenly triggered a flood of memories about Paul, our son. We—that is, Paul and I, had an estranged relationship ever since I could remember. He always saw me as competition where it concerned his mother's affections. Now don't get me wrong here, I don't want you to think that I'm suggesting Paul is a mama's boy. Because I'm not. However, let's just say there is something in that boy which isn't quite right. I suppose I’d better tell you what I mean so you can judge for yourselves . . . 

It all began when Paul was five-years-old. Dorthea and I were getting settled under the covers one night when she began telling me about her day and the special request Paul had made of her. Turning over on my side, I propped my head onto my left hand and waited for her to continue, which was customary for me to do when my wife wanted my undivided attention.

Dorthea went on to tell me that she had just settled down to watch her favorite soap in the afternoon—I think it was called Blazing Passions or something funny like that—when Paul stormed in and blurted out that he wanted some milk. Hmm . . . so what's so strange about a boy wanting some milk? At least that's what I thought.

She went on to describe how our son walked right up to her, pointed his tiny finger at her luscious rack, and said he wanted some milk. I widened my eyes in disbelief, but mostly for her benefit. In reality, though, this didn't shock me as much as it should have. For one thing, I knew a few guys in the neighborhood who would've paid a tidy sum just to nurse on my wife's busty tits. She had 42EE breasts capped with pink quarter inch nipples. Those babies were constantly bouncing all over the place. She knew the effect they had on men so it stands to reason her five-year-old son would notice them too.

I told Dorthea I would have a man-to-boy talk with him when I got back from work the next day. She thanked me and we snuggled falling asleep in each other's arms. Days passed and the talk I was supposed to have with Paul totally slipped my mind what with all the extra work I had to do at the office. Then the weekend arrived and I went out on one of my Saturday morning jogs. After two miles, I had to cut the run short because of a sprained hamstring. When I reached the front door of the house, I heard a loud yelp from within.

I pushed the door open and limped into the hallway. I heard my wife disciplining Paul for something or other as I made my way to the entrance of the living room. I peeked around the corner of the archway to see Paul being held at arms length by my wife as he struggled in vain to move toward her. He was thrusting his head forward so he could latch on to her exposed nipple, which somehow escaped the confines of her robe. Her big alabaster tit jiggled as she labored to keep Paul away from her breast.

In all the commotion, they didn't hear me come in. When it appeared to Paul that she wasn't going to allow him to suckle her breast, he threw a tantrum. He repeatedly stomped his right foot, whining how he wanted her milk. Dorthea, however, held her ground explaining to him that she no longer had any. "Sweetie, mommy can't give you milk. It's all gone. You drank it all up when you were just a baby. I can't make any more milk unless I have another baby. Do you understand?" He calmed down some but I could tell he didn't buy it.

Paul must've realized he wasn't going to convince his mother, so he ceased his struggles and pouted giving her his best sad eyes. He often used this tactic when he wanted something he couldn't have. When he saw it wasn't going to work this time, Paul made like he was about to turn around and leave. Dorthea thought as much, too, which is why she let her guard down for a moment—a moment that cost her. Paul immediately rushed into her soft, creamy bosom and latched on to her rose-colored nipple, greedily sucking her teat. Dorthea gasped from the sudden attack. I knew from experience how sensitive her nipples could be. Paul hefted her heavy breast with his tiny hands and devoured as much of her tit-flesh as a five-year-old could. He made loud slurping noises as he tried to feed his hunger.

“Paul! No sweetie” she gently said, “You can't suck mommy’s tit. It's not right.” Paul didn't listen. If anything, he increased his sucking power while moving his right arm around her waist. My wife attempted to push him off of her breast but when he was about to lose the connection to her nipple, he bit down to prevent her from disengaging his mouth. She pleaded with him to stop. But after a while, Dorthea gave up the struggle and let him have his way with her big mammary.

Paul hungrily nursed like a thirsty calf. Her huge tit dwarfed his little hand as his fingers sunk into her spongy skin that had a network of blue veins flaring out from her nipple. She brushed her fingers through his hair petting and cooing him. Paul moved up to sit on her lap, never letting go of her swollen pap. She gently rocked him and began singing a lullaby. After about five minutes of nursing, his eyelids started to droop; he eventually released her teat and snuggled up against her doughy orbs, falling into a deep slumber.

I thought this was a good time to make an appearance. When I limped into the room, my wife looked up and shook her head in disappointment. All I could do was shrug my shoulders. I reached down and gently scooped Paul into my arms and carried him to his room. But not before I looked over my shoulder to see Dorthea putting her right breast back into her gown. I felt a stirring in my pants. Her tits always had that effect on me. As I walked away, I made a mental note to have some of that tonight.

When Paul finished his nap an hour later, I finally sat down with him and had that talk with him: "Paul, what you did to mommy today was a bad thing. Little boys aren't supposed to do those things to their mommies." His lower lip began to quiver and his eyes became wet. I lowered my voice because I didn't want him to cry. "Paul, when mommy says NO to you, you have to stop. Do you understand?" He shook his head up and down. He probably thought I was going to spank him. I should've but then I didn't think it was necessary in this case. 

"Son, when you were just a baby, your mother used to feed you her milk because it was what you needed to grow healthy and strong. But that was four years ago. And now, you're a big boy. Big boys don't need mother's milk. They need regular food." He frowned as he sat there thinking about what I just said. I thought I'd cut the talk there, seeing how the attention span of a five-year-old is almost nil. I left his room in search of Dorthea to see if I could be forgiven and to get some suckling time of my own.

The incident was thankfully forgotten by my wife but, unfortunately, not by Paul. Whatever I did or said during that small talk of ours seemed to have changed how Paul viewed our father-son relationship. He was okay with his mother but not with me. Yeah, we did stuff together like play ball or go camping. But deep down inside, I knew he had placed a barrier between us. I didn't worry about it at the time because I thought it was just a phase he was going through, and one he would grow out of eventually.

Well, as sad as it is to say, Paul never did grow out of his phase of disliking me. If you noticed, I didn't use the word "hate" in describing his feelings toward me because that emotion would come when Paul got older. I think there were some deep jealousy issues at work here and a possible Oedipus complex. Admittedly, I'm no shrink. But being a father has given me a unique insight into the mind of my own son.

The status quo, unfortunately, remained the same when Paul reached puberty at twelve. He developed a newfound interest in his mother. This time it had nothing to do with her breasts. Instead, he became fascinated with another of his mother's body parts: her round, plump ass! You see, if I didn't mention it before, I will now; Dorthea is one of those rare women who is lucky enough to have been blessed by the gene-gods. She is pure "T & A," unlike most other women who are either top or bottom heavy. Men see their chiropractors for an adjustment after straining to get a look at her goods. I consider myself very fortunate to have a caught a woman who's ample in both departments.

Anyway, getting back to Paul. When he was five and took an interest in his mother's breasts, I could understand that as something nonsexual—a child's curiosity if you will. But now that he's twelve, I realized his interest in Dorthea's ass was anything but curiosity. In fact, it appeared to me more along the lines of pure unadulterated lust! A boy's lust for his mother, that is. Again, just like she did that fateful day seven years ago, Dorthea had one of those talks with me when I arrived from work on a Wednesday evening. I hadn't even had my dinner before she grabbed my hand and led me to our bedroom. I knew something was up, but I couldn't figure out if it had to do with me or Paul.

Loosening my tie as I crossed the threshold of our room, I dropped my briefcase by the dresser and plopped down on the bed with a loud sigh. She parked her sweet rear next to me and gave me one of her looks. The look that said: "This is serious and you had better pay attention." I sighed again waiting for the impending speech to come.

"Dear, do you remember when I asked you to have that talk with Paul about his fascination with my breasts—oh, about seven years ago?" Oh shit, now I knew that boy did something he wasn't supposed to.

"Yeah, I seem to recall that talk. From my perspective, it didn't go too well. Why are you bringing it up now?" I said with some trepidation. She reached out, clasped my right hand into her left, and lightly squeezed.

"Well, it looks like you're going to have another talk with him, but this time about why a son should never grab his mother's ass." To say I was shocked was an understatement. I couldn't believe Paul would be so bold as to fondle his mother in such a lewd manner. I've had my suspicions that he was one of those sons who liked his mother a little too much, but I never thought it would come to this.

"Okay," I replied calmly, "tell me how it happened."

"Well, I was washing the breakfast dishes this afternoon since I didn't have a chance to do them in the morning. Paul walked in from school and he greeted me like he always does. Then he made a beeline for the refrigerator to get some juice. I don't know why, but I got this creepy feeling. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw Paul rubbing his crotch. I followed his gaze to my bottom and suddenly realized that Paul was staring at my ass. I didn't know what to do. I admit I wasn't properly dressed at the time, just t-shirt and panties. Honestly, honey, I thought I'd be done and in the shower by the time Paul got home.

"Okay, what happened next?" I softly prompted.

"Well, the next thing I know, Paul moves behind me, shoving his hard-on into the crack of my ass and gives me a peck on the cheek while squeezing my butt."

I was taken aback by Paul’s actions. It was clear to me that that boy needed the kind of help we couldn't provide him. I knew I had to do something before things got out of hand. "And, that's not all he did,” she continued, "After I slapped him, he pulled my panties down and smacked my bottom really hard and ran up to his room and locked himself in. That's where he's been for the rest of the day." 

I saw a tear fall down on the bedspread. I knew she was beside herself. And, to be honest, I didn't like the idea of my wife living in fear in her own house. This sounded bad and it was high time he got his shit together. "I'm going to have a talk with him right now," I said with determination.

"Honey, don't be too harsh on him. It must be puberty; his hormones are probably all over the place. Remember, we were young, too, once upon a time," she explained. Even after this, she was still the protective mother.

I got up off the bed, went to the door, and said, "Yeah, we were young alright, but we didn't go around fondling our parents." I let that hang in the air and walked out of the bedroom in search of Paul. I went down the hall to his room and banged on his door. I heard some shuffling inside. When he pulled back the latch on the door, I barged in and shut the door behind me. 

"Paul, we need to have a man-to-man talk." He sat down at his desk and ignored me. "I guess you know why I'm here. Right!"  He still wouldn't look up at me. I was about to lift him out of his chair when I spied something under his mattress. Sticking out at the side of his mattress was a glossy magazine. I guess he was looking at that when I banged on the door. I went over and pulled out the magazine.

"Don't!" he said alarmed as he rushed out of his chair. It was too late, though. I flipped it over to the cover and found myself staring at a hardcore sex mag which read: "Anal MILFS." Below that, there was an older blond woman being fucked in the ass by a young stud with a pretty big cock. The first thought, which came to my mind, was how the hell did he get his hand on this smut? My second thought was, who gave it to him? I quickly flipped through the pages and saw various mature women getting their asses licked and stretched by well-hung guys. How on earth does a twelve-year-old end up liking older women who are into anal? I didn't think kids developed a sexual preference until much later in life.

After I finished scanning the pages, I sat down on his bed, looked dead center at him, and asked, "Where did you get this trash?" He crossed his arms across his chest and ignored my stare as he looked out the window. "Paul, you're too young to even look at stuff like this. I'm going to ask you once more, where did you get this magazine?"

"I'm not telling and you can't make me." He leered. Like hell I couldn't. Sometimes you just have to play hardball to get the results you want. I stood up and walked toward his computer. He moved out of my way and sat on his bed. Squatting under his desk, I yanked the power cord from the outlet and disconnected the monitor from the case.

"You're grounded for a month with no telephone or computer privileges. Also, your friends are not to come around here while you're grounded. You come straight home after school. When you want to let me know who gave you that crap, you know where to find me. Got it!" He shot daggers at me with his eyes. I could see so much hate in him. "Oh, and another thing, if I ever see or hear that you touched your mother like you did this afternoon, I'm going to be the one touching your ass and it's going to be with a belt."

At that moment, I really thought there was something evil within my son. Sounds dramatic but that was how I felt. The boy was not right upstairs.

After our talk, I decided to implement a little home security. I secretly went out and bought a new camcorder. It had all the latest features such as high resolution, video effects, and a bunch of other stuff as well. The lens was only an inch in diameter and easy enough to conceal. I knew it wouldn't be a problem for me to hide the camera on the bookshelf in the living room. I thought it best to aim it toward the sofa as that was my wife's favorite spot to be in during the afternoons. I set the timer for 2:30 p.m. on Monday, which is a few minutes before he gets home from school. Now, all I had to do was wait and see.

Monday rolled by and I had just walked into the house around the usual time. The aroma of Dorthea's cooking filled my nostrils as I entered the kitchen. I found her by the sink peeling some potatoes. I gave her a peck on the cheek and slid my hand around her waist. She stiffened for a moment and then relaxed. I didn't give it much thought at the time.

Dinner was delicious as usual. And as usual, too, Paul hardly spoke two words to me during our meal. I tried to engage him in conversation but only got a grunt now and then. Over dessert, I noticed both Paul and Dorthea were acting strange. Every time he'd look at her, my wife would avoid his eyes and blush, then she'd look down at her plate. I don't think I was being paranoid. I know what I saw and I knew something was up.

Later on that night, I told Dorthea I had to finish some paper work for a meeting the next morning and that it would take me an hour or two to complete. I gave her a goodnight peck and left her in bed while she read a book. I made my way down to the living room and retrieved the camera where I had hidden it behind some encyclopedia books. The tape in it was practically to the end. Since it had its own LCD screen attached to it, I wouldn't have to go through all the trouble of hooking up cables to a television just to watch what was on the tape.

I walked out to the garage through the connecting door in the kitchen. The tape had already rewound by the time I sat in my car. I pressed play and the image of the living appeared. I saw Dorthea wearing tight jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt. Her plentiful tits nicely stretched the fabric across her bosom. She was sitting on the sofa reading a book and had her left foot propped on the coffee table. About five minutes later, I heard Paul walk through the door and plop his schoolbag on the table. He removed his sneakers and let them thump to the floor.

"Mom, I'm home," he yelled.

"In here sweetie." He walked into the view of the camera and stopped in his tracks when he noticed his mother's cleavage open to his hungry gaze. I better make it a point to remind her that she shouldn't wear revealing clothes around our little perv.

"How was school today, baby?" she enquired, looking up from her romance novel.

"Ah, it was okay. Say mom, can I show you a new magic trick I learned today at school?" Dorthea looked up and smiled.

"Of course you can sweetie, but give mommy about ten minutes so I can finish up the last part of this chapter. It's getting really good. Okay?"

"Okay, mom. I'm just gonna go upstairs to get my stuff ready." Paul took off in a hurry and came back down fifteen minutes later just when Dorthea laid her book down. I saw a pair of shiny handcuffs swinging in his hand as he approached the back of the sofa. "I'm ready to show you my trick, mom," he announced, with an evil smirk twisting his mouth.

"Okay, dear. I'm all ready for you; what's the trick?"

"Well . . . I need a volunteer and seeing how you're the only one around—"

"It's not going to be something scary, is it?

"Mom, who ever heard of a scary magic trick?" he whined.

"You've got a point there. Okay, what do I have to do?" Dorthea got off the sofa and walked up to Paul, standing in front of him. 

"First, you have to get on your hands and knees by the cellar handle, mom. I need to cuff you to it." The cellar handle was a round, thick ring that served as a handle for a small door that led to a cellar underneath the house. The previous owner used it to store some expensive wine. When we moved in, I had it filled with concrete to provide more support to the foundation. I never had the handle removed because it was never in the way and doing so would probably have destroyed the original wood.

Dorthea seem to ponder the situation she found herself in. I knew she wanted to help Paul but the odd request gave her pause. From the looks of things, I was almost sure she would back out, but one glance from the little actor's face made her change her mind. She got down on her knees with her elbows touching the floor next to the cellar handle. "Like this, baby?" She looked over her shoulder to see Paul standing right behind her. "That's perfect mom," he said, as he secretly eyed her plump ass. Of course, Dorthea couldn't see the lust written all over his face since she had her back to him. Paul moved around to her front and knelt down on one knee as he proceeded to cuff his mother's hands together while locking her to the handle.

"Uh . . . sweetie, that's pretty tight. Could you loosen them a bit? They kind of hurt my wrists." 

"It has to be that way for the trick to work, mom. Don't worry. It won't take long now." I didn't like the way he inflected the word "now" for some reason. He stood up, walked behind her upturned ass, and pulled some rope out of his back pocket. "Mom, I need you to put your feet together." She did as Paul instructed and he proceeded to wrap the rope around her right foot. She began to panic a little.

"I don't know about this, honey. Maybe . . ." His rough handling of her feet stopped her mid sentence. I had a bad feeling in my gut.

"Uh . . . Honey, what do you call this trick?" He ignored her as he dropped on his knees and rested his palms on the floor to look under the sofa. He slid his hand underneath and pulled out a magazine. In fact, from what I could tell, it was the same porn mag I took away from him. He must have searched high and low until he found it in the closet where I kept some of my personal papers. I completely forgot about tossing out. He opened to a certain page and laid it on the floor beside her feet.

"Mom, I call this first trick ‘the after-school snack’."

Dorthea was completely caught by surprise when Paul slapped her curvy cheeks. She yelped at the unexpected touch of her bottom. He slowly began to rub his hands in circles, working in an outward motion from her crack to the sides by her hips. "Paul, what do you think you're doing? Let me go this instant!" she attempted to move her hands but the cuffs were snapped on too tightly. "Paul, what has gotten into you? Wait till I tell your father about this," she threatened.

"That's why I'm doing this, mom. You had to go tell dad about me copping a feel of your ass. Well, this should teach you a lesson to never rat me out again." He smacked her right cheek a few times, enjoying the sharp sound it produced. He did it again and again. Paul kept it up for a good five minutes while his mother cried out every time his hand made contact with her derriere. He stopped to appreciate the view of his mother's rear-end. Then he knee walked to her side and reached under to unclasp her jeans.

She began to panic and yelled, "Wait! What are you doing, Paul?" He ignored her while he struggled with her button. When he managed to pull her zipper down, she tried to reason with him: "Paul, baby, don't do whatever it is you're planning on doing. You won't be able to live with yourself if you do. Please, just let me go." All her pleading went on deaf ears as he went back behind her and tugged her jeans down. Because of the position she was in, he had a difficult time sliding his mother's jeans all the way down her legs. The best Paul could do was tug them down to about the middle of her thighs.

Unfortunately for her, of all days, she had to wear her pink thongs, which showed more than concealed. Dorthea’s delectable backside was like two halves of a sweet Georgian peach parted by a thin strap that barely covered her pink asshole. This was the first time Paul ever saw a woman's ass up close and personal; it stopped him cold in his tracks. Never before had his young eyes ever had the pleasure to drink in such an erotic sight. A sight usually reserved for grown men. With shaking hands, he reached out and reverently kneaded her ass like the cookie dough he used to squeeze when helping his mother bake. His eyes glazed over almost as if he were in a deep trance. He went on caressing her smooth bottom, taking liberties with her ass only meant for me. 

"Paul, please. This is so wrong. You can't be doing this to me. If you let me out of these cuffs, I promise not to tell your father about this." 

“Yes you will. The first chance you get you’ll tell him everything, Mom.” He then anchored his thumbs into the crack of her ass and spread her buns apart. I saw his tongue wet his upper lip as he eyed her crinkly hole as if it were a slice of cake. Paul moved his face down and sunk his teeth into her smooth ass meat. Dorthea gasped at the unexpected assault on her rear. When he pulled his head back and moved over to bite her other cheek, I saw the red indentation that marred her smooth flesh.

Paul was about to thrust his tongue into her crack when his nose suddenly scrunched up. I guess he got his first lesson about the reality of a woman's anatomy, as opposed to the doctored up sluts on those glossy pages of his magazine. Real women have odors especially after doing number two, which he just learned. But lust is a powerful force and Paul's lust easily overrode the earthy scent that had assaulted his nose. He moved the strap of her thong aside and buried his face deep between her spheres. He grabbed her firmly by the hips and began to lick away at her shitter; Dorthea jumped when his tongue circled her anus then plunged deep into her shit-hole. She attempted to wiggle her ass to break free of his reaming. But it was no use. Paul held on for dear life.

After a couple of minutes had gone by, he pulled out panting like a dog. Paul had a big a smile plastered on his face; he smacked and caressed his mother’s derriere and then resumed where he left off, diving back in to drill his salivating tongue deeper and deeper into her pink pucker. Paul's drool leaked from the side of his mouth as he slobbered away. As embarrassing as this is to admit, the scene unfolding before my eyes had my cock standing like a flag pole. Sure I was mad at what he was doing to his mother, but I also couldn’t deny the effect it had on my body.

Finally, Paul pulled his head from between her cheeks. His face was flushed and wet from all the saliva he left behind. He reached down with his left hand to turn the pages in the magazine. Dorthea sobbed with tears dropping to the floor. Finding what he was looking for in the magazine, Paul put his index finger into his mouth and sucked on it for a second to get it nice and wet. Then placed the tip against her starry aperture. She gasped as he eased his index finger up to the first joint. He paused transfixed by the sight before him. Then he bore down until he reached the knuckle. "Paul, don't do this, daddy doesn't even do that to me. Please, it's dirty," she pleaded.

"I don't care. Just sit back and be quiet, mom." She whimpered while he sawed his digit in and out of her clutching anus. Dorthea squirmed from the unwanted intrusion. A minute later, when he tired of the novelty of finger fucking his mother's sphincter, Paul pulled out and inspected it. Then he reached down and flipped the pages of the magazine. This time his attention focused on one shot in particular. Once it was etched in his mind, he got up and unbuckled his belt. The sound of his undressing made Dorthea look over her shoulder in panic. "Paul, what are you doing? Tell me?" He slapped her hard on the rump. 

“Look forward, mom. I didn't say you could look at me.” When he pulled his zipper down, his pants dropped to the floor and bunched at his feet. He stepped out of them and tugged his white underwear off, exposing his stiff, four-inch pecker. Looking down at the magazine again, Paul got on his knees behind his mother's upturned ass and grasped her by the hips. He inched forward until he had his little cock lined up with her crack. He took hold of his dick and brought it up to her winking anus. When Dorthea felt Paul’s cock-head touch her rubbery hole, she begged for him to stop. He pressed his cock against her sphincter, disregarding her cries. His small butt cheeks contracted as he applied pressure to her rosy anus.

For some reason, his dick couldn’t poke through. He tried again and still nothing happened. After a couple of failed attempts, he yelled out in frustration, "Mom, you better let me in, or else, " he threatened. She sobbed unable to speak. "Mom, I'm not gonna let you go until I fuck your ass. So, for the last time, you better open up."

"No! I won't let you do it! I won't let you defile me or our relationship this way! Do what you want to me, but I'll never let you in!" she screamed with conviction. Not one to be put off, Paul got up and placed his hands on her lower back. Then he dropped into a squatting position until his pelvis was leveled with her plump cheeks. He moved forward and aimed the bell-shaped end of his prick to her rear-entrance and thrust hard. Paul put all his energy behind that one thrust, but Dorthea did an excellent job of barring his attempt. She clenched her rectal muscles tightly closed. Eventually, he began to tire from the effort, which was a good thing since Dorthea looked like she was about to give up herself.

Paul smacked her right cheek in anger and pulled away from her. He went back to that stupid magazine and turned one of the pages. When he found what he was looking for, he walked out of the camera’s view. No more than a few seconds passed when Paul returned with a tub of Vaseline in his hand. He set it down on the coffee table and uncapped the lid. He then scooped out a big, yellow glop and messily applied it to the head of his dick. Then whatever was left over on his finger, he slathered on his mother’s shitter, spreading it around the rim of her opening but never pushing his finger inside.

When he felt she was lubed enough, Paul mounted her mouth-watering ass again. He ran the swollen head of his dick up and down her crack, almost entering her pussy on one of the upstrokes. Dorthea started to become worried because Paul now had the advantage of lube on his side; she looked over her shoulder and made one final plea to try to talk some sense into the boy: "Please don't do this! Sex between a mother and a son is wrong! What you are about to do could ruin our lives forever.”

Paul continued as if she hadn’t spoken a word. He firmly pressed the mushroom head of his dick against her shiny anus and pushed. Dorthea's eyes widened when Paul's flaring knob forced her stubborn sphincter to open and stretch around his adolescent prick. She began to whimper when a little more than the head slid in. He paused, savoring the unique feeling of having his mother skewered on his little boy-stick. I could only imagine the incredible sensations coursing through his twelve-year-old body. He adjusted his grip on her soft, meaty hips and continued feeding more and more of his throbbing erection into her tight orifice. When he finally stuffed his entire prick inside, Paul looked down with wide-eyed lust at the junction where his cock met his mother's pink, starry hole. I could tell the erotic sight fascinated him because of the way he was hyperventilating. His entire face and neck were beet red.

He began pulling out. No more than an inch at first. Then pushed back in again and paused. I watched his ass clench and unclench but her tight puckered sheath prevented him from barely moving more than an inch in either direction. Unfortunately for him, before he could get a proper rhythm going, an intense orgasm gripped his young body. "Uh! . . . Mommy!" he choked out. "It's happening! What do I do? I don't know— Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! He screamed, throwing his head back as his face scrunched and his body stiffened. He instinctually slammed his prick back in and loudly groaned as his cock repeatedly jerked inside his mother's ass. Paul sent his boy cum deep into her rectum; he moaned as volley after volley of his spunk fired against the walls of her bowels. It took a long time before he reached the end of his climax.

When he was finally done, he collapsed on his mother's back, panting with his erection snugly imbedded inside her clutching hole. His hands sought out his mother's breasts which he gently squeezed as the feeling of post-orgasmic bliss flowed throughout his body. Paul glanced at the clock on the mantle. He must've realized I’d be coming home soon. In his haste, he roughly yanked his adolescent prick from his mother's abused anus and quickly collected his clothes and dressed. 

When he was dressed, Paul hurriedly uncuffed her wrists. Then he undid the rope. When she was free, Dorthea rolled on her side sobbing. Her ass was facing the camera. I could see Paul's semen make its way out of her anus before sliding down her butt cheek and dropping to the floor. He was halfway up the stairs when he looked back and said, "Mom, we’re gonna do this again tomorrow and you better not tell dad!" There's a few more minutes of her sobbing on tape, but I couldn't bear to watch anymore. I shut off the camera and sat contemplating my next move. This little Damien wasn't our son, he was an abomination. I knew it was time to take matters into my own hands. No more fucking around! 

Upon arising in the morning before heading out to work, I called my lawyer and left his answering service a message that I wanted to set up a meeting with him. He phoned me back at work around 9:30 and offered me an appointment during my lunch hour. As a precaution, I still keep the camera on just in case. I arrived at the legal offices of Miller, Petrucci & Davis at 12:00 p.m. promptly. His secretary, Anya, brought me into his office. We shook hands and sat down. "So Jim, what brings you to me? You sounded very serious on the phone yesterday." He said sincerely.

"Well, it's like this, Bob, Paul is not doing so well. He's not behaving—I don't know what you want to call it, 'normally' I guess." Bob could hear the strain in my voice as I searched for a way to explain it to him.

"Jim, I'm here for you and my full legal staff is at your disposal. We go back a ways and I consider you more than just a friend."

"Thanks, Bob, I feel the same way." He raised his finger to stop me and buzzed Anya and told her to bring us something cool to drink. She soon came in with some refreshments and quickly departed, but not before giving me a cheerful smile. When I heard the door shut, I started again.

"Bob, what I'm about to tell you has to remain between us. Dorthea can never know that I was here talking to you about this. I think it would be a source of great shame for her."

"You don't have to worry about anything, Jim. All things said in this office will be handled with the strictest confidentiality and professionalism. You have my word and my license if I don't." He smiled trying to bring in some levity. I appreciated that.

"Where do I start? Okay, not too long ago, Dorthea approached me about how Paul was making some sexual advances not becoming of a son. She told me how one day after school he came up behind her and grabbed her bottom while she was in the kitchen washing dishes." Bob gave a slight nod of his head indicating that I should continue. "When she told me of this, it seemed to confirm a long held suspicion of mine that Paul had a deep rooted Oedipus Complex."

"How long have you had this suspicion, Jim?" He said.

"I think ever since the time I caught him demanding that Dorthea allow him to suckle her breasts when he was 5."

"I see. Go on then."

"Well, I told her I would have a talk with him straight away which is what I did. I found him in his room and was prepared to tell him the rights and wrongs of his action when a magazine hiding under his mattress caught my eye. I couldn't believe it but this kid had one of those glossy porn mags you usually see sealed at a newsstand for $20 dollars. The entire magazine was about mature women who are into anal sex," I said. Bob's eyes widened at that bit of news, which momentarily betrayed his calm demeanor.

"Then what did you do?" he asked.

"I told Paul if I ever saw him with that trash again, I'd give him a thrashing he'd never forget," I said, a little too forcefully, as the memories of the video surfaced. "I don't know, but for some reason, I left with a feeling Paul was not going to obey me. Call it a hunch. So, I set up a hidden camera in the living room in case he tried another stunt like the one he did before. That was this past Friday. When Monday came around, I found the dinner conversation a bit too strained for my taste. This had the effect of setting off a bunch of alarms in my head. At that point, I decided to view what I had on the camera in hopes of getting a better picture of what went on when I was at work." I took a deep breath to collect my thoughts before proceeding.

"When Dorthea got ready for bed, I made up some excuse to stay up and finish some paper work for a meeting. I retrieved the camera from its hiding spot and went to the garage. I didn't want her knowing I did this. What I saw on that tape, no father should ever have to witness."

I took a sip of some kind of sparkling orange water Anya had left and continued: "Paul had shackled Dorthea to the floor under the guise of some kind of magic trick and managed to anally rape her." Bob's eyebrow shot up. I could see the concern on his face because he personally knew Dorthea. You see, he was married to her cousin. He took a moment to digest my story until he was ready to speak.

"Jim, that is quite an account and one I must say that has left me a bit unsettled. A boy to do such a callous thing to his own mother is not only immoral but unconscionable. I can't imagine what you're going through. You've come to me for some kind of help and I want to do that for you, so what is it you want from me?"

"Paul is twelve now and I want to know if he is too young to be put into some kind of reformatory school or clinic of some kind," I said. He took a moment to ponder my words and then sighed.

"Let's see, under the laws of this state, Paul would be classified by the juvenile courts as incorrigible before he engaged in the attempted rape of Dorthea. Now that he's done that, he is classified as a juvenile delinquent and can be put away in a long-term detention center. Professionals will try to rehabilitate him. There are no guarantees. When he reaches his 18th birthday, he will be released. If you really want it done, I can have the papers drawn up for you to sign by tomorrow, but I rather you talk this over with Dorthea before we proceed as her signature will be needed as well."

I told him to get everything prepared and that I'd talk with Dorthea tonight. I got home before Paul did. You should’ve seen the look of disappointment in his eyes. When I broke the news about the video I possessed and the visit to the lawyer, she just broke down and cried. After a lot of hugging and crying, in the end, we decided it was for the best. She realized she couldn't live in fear under the same roof with Paul.

We saw Bob the next day and finalized everything. By Friday morning, the people from the center sent a van over to pick up our son. His final words to us before he was dragged away by one of the burly orderlies was, "I hate both of you and I never want to see you again!" That cut into Dorthea's heart like a sharp dagger. She cried for days. After a time, things began to return to normal, even though I knew she felt lonely without Paul around the house. We were kept apprised of his progress for a number of years. We did make attempts to visit but he refused to see us. When his 18th birthday arrived, Paul was released and stayed with my brother who never knew the truth about Dorthea’s rape. I found out through the family vine that he still resented us.

Coming back full circle to when I began my story, I finished up with the dusting in our home office and went downstairs to relax and watch some TV, when I remembered the package I got today. I went to the small table by the door to retrieve it. The square package was about the size of a paperback book wrapped in ordinary brown paper. I tore it open to find a white box. When I took the lid off, there was a VHS tape inside. I picked up the remote and clicked on the tube while inserting the tape into the VCR.

I took a seat on the sofa and waited. The first couple of seconds were blank then the date flashed. This was filmed, according to the date in the center of the screen, two months ago. The dark screen faded into someone's kitchen. My son Paul came into the shot and walked to a counter. Two empty champagne glasses were being filled by my son. He kept checking over his shoulder as if he didn’t want to be caught doing something he shouldn’t. Paul removed a small plastic bag from a drawer under the counter top; the bag had an orange-colored powder in it. He scooped out some of the powder, mixed it into one of the glasses, and vigorously stirred.

Then he put the stuff away in the drawer when he heard the clacking sound of someone approaching. He sat on a cushioned stool and sipped his champagne. “Is that for me, dear?" I heard a voice that sounded familiar to me. Then, to my utter surprise, Dorthea walks in dressed in a fancy cocktail dress. It’s the one I bought for her to wear on special occasions. It was a hot red number with a tight bodice that accented her hips and ass with thin spaghetti straps. The dress showed a normal amount of cleavage with a scooped back. I thought she looked so sexy every time she wore it. But, what the hell was she doing at some strange house with Paul wearing it now. And more importantly, what did he put into her drink?

"You know, Mom. You look so lovely in that dress. I'll bet you'll drive all the men crazy at the restaurant," he said with a smirk.

"Oh, I don't know about that. But I'm so happy you're not mad at me anymore. I have missed you terribly and now that I have you back, I realize how much of a mistake it was to let you go to that awful place," she said, misty eyed.

"C'mon, Mom. It wasn't all that bad. Besides," he said as he pulled her in for a hug, "if it weren't for you and dad, I wouldn't be the person I am today. So let's forget about it and move on. Okay?" He held her at arms length by her shoulders to emphasize his point. She nodded her head and they embraced. "Now that we have that settled, let's have a drink before we head out." He raised his glass in the air to make a toast: "To the most beautiful and wonderful mother a guy could have. I love you, mom." Dorthea blushed a little and drank a few sips.

"Paul, I sure wish you could forgive your dad. I didn't like making up some story about having to go out with the girls to some formal. Do you think you'll ever be able to forgive and forget?" she asked with a glint of hope.

Now it came back to me. I remember Dorthea telling me she had a formal to attend and it was only a girl's night out. At the time, I didn't give it much thought.

"Mom, I need some time in order to do that. Okay? I'll come around. Just not right now." She accepted his words with a half smile. "Don't be sad. Drink up and let's enjoy our time together." He kicked back his head and downed the contents of his glass. Dorthea, not to be outdone, did the same. They spoke some more about what he did with his time at the center.

About eleven minutes passed before I began to notice a glazed look in Dorthea's eyes. She mumbled and slurred her speech. Suddenly, her face took on a very relaxed appearance. Then her eyes slowly closed as she fell face down into Paul's lap who caught her by the shoulders. He pushed her up and lifted her over his left shoulder and carried her off screen somewhere.

After a few seconds, he came back and adjusted the camera to the right where Dorthea was sitting on a plush beige sofa. The left strap of her dress had fallen down her arm. Paul walked around to the back of the sofa and stood behind his mother. He bent at the waist, paused and looked ahead at the camera and gave me an evil grin. He pulled down her right strap over her smooth shoulder until it fell in the crook of her arm. The dress fell beneath her breasts, which were encased in a black demi bra. Her soft freckled bosom swelled under the pressure of the form-fitting cups. Paul reached down sliding his hands all over her cups, relishing the smooth feel of her satiny bra. He then moved his fingers over to the clasp and unhooked her bra until the cups separated in his sweaty paws. He slowly moved them apart allowing her huge breast to spill out one at a time. Paul almost choked at the size of them.

He reached down and cupped her big mammaries into his hands, gently kneading them as his thumbs flicked the tips of her stiff nipples. He hefted them while moving his face down. I couldn't see what he was doing since the crown of his head was blocking my view. But when I heard the first popping sound, I knew he was sucking her tit. This went on for a few more sucks before he began to bring his head back with his mother's nipple attached to his lips. He tugged her mammary in an upward direction. The blue veins around her areolas became more prominent. 

Surprisingly, for a woman with such large breasts, I could hardly make out any stretch marks. Dorthea’s tit looked a lot like a fat gumdrop at this point. All the tugging and sucking had shaped her breast into a sweet treat. Paul hung on for as long as he could but the weight of his mother's tit was too much for him to keep suspended any longer. He released her nipple and watched how her breast bounced and jiggled as it came to rest at the bottom of its decent. Paul gave the same treatment to her right tit, devouring her creamy orb with loud sucking sounds. When he was done with her jugs, he moved his mother to a reclining position on the sofa. He then yanked her dress with one mighty heave until it was completely off. Dorthea lay there naked from the waist up wearing those damn thongs she loves so much. She had on sexy black thigh-high stockings and beige low-heeled sandals.

Paul stood there in awe taking in her mature beauty. I could see his cock forming a large tent in his trousers. When he snapped out of it, he reached under her smooth ass cheeks and pulled his mother's thong off. Dorthea began to mumble in her drug-induced sleep. Her head moved a bit and then she went back into her slumber. Beads of sweat began to form on my brow. The tension in my hands evident as I tightly clutched the armrests of my chair. Even though the proof was right in front of me as plain as day, I still couldn’t believe he was going to rape his own mother for a second time. There had to be some decency left in him. Would Paul actually mate with his own mother, my beautiful wife?

Movement on the screen grabbed my attention. Paul was slowly separating his mother's meaty thighs. He lifted her left leg over the back of the sofa and slid her right up to a ninety-degree angle with her body. He got on his knees between her legs and lowered his head to take in the heady aroma of her pussy. His nostrils flared as he took deep inhalations of her feminine musk. He moved his mouth over to her right thigh, planting kisses on her fleshy interior right up to her knee. He sniffed at her pussy again as he made his way over to her left thigh and did the same thing he did with her right. Then his fingers began to part her swollen lips exposing the pink flesh of her cunt-meat. Paul faced the camera at that moment and said, "Dad, how could you have kept this woman, my mother, all to yourself? I can’t stop my mouth from watering at the sight of her pussy."

After Paul finished mocking me, he dove into his mother’s mature slit using his tongue-tip to move aside her meaty lips as he made his way to her fat, sensitive clit. When he reached her protruding love bud, Paul repeatedly sucked and flicked his tongue over it, causing his mom to squirm, even in her unconscious state. Then he moved his head down and lapped away at his mother’s slick vagina and dined, slurping and gulping at her forbidden dish.

When he finally had his fill, my son repositioned his mother so she was leaning against the back of the sofa with her legs apart. He removed his white polo shirt and unbuckled his slacks just like he did all those years ago when he cuffed his mother to the floor. His slacks pooled at his feet followed by his underwear. My god! Paul had a cock that belonged on a horse. It must've been a good ten or so inches in length with fat veins coiled around mostly from the middle to the head of his dick. The really shocking thing about his dick wasn't even the length—it was the girth! It had to have been three-fat-fuckin' inches wide. This wasn't a cock; it was a python.

Paul got between his mother’s outstretched legs, grabbed her by the top of her thighs, and dragged her ass to the edge of the sofa. He went down on his knees and rested his cock over her pubes. He pushed her legs back till her knees came into contact with her shoulders. From my angle, I could only make out the two humps of Dorthea’s ass separated by her wet fur-lined slit and her pink asshole underneath it. Paul shifted his hips back so his beast could line up with her pussy. He placed the large mushroom-head of his dick into position, resting it on her lips. Then turned around to the camera and grinned before he defiled his mother and took them both to incestual hell.

I watched how he snaked the head of his prick into her wet pussy. Even in her unconscious state, my wife’s vaginal muscles strained under the assault from Paul’s massive cock-head. They both moaned once he lodged his erection into her opening. He paused and glanced down at their illicit coupling. I could hear his heavy breathing. With another push, he sank down a little farther as Dorthea's eyelids began to flutter. She let a long groan as Paul continued feeding her his python into her tight, moist depth. He pulled out about an inch showing the line which divided wet from dry on his fat slug. Then he pushed in again boring deeper into her channel until her cervix finally blocked his entrance to her womb. I noticed he still had an inch more to go.

Not one to accept defeat after waiting so long, Paul's ass cheeks tensed as tried to burrow deeper and deeper. Suddenly, Dorthea screamed out when he got the head of his dick lodged into her baby-making chasm. I was glad that she was drugged at the moment since that would have any woman screaming in pain. Enjoying the sensation of being balls deep within his busty mother, Paul took his sweet time pulling all the way out to the head before rapidly plunging into her pink sheath. Beads of sweat slid along his torso as he continuously pumped his way into the place he came out of so long ago. I could hear his hips smacking against Dorthea’s fleshy cheeks as he plowed her into the sofa cushions. She moaned each time he drove his turgid cock deep into her maternal womb. Then when he pulled out, her thick pussy lips would cling to his veiny member. 

By the sound of his labored breathing, I knew it wasn't going to be long now. "Fuck, mom. You're so tight and wet. I'm almost there baby. It's coming." After a few more rapid thrusts, Paul stopped moving and threw his head back. And after a few seconds of silence, a loud animalistic roar escaped his mouth, whereupon his hefty balls began to twitch out of control. If Dorthea had been ten years younger, it’s possible she’d be giving birth to a boy or girl nine months from now. Just the thought made me shiver. Finally, after Paul finished emptying himself, he fell on top of his mother and laid his head between her massive jugs catching his breath.

Once he rested up, he slid his cock out with a loud slurp. His dick dripped their combined juices onto the floor. My wife's hole looked as if a wine bottle had been stuck in there. It was gaping open at least three inches across in diameter. It looked obscene. Paul went over to the camera, picked it up and walked back to his mother. He zoomed in on her yawing hole, giving me a clear shot into her pink depths. The walls of her inflamed cunt were coated with his sticky cum, oozing down toward her cervix into a thick pool of milky white cream. That’s when the screen went blank.

I shook my head in disbelief. Despite the fact that I just saw my son fucking his mother on tape. At this point, I was about to press the stop button on the remote thinking the show was over when the camera came back on. The image showed my wife face down on a bed. Paul stepped in front of the camera with his stiff cock slashing through the air. Dorthea’s parted legs revealed her abused slit and pink sphincter. 

He got on the bed and ran his hands over her smooth round ass before prying her cheeks wide apart. He lustfully gazed upon the tight ring of her ass as it buckled under the pressure and gaped open. His eyes rounded as he stared down into the dark tunnel of her rectum. With his left hand, he kept her hole opened while he thrust two fingers from his right into her shit-chute. He pulled them out, inserted them into his mouth, and sucked them off. No longer interested in eating from his fingers, he brought his mouth straight to the source and lapped away at her sphincter before sinking half his tongue in. Saliva ran along the sides of his tongue while he slobbered and moaned over his desert for the evening. Nasty fuck!

When he finally had his fill of his mother's ass, he got off the bed and walked out of view of the camera. I heard the distant sound of a drawer opening and closing. Paul came back with a plastic tub that had a spout on top. He pumped the spout a few times and a blob of clear gel fell into his hand. He laid the tub on the bedside table and moved next to his mother's heart-shaped ass. Again, he looked at the camera and gave me a big smirk before slathering the gel into the crack of her ass. While he did this, Paul addressed me:

"Dad, this is something I've wanted to do for a long time now. I used to dream about it every night while I was away at that crummy center you sent me to. I’d lay awake at night wondering how mom’s tight asshole would feel around my cock again. Just talking about it makes my dick ache. So dad, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what do you think of your boy now? Do you think he's rehabilitated? I think I am. All I need is a chance to prove it to you."

With that said, Paul began to loosen Dorthea’s anus by using his index finger. He’d slide it all the way in, twist around a bit, then pull it out to the nail. He did this several times before adding his middle finger. When Paul had sufficiently stretched her rosy ring, he wiped his fingers on a towel he had handy and lay down on his back. He reached over to his side and dragged his mother’s limp body over his torso. It took some effort on his part, but after a few grunts, he managed to drape Dorthea’s body over his. Then he gripped the back of her knees and pulled her legs in under her. With his fat cock in hand, Paul parted her fleshy ass with his large mushroom head as it sought out her back-hole like a snake looking to burrow for the night.

When his cock-head was lined up with her sweet, virginal pucker, he slowly pressed against the rubbery tissue. It instantly stretched around his meaty girth. Since Dorthea was unconscious, Paul didn't have to deal with a resisting sphincter, which made it much easier for his dick to worm its way in. Even in her sleep, my wife still felt enough to moan when Paul's fat cock-head slid into her clasping anus. Their coupling was obscene, not only because of the fact that they were mother and son, but because of the way his dick overly stretched her pink anus. I was afraid it might tear at any moment. What was once a normal sphincter was now a smooth, pink ring devoid of any ridged lines. Thankfully, he paused for a moment, but I know it wasn't out of any concern for my feelings. No . . . he just wanted to prolong my torture. 

His balls twitched a few times before he sunk his entire cock into her anal canal. When he hit bottom, Paul loudly moaned from the sensation of finally having his prick deeply embedded into his mother's ass. In a way, it was erotic seeing my wife's cheeks resting on his hairy scrotum; I guess that’s a normal reaction when one sees two people having sex, even if it is taboo. Paul wasted no time and started to thrust into her bottom. He grabbed hold of her big, round ass and slowly started to work his cock in and out of her stretched shit-hole. Every now and then, he'd take a break from his fucking and pull out just to show me her gaping hole. It must've been about three inches in diameter! I could clearly see the shiny, pink walls of her rectum. It disgusted me but I think that's the effect Paul was going for.  

For the next five minutes, Paul relentlessly violated a hole that was always off limits to me. He's savagely thrust his hips upward, plowing the depths of her bowels. He went out of his way to give me a good show. However, the excitement of having his mother bounce on his shaft must've been too much for him, because all too soon, his body stiffened. He yelled out and fired what I imagine was a copious amount cum deep into her rectum. With all the moaning and groaning he did, I’m sure this was his strongest climax yet, maybe his longest one, too. When things finally settled down, Paul’s soiled cock slowly snaked out of her red, gaping asshole, followed by a huge load of watery cum that formed a white, starchy pool on his stomach.

When he caught his breath, he gently rolled his mother onto her back, got up, and walked to the camera. Paul looked into the lens and said, "Hope you enjoyed the show, dad. I told you I would get even with both of you for locking me up. Oh . . . don't bother trying to find me. I'm leaving town tonight. By the time you receive this video it'll be too late. Thanks again dad for letting me borrow mom. Tell her I had a blast." He chuckled, flipped me the finger, and shut the camera off. 

Like I said before, the film showed a date of about two months ago. My wife never mentioned it to me probably because she couldn't remember the incident. I thought it best not to say anything about it; I think the news would kill her. As for my son, Paul, I found out he got into some nasty trouble selling drugs two towns over from us and is now at our local penitentiary. He probably never thought he'd wind up in jail when he mailed this tape to me.

And after it was all said and done, I found out, much to my surprise, that a man named Mr. Wilson, the neighborhood child molester, was the one responsible for filling Paul’s mind full of nasty thoughts about his mother. Mr. Wilson is currently serving a twenty-four year sentence for raping a boy. And as luck would have it, he happens to be housed in the very same prison as my Pauly. Imagine my disappointment when I learned that poor Mr. Wilson never got a crack at my son's ass. Well, with a few strings pulled here and there and fate being what it is, I arranged for good Ol' Mr. Wilson to finally get his shot at Paul's tight buns. From what he told me over the phone, my son's ass was prime stuff and there was nothing like it for him. I especially liked the part when Wilson mentioned how he would arrange for some of the bigger inmates to partake of my son's butthole. I understand it turned into a free for all.

My friends, I truly wish it never had to go down this way, but now that it has, I feel much better knowing my son will be in the caring hands of a one Mr. Jonas Wilson, child molester extraordinaire. I'm glad I could bring some comfort into Jonas Wilson's life. But, he better live it up while he still can because we have a score to settle. After all, if it weren't for his twisted fuckin' ways, my son would've been a productive member of society by now. Anyway, I hear there's a great deal going on at the prison. Two big bubbas who will take care of any man for a small fee of five cigarette cartons. Who could pass up on a deal like that?

The End