Born Beautiful, Rachel's Story #12bySusanJillParker©
Olga confesses that she enjoys and orgasms while making love to her son.
When she was younger, helpless to do anything to stop her mother's suffering but to listen, she didn't want to know all that happened in the barn. Casting a blind eye to the sexual abuse her father and brother did to her mother, she resigned herself that so long as they left her alone, she could live there. Her mother didn't seem to mind having sex with her son. Now that she's older, if only to add fuel to her fire to leave this horrid house for good without looking back, she needed to know what they did to her mother. Now that she's forced to listen, she needed to see what they were doing to her mother so that she'd never forget. Now that she's been made so aware of the monsters that her father and brother are, she never wanted to make the same mistakes that her mother made with men. She'd never stay married to a man who'd beat her and raise a son who'd raped her.
With the physical and sexual abuse of her mother escalating, especially after her father enlisted the help of his son, further motivating her to run away, the abuse of her mother gave her the strength she needed to flee her father, run from her brother, and escape from this horrible house of horror forever. Yet with very little money and without a wagon to take her, it wasn't safe for a woman to travel alone, especially a woman who looked like her. When the only unescorted women were dirty, diseased women of the night, she'd be a real prize for some man or men to take her, strip her, rape her, and maybe even kill her. Best not to put herself in deeper danger than she already was staying with her father and brother in this house, she had to bide her time, while plotting and planning her escape. She wished she could take her mother away with her but, not having the resources to do that, taking her mother with her was impossible.
Difficult enough for her to leave alone, men without women and men unable to care for themselves, they'd never allow them to leave together. Even if she had the money to pay for two fares to America, no doubt, destined to die at the hands of her husband, she knew her mother would never leave the suffering life she had in Germany, even to save herself for a new and better life in America. Unable to leave her homeland, her mother would rather suffer the physical, emotional, and sexual abuse here than to be safe somewhere else and in another country far from home. Fortunately, other than her bad memories, Rachel didn't have the ties to Germany that her mother did. Instead of loving her country, she hated it.
"You go, Rachel. I can't leave here," said her mother, Olga, in German. Only thirty-five-years-old but looking ten years older, she tightly wringed her apron in her hands as if it was the neck of her husband. "I can't leave my beloved Germany behind," she said looking at her with tears in her eyes. "Born here and with my family buried here, I'll die here. I don't know any other life," she said looking at Rachel with sadness, while holding her daughter's hands in hers.
"But Mama, I can't leave you alone with them. Their abuse will escalate with the absence of me," said Rachel beginning to cry. "Papa will blame you for me leaving."
"Faithful and loyal, I've been with your father since I was 14-years-old. Other than my son, he's the only man that I've intimately known," she said with sadness. "He was never like this, so drunkenly violent. Always angry, yes, but not like this, never like this. Fun and funny before when he was drinking, now he's insanely so very angry when he's drunk. With everything in upheaval and no one happy, especially for a man and much worse for a woman, these are bad times to be a German in Germany," she said giving Rachel insight that she didn't know her mother had.
"If you stay after I leave, blaming you for my departure, the beatings will intensify Mother." Afraid to say the words, she looked at her mother with foreboding before she uttered the words. "They will kill you," she said kissing her mother's hands and, as if hugging her for the last time, she took her in her arms and hugged her.
"Then, for the safety of you Rachel, my darling, knowing that you're happy and free in America, I shall willingly die in peace for you to escape them to start a new life. Your father is my problem and not your problem."
"Oh mother, please reconsider," she said.
"You're young, you're beautiful, and you're so healthy, you can do what I cannot," she said smiling and returning her daughter's hug. "Besides," she said looking away with shame and guilt while playing with her apron ties as if it she was playing with her son's cock, no doubt, for what little sexual gratification she received. "The only pleasure I have is when having sex with Karl," said her mother looking down in obvious shame that a mother would find pleasure in having sex with her son.
Rachel was stunned. Already knowing she was having sex with Karl but figuring she was forced to sexually pleasure her son, she couldn't believe her mother found pleasure from having sex with him. She looked at her in shocked disbelief. Her mother just admitted that she enjoys having sex with her son. Eww. Gross. Oh, my God. Why?
"Mother," Rachel looked at her mother while trying to make sense of her confession. "I don't understand. How can you possibly enjoy having sex with Karl? After father beats you, Karl rapes you, and then father whips you, I don't understand how you can find any pleasure in having sex with Karl after suffering the physical abuse from father." Rachel looked at her mother, as if she had lost her mind. "What pleasure is there in any of that?"
"While Hugo sleeps drunk in the barn," said Olga fluttering her eyelids as if imagining her son's big, hard cock in her hand, in her mouth, and in her pussy, "Karl takes his time to make gentle love to me, something that your father has never done. Your father doesn't even kiss me anymore but Karl does. He humps me with passion instead of with anger and I return his humps with love," said Olga with a excited smile as if she was confessing a romantic liaison with a handsome lover instead of with her son.
"Mother, he's your son. How could you enjoy having sex with your son?"
"Karl makes me feel wanted and desire. He makes me feel like the woman I used to be when I was first married to your father. Now, unless he pretends I'm you and he's having sex with you, Rachel, unless I allow him to whisper your name in my ear, your father can no longer maintain an erection long enough to penetrate me. No longer wanting me, my husband wants you instead of me. Without even realizing it, because Karl is so big and so strong, he gives me what I need. He gives me an orgasm."
"Mother, please. That's enough. Spare me the details of your incestuous relationship with my brother. For you to enjoy having sex with your son enough to have an orgasm, when that's something you can do with your own fingers, is shockingly sick," she said looking at her mother with shame. "You're just as demented as they are. You three deserve one another," said Rachel with sudden disdain for her mother.
"The orgasm that I receive from my son is nothing like the orgasm that I give myself with my fingers. With you a virgin, I don't expect you to understand the fire that burns deep within me when Karl's cock is buried deep inside me. In all the years I've been with your father, Hugo has never once given me such sexual pleasure. In return for how my son makes me feel so desired, so loved, and so wanted, I'm happy to give him sexual pleasure in return. I'm happy to suck him," she said looking at her daughter with guilt.
"Mother! Please! That's quite enough. I'm going to be ill," said Rachel holding her stomach while staring at her mother as if she was insane.
Yet, after her mother confessed that she received an orgasm from her son, there was a glimmer of curiosity in Rachel. Being that she masturbated herself so very many times, being that it felt good to masturbate, now that her mother said there was a difference, she wondered how different it would feel for a man to give her an orgasm. She wondered what it would feel like to have a cock buried deep within her pussy. She wondered what it would feel like for her to control a man with her mouth and her pussy and for a man to explode his sexual lust inside of her.
"He doesn't know that I enjoy giving him sex, as much as he enjoys forcing me to give him sex," said Olga with shamelessly. "So long as he makes it appear that I'm being forced to do the things that a mother should never do with her son, I'm obliged to suck and fuck my son. Because he always sexually satisfies me, I'm happy to sexually satisfy him."
After having peeked through the split wood of the barn and after already having seen her father and brother stripping off her clothes and her brother raping her once before, Rachel no longer had to see what her father and brother were doing to her mother. Unable to erase the image burnt in her mind of a husband beating and whipping his wife and a son stripping and raping his mother, she could visualize their physical, emotional, and sexual abuse with her every scream. Tying her to the horse stall was their favorite place to strip her, beat her, and rape her.
Karl didn't untie her ties until his father was done with her and until he needed the use of her hands to pleasure him. Leaving the ties there ready for the next time, they didn't even bother to remove the blood, sweat, and tear soaked ties. A visual image to the horror they did to the woman they supposedly loved, they left the ties there dangling in the way that blood stained a white altar after a human sacrifice. As if it were a bridle, a harness, a saddle, and/or reins, the ties that bound her mother were now a permanent fixture of the barn's tackle. Unless she fled, it was all a horrible reminder for her to see that it was only a matter of time before she'd be tied there too, beaten, raped, and whipped.
A life not much better than that of a Negro slave or that of an indentured servant agreeing to be sold to the highest bidder to work free for four years in America, in exchange for his or her safe passage there, her German born mother already worked like a dog. From sunup to the darkness of night, not deserving this abuse when already living a hard enough life of chores and with only her daughter giving her a helping hand to help her around the farm, she did nothing but cook, bake, can, clean, sew, darn, and launder for her husband and son. An understatement, her mother deserved much better than being beaten and whipped by her husband and stripped and raped by her son. Unable to just say thank you for all that she did for them, their physical and sexual abuse was their payment for her household services.
Depending on her mother's offense, stripped topless with her abundant breasts exposed to the eyes of her horny son or stripped naked with no modicum of respect or decency given her, somehow it was as twisted as it was important that a father teach his son how to discipline his woman by torturing and humiliating his wife. When so many of his social conventions and daily norms around him were crumbling to the whims of an insane King, the second Industrial Revolution, widespread Socialism, and to the enraged thoughts of women having equal rights, no doubt, Hugo felt that he was losing control and losing his mind. Olga was the only one that he not only could take out his frustrations on but also could control.
When women suddenly wanted to have a mind of their own to do whatever they wanted and say whatever they were thinking, beating, torturing, stripping, raping, and whipping his wife, while watching his son do the same to his mother was their family's dirty secret that they kept hidden in the barn. As if Hugo was striking his fist against the government and against all the changes of progress, instead of against Olga, the abuse was his way to close the door to social changes, abandon new norms, and to keep his wife in line during these modern times of 1860. Only sadly, happening behind closed doors all over the world, from Paris' Moulin Rouge to Boston's Back Bay and Beacon Hill, and not just here in the lowlands outside of Munich in Bavaria, men still controlled women by physically, emotionally, and sexually abused women.
Rich in agriculture, some of the best farmlands in Germany were east of the Black Forest and south of the Danube River in the Rhine Valley and in shadow of the Bavarian Alps. The regard for women here wasn't much higher than their regard for livestock. Actually, depending on the value of the animal, some livestock, such a prized bull or a trained horse, were regarded much higher and worth much more than mere women. No doubt, Hugo wasn't the only husband beating and whipping his wife and Karl wasn't the only son stripping and raping his mother. A time of hardship, when women needed men to not only protect them but also feed, clothe, and support them, young, widowed wives spawned an entire generation of forced, incestuous births.
Not an easy life back then, farming in the hot sun and trying to keep warm in the dead of winter, other than drinking, eating, and having sex, there wasn't much recreation to keep a young, testosterone filled man busy after working twelve, laborious hours a day, six days a week, in the field. Moreover, with the next door neighbor miles away and the city too far to travel in a day, there weren't many women available for a son to fulfill his sexual needs. Other than his mother and his sister to accommodate his every perverted, sexual whim, lustful desire, and incestuous need, they were the only women conveniently available. With his virginal sister off limits, his father would kill him if he dared deflower her. Besides, after promising his mother that he wouldn't touch Rachel, after promising his mother that he'd protect her from his father, and after already having been given his father's blessing to have sex with his mother, his mother was the only available woman left to satisfy him sexually.
The barn, set back at a distance from the house, was Hugo's secret place to take his wife. They were in the barn again late last night and early this morning, her father, Hugo, and her brother, Karl, with her mother, Olga. She could hear the cracking sound of the horsewhip snap against her mother's fair skin to reopen wounds that hadn't yet had the chance to heal. The soft whimpering sounds of her mother crying and begging them to stop, while Hugo whipped her, and her agreeing to do whatever they wanted wasn't enough to end their punishment and stop her pain. They wanted more than just sex from her, they wanted to control her, own her, and punish her for whatever she did to deserve the likes of the two of them in her life.
No matter her offense, this time, whether she broke a plate when washing it after cooking them their dinner, didn't launder their clothes to their satisfaction, or gave them a delayed, smart, or no response to their inane questions, they were hurting her mother again. When looking for an excuse to abuse her, torture her, beat her, strip her, rape her, and whip her, they always found one. Actually, they didn't need a reason to hurt her. They could take her out to the barn whenever they damn well pleased. It didn't matter if she willingly submitted her will and gave herself to them or tried to fight them. No doubt, preferring her to struggle a bit to make it more of a challenging game, obviously they needed forced sex to get themselves off, a husband beating and whipping his wife while aroused watching his son stripping his mother naked and having sex with her.
How could they do that to her? Why would they do that to her? There'd be a reserved spot in Hell for these two when they died. Willing to take her chances alone without them, for the sake of her mother and for the relief or her, Rachel hoped that her father and brother would die sooner than later. For the sake of her mother, if she wouldn't come to America with her, she hoped her mother would die soon too. Only, before they tired of her mother and turned to her, with her mother playing interference for her, Rachel hoped she'd stay alive long enough for her to escape and long enough to be free and happy in America.
Although she couldn't see inside the barn from her bedroom window, she knew what they were doing to her mother. When her mother bathed herself in the kitchen, by the dim light and the reflections of the flames from the fireplace, she saw the scars on her mother's back, legs, and buttocks. When her mother still didn't tell her what happened and why it happened, sobbing in her hands, she hid her face in denial and humiliation. Determined to stop the beatings, Rachel snuck out of the house, silently made her way to the barn, and looked through the cracks in the wood. Only, frozen with fear, unable to help her mother, what she saw was much worse than she had imagined.
To be continued...