A Cruel Son

NOTE: This is a decidedly dark story of a son who takes advantage of his mother's weakness for sex and submission to abuse her in all manner of a shameful ways. If dominance and submission are not your cup of tea, I suggest you look for another story. There are many good ones on this site.

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Outside it was a typical hot, humid, Florida afternoon in early July, but it was cool and comfortable in the air conditioned Palm Beach mansion of the multi-millionaire, William C. Decker. William's 18 year old son, Arnold, was sitting on the living room couch with his mother, Evita Maria Corazon Montez Decker, seated beside him.

Evita Decker was the beautiful Cuban mestiza who some 20 plus years before had married the "muy Rico Americano", or as others said of her less kindly, she was the "spic tramp with the Solid Gold Pussy." 'They' said the marriage would not last, but two children in the first two and a half years had carried the union along. The first child, a daughter, had been of little interest to Evita's husband, but the second was the boy, Arnold, who would forever be the apple of his father's eye. Whether William Decker might have otherwise shed his Hispanic wife was an open question, but the arrival of a son made all the difference. Arnold was to have everything his father could provide, and that included a full-time live-in biological mother to raise him.

Seated on the other side of a coffee table from Arnold and Evita, were three of Arnold's classmates from his prep school. All were about Arnold's age or perhaps a year or two older. They had arrived only the day before for a summer vacation visit. Crude and ill mannered (as her son's friends so often were) Evita took an immediate dislike to them all.

How could such disreputable young men be from an expensive and presumably prestigious private school? Evita sometimes asked herself the same question about her own son. The Sullivan College Preparatory School for Young Gentlemen had accepted Arnold despite his previous academic failures and behavioral malfeasance. Evita suspected that the school was not so much interested in academic excellence as it was in 'Young Gentlemen' with wayward histories rich enough to pay an outrageous tuition.

Her three guests certainly seem to confirm that suspicion. The language from the other side of the coffee table was straight out of the gutter. None of the boys seemed to care in the least that a lady was present and listening to their foul mouths. All of them, including her own son, peppered their sentences with the f-word. If their extraordinarily raw dirty jokes weren't indiscreet enough, they bragged endlessly, often in excruciatingly dirty detail, of their sexual exploits with a wide variety of women.

At first glance the scion of the Decker family would have seemed to have little in common with his three friends. For one thing he was clean shaven, his hair was cut short, he was dressed in pants that fit, and he was better looking. Indeed, Arnold Decker was quite handsome with dark hair, a straight patrician nose, a chiseled chin, and 6 feet of muscular frame. Given a closer look, however, he fit in quite well with his classmates. His language was quite as vulgar as theirs, and he was every bit the same breed of egotistical self-centered bully obsessed with sex.

For all of his 18 years Arnold had been doted over by his wealthy father willing to excuse his son of anything, however reprehensible or even criminal his behavior. That the boy had matured into something of a spoiled, arrogant, bully was not at all unpredictable even though his father did not seem to notice. Evita, however, had watched with alarm the deterioration in her son's behavior and she could see it was accelerating.

This afternoon, however, Arnold was unusually passive, only occasionally offering a comment. He seemed distracted, hardly aware of the ongoing conversation. A coy smile never left his face as if he was listening to a joke that no one else could hear. Evita wondered if he was high on something. If so it would not have been the first time.

Evita was decidedly nervous and uncomfortable about the situation in which she found herself. The vulgar language and ribald conversation was embarrassing and distressing to her. Her son was unaccountably bombed, too 'out of it' to be have any concern as the conversation became ever nastier.

Then there was the way her three 'guests' stared at her. Evita was certain each boy was undressing her in his mind, imagining what she might look like sprawled naked on the floor with her legs spread, ready to be raped. How evil and personal that erotic vision must to been to burn its way into Evita's consciousness where she too could see herself nude and waiting helplessly to be violated. Evita shuddered. It was not a comforting thought.

As the afternoon wore on Evita became more and more uneasy until finally she found herself on the edge of panic. Several times she gave some excuse to leave, but Arnold would not allow her to go. It troubled her that she could not make such a simple decision without her son's permission, but lately, since 'that night', that is how things were in the Decker mansion. To have lost control over her own home was frightening, all the more so because Arnold seemed to have no boundaries, no restraints, when it came to this own pleasure. That smug smile across his face scared her. What did he have in mind?

She was not long in finding out. Out-of-the-blue Arnold brought the ongoing thread of conversation to an abrupt halt with a brusque order.

"Stand up mother!"

When the woman beside him didn't move, he repeated his order, louder this time.

"I SAID, STAND UP BITCH! NOW!"

For just a moment, the older woman fidgeted nervously with the string of pearls around her neck, desperately stalling for time to think. "What is he up to?" she wondered. What ever it was, Evita Decker was distressed by the hard tone of her son's voice. She had known for a long time that her son's cruelty bordered on the psychotic, and she was fearful of what he might ask of her.

She had every reason to be. It had been only a week since 'that night'. It had been on 'that night' when in a moment of drunken weakness she had invited her son to fuck her. Her husband had left the day before, on an extended business trip to Europe, and he expected to be away for a month. Evita had been angry and hurt that he refused to take her along. 'That night' Evita was bitter, drunk from too much wine, and aroused from watching an X-rated videotape. It was for a bit of revenge that a horny, intoxicated, and foolish wife had invited her son into her bed.

That had been a terrible mistake. Since 'that night' Arnold had made her life a living hell. Anytime she did not grant his every wish, he would threaten to tell his father was a slut she was, even to do so immediately by wire to Europe. Of course, Arnold's insistence on his mother's obedience included his continued access to her sexual favors, but that was only the beginning. Not satisfied to merely fuck her, the price for his silence was her total and absolute submission. Evita had become the sex slave of her own son.

After 'that night', Arnold always slept with his mother. As it suited him, even in the wee hours of the morning, he would awaken her and order her to service the rampant hard-on that seemed to be a permanent part of his anatomy. Nor was sex every night enough to satisfy Arnold's incredible libido. At least twice during the day, sometimes even more often, this oversexed and constantly horny teenager would insist that his cowed mother suck him off, and /or spread her legs to make her pretty pussy available for his use and pleasure.

Evita had tried her best to resist. She understood quite well what she was being forced to do was both immoral and unlawful, but then how could she do otherwise? Arnold's threat to tell his father of their affair was too real and too frightening to be ignored.

Yet, were things actually that simple? Was it only her fear of exposure that kept her legs spread, and her pussy available, for the pleasure of her incestuous paramour? Evita could not be sure. Could it be that it was her own desire, her own need to be filled with male meat, that had turned her into her own son's sexual plaything?

Even though that it might be true made Evita feel guilty, there was good reason to ask the question. She had never before experienced the kind of soul shattering sex she was having with her son. As much as she hated to admit that truth, whenever she was wrapped in her son's arms with his penis deep inside her, she was as helpless as a lost child. He never failed to light a fire in her pussy, and she consistently responded to him with orgasms that were infinitely more intense, and more pleasurable, than any she had ever enjoyed before.

Even when Arnold butt fucked her, his cock was an addictive drug to her. She had never considered anal sex before. She had thought of it as too painful and degrading to be enjoyable to a woman. It took only one night for Arnold to prove to her how wrong she had been. After that lesson, she would beg him quite shamelessly to fuck her ass. The words of her pitiful pleas still rang in her ears, a recording she could not erase.

"Oh Arnold please! Please, in my ass, give it to me! Fuck my ass!"

Arnold was a dominating lover, one who enjoyed humbling and humiliating his women, and who did so regularly to his mother with a special cruelty. True, her sexuality fed upon her submission to his abuse, but she was frightened, frightened of her inability to resist him, frightened that she was truly the slut her son so often called her.

"Stand up," her cruel son had ordered.

Why stand up? What dirty shameful performance did he have in mind for her this afternoon? Whatever it was, he had forced her to grovel at his feet too many times for her to expect any mercy. In her panic and despair she asked herself "Oh God, how did I get myself into this?"

Yet trapped, and intimidated by the anger in Arnold's voice, Evita Decker had no alternative but to do as her son demanded. The three boys on the other side of the coffee table leaned forward, hardly breathing, as if waiting with anticipation for something Evita could only guess. She shuddered at the expressions she saw on their faces. These were not guests! These were predators! Predators on the hunt for female flesh! Would Arnold feed hers to their evil lusts?

Slowly she stood, tall and proud with her chin up, trying her best to hide her fear.

Evita Decker was no longer young. Her buttocks were broader now, and her breasts more full, as befitted a mature woman who had born two children. She had struggled hard against the erosion of time, however, and for the most part she had kept her weight down. True, her body had changed some, but her legs were still long and well shaped, and her muscles were firm and supple from a regular regimen of exercise at the gym. All in all, despite her 43 years, Evita Decker still had a shape that most women of any age would be pleased to own.

Nor was her body her only asset. With a little help from her hair dresser, her short bobbed hair was still jet black, and it framed a pretty face with the perfect pale skin, high cheek bones, and flashing black eyes she had inherited from her Spanish ancestors. Indeed, but for the small roll of 'mother fat' across her midsection, Evita was hardly marked by the passing years. Overall she was a striking woman who could have passed for 10 years younger.

"What is it Arnold?" She asked quietly hoping for the best. "What is it you want me to do?"

"I want you to show my friends your tits and pussy," was her son's answer. "I have told them all about what a sexy 'bod' my mother has. Now I want them to see for themselves, in the flesh."

"No! Please Arnold! I can't do that! Please don't ask me," the distraught woman begged. Tears welled up in her eyes. What kind of a monster had she borne and raised?

"Now mother," her son smugly threatened. "They know what a slut you are. They have already seen the pictures. You do remember the pictures don't you?"

Evita's mind reeled. God yes! Certainly she remembered those awful pictures. Oh yes! Each photograph was as clear in her mind as if the offending images had been spread on the coffee table before her.

In the first set of four or five Evita was naked and astride her nude son, sliding her wet glistening pussy up and down over his hard upright penis. In each one, her son's hands were on the full breasts that dangled over his chest, squeezing them, teasing her nipples, driving her to erotic distraction.

They say pictures do not lie. These certainly didn't. Her eyes were glassy, her mouth agape, and the blank expression on her face confessed to the paralyzing passion that gripped her. Beyond any doubt, this was a woman in heat, a wanton slut enjoying every inch of the male erection that filled her pussy to the brim. It was no wonder that she had not been aware at the time that she had been caught in the act, and her lust documented on film for posterity.

There were others scenes as well, scenes equally explicit, and equally damning. Pornographic in the extreme were the close-ups of her cunt stretched to its limit around her son's big cock. Another set of four photographs showed Evita on her knees and elbows with Arnold behind her pumping her pussy with his big cock. To be caught on film being incestuously dog fucked like a bitch in heat was bad enough, but that was by no means the worst of it. The picture clearly showed her head between a pair of shapely spread legs, and her mouth pressing down on a shaven cunt.

Those legs, that cunt, had belonged to her daughter Delores. Yes, Evita remembered the pictures. How could she possibly forget?

"Of course you do mother." Her son was smugly sure of himself as he reminded the tormented woman of the terrible consequences of her mistake, consequences made all the more threatening by the hard edge in her son's voice.

"Do you think your stuck-up friends at the Country Club will enjoy the pictures as much as my friends here have? And Dad? What about dear old Dad? What you think that crotchety pompous old son of a bitch will do when he sees them? Divorce you certainly, and throw you out in the street without a dime either if I know his lawyers."

Arnold once more arrogantly demanded his mother's obedience.

"We don't want that now do we mother? Let's all get along together. It will be so much better if you do what you're told. Now! Bitch! Do as I say! Open your blouse and show my friends your tits and those pretty nipples."

Slowly, button by button, Evita did as she was ordered. When the last button was undone, she pulled her shirt front open. She wore no bra and her breasts stood out proud and lovely with long sensitive nipples. A shrug of her shoulders and the blouse fell off her back onto the floor. Nude from the waist up, but too proud to cower, she kept her head up with her eyes open and frozen on the boys staring lustfully at her bare bosom.

She could see the hunger in their eyes, and once again she wondered if her son would 'pass her around' to his companions as if she was some 'biker bitch' slave of a Hell's Angel. That question, however, faded behind a flood of emotions more personal and pressing. The eroticism of being forced to show her breasts to these strangers had sent her imagination into an erotic spin that overwhelmed even her guilt and fear.

Momentarily Evita lost touch with reality. To be made to stand with her breasts on display before these three teenage hoodlums inflamed her imagination. Images of herself as the captive of barbarian pirates ran in front of her eyes. What would these awful people do with a helpless female? Surely they would make her their slut, and use her body for their pleasure, but how? Would one of them take her as his personal sex slave, or would she be community property, forced to fuck and suck them all?

"Oh God," she thought. "Why do I think of such things?" Yet she could not help herself. The erotic images branded her consciousness, and set her on fire. To her dismay, she could feel her pussy becoming moist and her nipples growing hard.

"Now the skirt mother, lose the skirt!" Arnold commanded.

The big button on her hip guarded the three inches of zipper that loosened the waistband of the skirt. The button opened, and down came the zipper slide. The skirt fell off her hips into a pile around her feet. Evita Decker was now entirely bare except for garter belt, hose, high heels, and of course the string of expensive pearls that decorated her lovely breasts. The three boys watching her were very nearly ready to drool.

"Isn't she lovely guys?" Arnold asked. "She is even more so when she is worked up a little. Let's have her perform for us."

Arnold turned back to his mother and demanded, "That's pretty good bitch, but my friends would like to see more. Spread your legs and stick a finger up your pussy. Rub your clit with your thumb. No cheating tho. Remember, you are not allowed to get off until I give the word."

Evita groaned with frustration. After Arnold fucked her 'that night', he had never again allowed her to orgasm without his permission. Controlling her orgasm was his special torture, but how could she possibly deny herself this time? Already she could feel a climax building in her ovaries. Ashamed as she was, she could not help herself. To be forced to pose naked before teen-age boys she hardly knew with spread legs and a finger hooked inside her pussy was somehow so excruciatingly erotic. It would not be long before Her orgasm came bubbling to the surface. Could she somehow hold it back? She knew she must, no matter how unbearable her need.

She wondered, "Oh God, what could be next? How else might Arnold use her to pleasure himself and his friends? Rape perhaps? Of her mouth? Of her pussy? Of her ass?"

Evita blushed a pretty pink from head to toe at the very thought of such an awful, unthinkable, but devastatingly erotic, future. As if reading her mind Arnold, grinned like the Cheshire cat and began to interrogate his prisoner.

"Tell me Mother, why aren't you wearing panties and a bra?"

Evita hesitated only for a second before answering, "You know that you have forbidden me to wear bras and panties anymore."

"Why is your pussy shaved. You didn't shave your pussy when you were fucking dear old Dad?"

"Yes son, I know. I didn't shave my pussy before, but I do now because you have told me I must."

"Mother, shame on you! Only a slut shaves her pussy and then goes around without underwear. You know that. Are you a slut Mother?"

Brainwashed, tortured by guilt for the emotions that were overwhelming her, and desperate for the release of her pending orgasm, Evita had no defenses left. Bitterly she gave the answer she knew Arnold wanted to hear.

"Yes son, your mother is a slut."

Arnold's answer was both sarcastic and accusing. "Why then am I to blame that you are without underwear? Is it my fault you are a slut?"

He paused for dramatic effect, and then asked, "Should I show you the photographs again Mother? Was I forcing you to bounce up and down on my cock? Tell them why my penis was in your cunt. Tell my friends here the truth about how you seduced me. Tell them how you dropped your nightgown, let me feel your tits, enticed me into your bed, and took your pleasure on my dick."

"No Arnold you didn't force me. Your penis was in my cunt because I wanted it there. I wanted you to fuck me. I rode my pussy on your penis because I am a slut, and because it was so big and hard. I needed it so. It felt so good inside me."

Evita answered in a voice filled with guilt. It was true! On 'that night' she had been the seducer. Without any pressure from her son, and without even his encouragement, Evita had stripped off her nightgown, fallen shamelessly into his arms, kissed him, and lifted his hands to her breasts. On her back with her knees up and spread, she had taken him by his wrists and pulled him down onto her body and between her legs. At the critical moment it had been her fingers, not his, that reached into his groin and inserted his big cock into her pussy.