Cause and Effect

I want to say right from the start that the animal who sired me was a pure unadulterated one hundred percent bastard drunk. You will notice that throughout this account, not once do I refer to him as my father. Others may have done so, but not me, because I refuse to think of him in such terms. Now I'm not saying any of this to excuse what happened, but I think it goes a long way to explaining why it happened. As the title of my narrative suggests, it is all about cause and effect.

He had got Mom drunk and pregnant the day she became legal in our state. Although neither of them wanted to, both sets of parents insisted he "do the right thing", so they married. We lived with mom's parents, supposedly so we could save enough for a down payment on our own house. At least that was the general idea, but although he had a good job as a mechanic, most of his money went on gambling and drinking with his pals. Mostly on drinking. When I was about nine Granddad started noticing things going missing from his work shed, and when he saw my old man going into a pawn shop with an electric drill under his jacket, he gave him two weeks to find somewhere else to live, although he said me and Mom could stay for as long as we needed to. Eight days later my grandparents were killed when their car ran off the dirt road into a tree, and Mom inherited the house, so for the first and only time we were clear of debt.

Soon after this he showed his true character and turned into the vicious bastard I grew to hate. It seemed as though he was only waiting until her Dad could no longer protect her, because within weeks he began to use my Mom as his own personal punching bag. Any time the slightest thing went wrong, it didn't matter what, a fight with his boss, an inattentive driver cutting him off, or whatever, he would come home and beat the daylights out of her. For the first fourteen years of my life I can hardly remember a single day when she didn't have bruises somewhere. She had a superb figure, but she had to hide it, and the bruises, with high necked long sleeved blouses and shapeless dresses. As I approached my teen years I started trying to protect her, but that backfired, because he would hammer the crap out of me, and then give Mom an even worse beating.

At the onset of my puberty he started to find even more ways to hurt and humiliate her. Many were the times he would rip off her clothes, and force her to show me the angry weals and scratches on her back and breasts, and even the insides of her thighs. After he tired of this sport, he would order her to get upstairs and get ready so he could, in his words, "fuck the shit" out of her. Woe betide her, and me, if she didn't do as she was told instantly, because you could guarantee by next morning we would both be sporting fresh evidence of his sadistic brutality. He was always careful of course not to hit me where it would show, in case my teachers noticed and called in the child welfare authorities.

I'm ashamed to admit it, but by the time I turned eighteen, the sight of Mom's tits and pussy was having the effect I'm sure the bastard intended, and as soon as they went upstairs I would dash to my room, and with the sound of their brutal fucking ringing in my ears, I would beat my meat, imagining it was my loving cock going in and out of her pussy instead of his punishing weapon. Imagining it was my gentle hands on her wonderful boobs, instead of his cruel gouging fingers. Imagining her screams of pain and fear of him were really moans of passion for me.

As I progressed through my teens and my apprenticeship I began to fill out. The hard physical work added muscle, and although I was as terrified of him as Mom was, I began to dream of being able to find the courage to dish out some of his own treatment to him. The last straw came when I was almost nineteen. He had just humiliated her again for the umpteenth time and ordered her upstairs as usual, but when she turned to obey he changed his mind. "On second thoughts, I'll show the pansy here what a real man does with his woman." Mom opened her mouth to protest, but he punched her in the head and forced her face down across the dining table, scattering the remains of our evening meal. This was more than I could stand, and without thinking of the possible consequences I picked up a chair, and smashed it across his head just as he jammed his filthy cock into her. He collapsed in a heap, and after fishing in his pockets until I found his keys I did my best to restore her modesty with the remnants of her clothing, then hurried her to the car.

I had no idea where to go to, but when we were passing a motel it occurred to me that maybe I could book her a room until I could clear my head enough to work out a plan to keep her safe. I had enough cash in my pocket to pay for a single room for Mom, but until I could get to my secret stash I could sleep in the car.

Shit for brains had made me leave school early and start an apprenticeship as a bricklayer, which for those who aren't familiar with trade training means that for the first couple of years I was the general gofer and dogsbody for the real workers. In between clearing up their mess and learning what I could from watching, mostly I ran errands like going to the shop for sandwiches for morning and afternoon breaks and lunches. Often they would tell me to keep the small change, which helped a lot because the rat who fathered me made me hand over my weekly pay packet unopened. I hid this away in a tin in a fork of the tree in the garden, in the hope that one day I would have enough to get my Mom away from him.

I paid for a room and pulled the car up as close to the door as I could, so nobody would see her exposed body through the rips in her clothes, but once we were inside I realised I had another problem. Mom needed something to wear, and I was out of cash. The thought scared the shit out of me, but the only option I could see was to sneak back to the house and try to grab my stash. Leaving her to get some rest, I got back into the car and headed for what used to be our home. Even though it was in Mom's name, I knew neither of us would ever feel safe as long as he was around, and as I drove I thought of how hard I had hit him, and so help me I found myself hoping it had been hard enough to kill him. I knew if I had I would end up in jail, but so long as Mom was out of harm's way it would be worth it. Then it occurred to me that when the cops saw the bruises and scars on us both, there was always a slim chance that a court would rule it as self defence.

To be honest, I didn't really care. I just wanted Mom to be safe. If he was unharmed and caught me, there was still enough hate and anger in me to grab what was left of the chair and try to finish the job. But that was a last resort, - first I would try to slip in through the back gate and reach the tree. I parked the car well away from the house, and felt a familiar knot of fear grip my bowels. In a sudden afterthought I slipped a wheel wrench inside my waistband just in case, and approached as unobtrusively as I could. I thought I was home and dry as I edged in through the back gate, then I froze. He was standing in the yard with his back to me, feeding Mom's clothes on to a huge fire. I turned to retreat, but a gust of wind caught the gate and slammed it shut.

He spun round. "Come here you chicken shit faggot bastard!" he bellowed. "I'm going to kick the fuck out of you. I'm going to kick the fuck out of your slut of a mother too, when I get hold of her." He rushed at me and I stuck out a fist defensively, amazed when he ran straight into it nose first. He took a step back, then snarled and came at me again, arms spread to catch me. Surprised that I had been able to hit him so easily, I swung again putting every ounce of my weight into the punch. This time he staggered backwards, so I hit him twice more and followed up with a heavy boot to the crotch. With an agonised scream he clutched his balls and fell to his knees retching. Ten years of hate welled up, and I grabbed him by the hair, turning his face up to hit him again.

Then I saw it. It was in his eyes, just as it had been in Mom's eyes every day for years. Pure, stark naked fear. It didn't make me feel good to know our positions had reversed, and now he was afraid of me, but it sure as hell felt great knowing that he was feeling what he had made me and Mom feel for far too long. He put his hand up as if to ward me off, and tried to shake his head. "No. Please. Don't hit me again. I'm your father."

In that instant I knew I would never be afraid of him again. Instead of delivering the punch I intended, I gave him a contemptuous back handed slap. "You're no father of mine." I sneered. "You may have fucked my mother, but you've never been a father. You've never even been a real man. You're just a snivelling wife beating cowardly bully, who had the good fortune to stick his filthy cock into a woman who was always too good for you." Pushing him to the ground, I put my foot between his shoulder blades and plucked his wallet out of his hip pocket. He must have had one of his rare wins on the horses, because there was what looked to be close to a thousand dollars in there. Pocketing the wad of notes, I added his credit card for good measure, then threw the empty wallet at him. I stomped on his back as I stepped over him, and turned to look down at him. "I'm going to check on Mom. Don't be here when I get back." He looked at me in a sullen vestige of defiance, and I delivered a kick to his ribs for emphasis. "Do you understand? You – will – not – be - here. And if I ever see you again, or you ever come near Mom again, I – will – kill – you. Have – I - made – myself - clear?" The words were punctuated with kicks to make sure the message got through his thick skull. All the fight went out of him, and he cowered as he nodded in defeat.

As I walked back to the car I realised that I had forgotten all about the wheel wrench in my waistband. This made it all the more satisfying. What I had done I had achieved with my bare hands, and I couldn't believe how easy it had been. Never until now had I ever raised a fist to anyone, and it made me sick to my stomach to know I was capable of such violence, but nonetheless I knew that it was the only language animals like him would ever be able to understand.

On the way back to the motel I stopped off and bought Mom a few clothes to wear. She was sleeping peacefully on top of the covers when I opened the door, and I spent a couple of minutes studying her. Now that she was out of harm's way she looked ten years younger. Her tattered blouse had fallen open exposing her breasts, and the rip in her skirt was closed just enough to conceal her crotch. Without realising I was going to do it, I carefully moved the fabric aside, and my heart filled as for the first time I was able to look at her tits and pussy without her feeling ashamed and humiliated. It didn't matter that she was unaware of my gaze, and I convinced myself that she wouldn't mind much even if she was awake, because she knew she was finally safe and that I would never hurt her in any way. The surprising thing was that, although I was now seeing from close up what I had only ever seen from a distance of some feet, I felt none of the familiar stirring in my groin. It was almost as though I was watching a sleeping infant.

I don't know how long I stood looking down at her, but eventually I pulled the rags of her clothes together to cover her, and went to make some coffee. Easing myself down slowly, I sat beside her on the bed, watching her face as I sipped the hot drink. Occasionally a faint frown would crease her brow, and I longed to lean forward and kiss it away, but was afraid of waking her. After a while her eyes opened, and she looked blankly into the distance. Moments later her gaze focussed on my face, and she sat up, wrapping her arms around me.

"Oh, Petey, You're OK? I was so scared. I thought he would...."

I shook my head. "No Mom, I'm fine. We don't have to worry. He will never bother either of us ever again."

Her eyes opened wide with horror. "Oh my god... He isn't...? I mean you didn't...? I mean you hit him awfully hard and I thought...."

I shook my head again and smiled grimly. "No Mom, nothing like that. I just convinced him that it was in his best interests to get the hell away from us and stay away."

She hugged me closer in relief, and I became uncomfortably aware that her shredded blouse had given up the fight, and her bare breasts were pressed tightly to my chest. I stood up abruptly and indicated the shopping bag. "Um, Mom," I said trying to sound casual. "I got you a couple of things. You know, a dress and panties and a nightdress. I didn't get a bra because to be honest I wouldn't know a 'C' cup from an egg cup. Why don't you get ready for bed and I'll see you in the morning? I'll see if I can get another room, otherwise I'll sleep in the car so you can have some privacy."

"Don't go Petey," she whispered rising from the bed and coming closer. "I feel safe with you here."

I looked down at her breasts and tried to take my mind off the faint stirring in my pants. "I can't Mom. Not with you like this." I tried to cover her again.

She smiled faintly and shrugged. "What's the point in doing that Petey? You've seen them often enough so what difference does it make?"

"I know Mom, it's just that when I see those marks I want to kiss them better. I want to kiss all of you better Everywhere he's ever hurt you I want to kiss it better."

"You have no idea how often I've wished someone would do that," she whispered. "Just to take away the hurt and humiliation."

The words were out before I could stop them. "I'd like to do it now."

Leaning away slightly she looked into my eyes. "I know Petey. I think I'd like it too."

I eased her back gently until her head was resting on the pillow, her dark curls framing her face, and she wriggled out of what was left of her clothing. Very carefully I touched my lips to the bruise closest to her shoulder. I moved slowly, because there were so many ugly marks to kiss, but as I progressed across the slope of her breast I cupped it in my palm and took the soft bud between my lips. She sucked in a long breath as her nipple stiffened, and I pulled my hand away quickly. "I'm sorry Mom, I didn't mean to..."

"It's OK, honestly. It just took me by surprise that's all." I couldn't be sure if she was talking about what I had done, or the way her nipple had hardened so suddenly. In all the countless times she had been forced to show herself to me, I had never once seen her nipples stand up, and now all I could think of was how it completed her wonderful breast. I tried to think how to say what I was thinking, without it sounding wrong, but she spared, or maybe she increased my embarrassment. "I'd forgotten what gentle felt like, and you reminded me how nice it is. I don't mind if you want to touch me, because I know you would never hurt me."

I leaned over her again and quickly kissed the other nipple, pleased to find it was as hard as its twin. I only lingered for a moment, and then continued kissing the bruises. As I moved steadily down her body, Mom spoke up hesitantly.

"Petey?" I lifted my head to look at her, but her eyes were squeezed tightly. "Petey," she repeated, "I don't know if I can ever enjoy sex again after all that's happened, but I'll try if you want me to." Much as I had fantasised about doing what she appeared to be suggesting, I knew it would be no good for me unless it was good for her too, so I hesitated. Then when I thought of how quickly her nipples had stiffened, I figured there was a possibility and I eased her legs open.

Now that I had convinced myself to at least try to satisfy her, my cock responded and I parted the soft hairs surrounding her pussy lips and touched my tongue to her clit. At the first contact she tensed, but I persisted, nibbling her clit, running my tongue up and down her slit, and occasionally poking my tongue inside her. Very slowly Mom began to relax, and as she became moister I thought I detected a slight movement her hips. I vibrated her clit with my tongue in encouragement, but could get no further response other than a slight increase in her secretions. Mistaking her body's natural reaction to stimulation for a sign of arousal, I freed my cock from my pants and moved over her. I positioned the tip between her pussy lips, but as I was about to push into her she pressed her hands against my chest.

"No, Petey, no. I can't. I thought I could but I can't. One day, I promise, but right now it's too soon."

I was so desperate to fuck her that I was tempted to carry on regardless, but that would have made me as bad as him, so I just rolled onto my side and held her. After a minute or so her hand crept down and curled around my still hard tool. "I'm sorry Baby, I didn't mean make you like this, but at least I can help a little." Her fingers began to slide up and down my shaft, and I pushed my hips toward her. Gradually her grip tightened, and I gasped as my cum shot out over her stomach. She squeezed out the last few drops, then kissed my cheek. "One day you can put this inside me, but right now I need time."

Her vulnerability still showed in her eyes so I just nodded, content to wait until she was sure she was ready, however long it might take. The drama and stress of the last few hours finally caught up with both of us, and we drifted into a healing slumber, my arms still wrapped around her, and her fingers still curled around my spent cock.

When I woke Mom was up and showered and making coffee. She was humming softly to herself, and I lay quietly on the bed watching her, enjoying the jiggle of her unfettered boobs. I could see the outline of her panties through the dress I had bought, and my morning stiffy reared its head as I remembered how good her pussy had tasted last night. Jumping off the bed I went and showered, jerking off under the warm spray.

When I came out, she handed me a mug of coffee and hugged me. "Um... Petey... Um..." I had an idea what she was thinking, but I waited for her to say it. "About last night... I feel a bit weird about what happened. I mean I know it was supposed to be wrong, but it doesn't feel wrong. At least not to me."

"I know Mom, I sort of feel the same, but the thing is if we didn't love each other it would never have happened."

"I guess so. I'm sorry I wouldn't let you put it in me, because I know how much you wanted to, and I promise that if it ever does happen it will be with you. It's just that I need time." She kissed me lightly. "Thank you for not insisting."

"Mom," I replied quietly, "if had carried on after you said no it would have been rape, and I would have been no better than him, and I will NEVER be like him. You have been through too much already, without you having to fear your son on top of all that. If ever you do let me do it with you I will count myself blessed, and if not, it will never alter the fact that I love you more, and in more ways, than I could ever love anyone else."

After we finished our coffee and I had rinsed the mugs, we handed in the motel key and drove home. We were both apprehensive as we approached, because there was no way of being sure that my warning had been as effective as first seemed. Erring on the side of safety, I parked half a block away from the house, and telling Mom to lock herself in I went the rest of the way on foot. The place was silent as the grave, and after checking to be sure I went back for her. He had certainly been busy before he left, because my room was wrecked and all of my clothes shredded. Although it was an annoyance, it was no more than that, and I considered it a small price to pay to have him out of our lives. Showing Mom the wad of cash and the credit card I had taken from his wallet, I bundled her into the car and drove to the mall. For almost the whole day we wandered around, with Mom like a child in a candy store, as she looked excitedly at all of the clothes he had denied her. Within three hours we had a trolley full of packages, and I dumped the maxed out card in a rubbish bin. If someone picked it up and found a way of using it for their own purposes, what did I care?