Jeff and Jess, Son and Mother

He jumps at me, atop me. Puts it on me, rubbing his erection all around. He's straddling my torso, his dick rubbing the bottom of my breasts, one, then the other. He's gasping for air, like he's struggling to breathe, then he tells me: WE KILLED THAT WHORE!

I just watch him, he's wilding there on my belly, jabbing his cock at my ribs and my tits. He's making crazy sounds, almost all of them incoherent, except that every so often, he comes back around to WE KILLED THAT WHORE. After a minute or two or five, I push him off of me. Stare at him. "Get out if you're not getting me off."

He settles, on his belly, rubs his dick into my sheets, starts humping my bed and then moves onto me, puts his cock on my hip, jams himself into my like a six year old who doesn't know what to do with his penis, having recently discovered that fondling himself in all the ways is an enjoyable experience. "Dug! Get the fuck out!"

He settles, my use of his name finally breaking through. He keeps rubbing himself on my hip, slower, though. Like he's thinking about it now, rather than instinctual. "Jess?"

I roll my eyes. I wish he didn't know my name. "What?"

He snuggles up close, his dark eyes darker the closer they get. "Your son hates you."

I nod. "I'm aware."

He nods, then conspiratorially, says, "I told him we should fuck you."

I laugh at him, but my laughter trails off as Dug slides over me again, pushes my legs apart. Settles in between my thighs. "I don't think he has the nerve," I say.

"Do you want him to fuck you, mom?" Dug says. I close my eyes and chuckle. "You do, don't you?"

"Just a sign of how diseased he is that it even occurs to him," I say. There was that time, decades ago, when he was the age I met his father, and I encountered him in his room, just down the hall, pleasuring himself. And I thought it was nice, for a second. I thought his dick was nice. Nicer than his dad's. Nothing like Ernie's. Better than Tim's probably. Buries this goon, for sure.

Dug nods. "He doesn't have the nerve," Dug says, pushing himself into my vagina, adding a finger to the mix, realizing his dick isn't even close to enough for me. The finger helps. "But, I think he wants to fuck you." In and out, for a few moments, both of us silent. "I think he dreams of raping you." His thumb, for all of its sloppy rolling around as he fucks me with his dick and index finger, finds my clit. Luck. But he says "raping you" and I actually moan out loud like that's the thing that got me. His eyes widen. "You like that idea?" He increases his pace, and his thumb falls on my clit, presses down, pushes me into a state of actual enjoyment, some pleasure, finally. "Yeah," he cooes, leans down on me, loses my clit. "You want him to rape you."

"Fuck you," I whisper. He's generating some good rhythm now. Getting me wet. "Use another finger," I advise, and in goes his middle finger. Slides right on in, and I moan now from the excitation inside my vagina.

"Can I rape you with him?"

I moan yes, because his thumb is pounding hard on my clit, and the three pronged effect in my pussy is all flaming into my g-spot, sending me into mild muscular spasms. Orgasm. He cums inside of me, just as I'm cumming, much to my chagrin. We moan together. He plants his mouth on mine, and I just let him kiss me because that's what happens. That's just how you do.

He slides onto my side, rubbing his semi-erect and wet dick on my hip. I tousle his hair like he's an actual child. "Took ya a bit, but you found it," I say, sounding like a proud mom.

***

I stand in the doorway for a while. Dug's acting all crazy, jumping up and down. Then he's fucking her and I keep standing there. She starts to moan. She says it out loud. She wants him and me to rape her. My dick is hard and my heart deafens me for a few seconds. I can't conceive of it. I can't concentrate enough to even think about what that means, what that would feel like, putting myself in her.

I hate her. Literal hate. She's been a bitch to me since I came home. I stand there, finding a corner where I don't think I can be seen, and watch him make her orgasm, and I'm at once jealous as fuck and turned as hell and angry as all get-out. How dare my best buddy fuck my mom? And fuck here well enough to make her moan and howl and kiss him after he's done? I should kill him.

That might be extreme.

But, we did that whore earlier, so, I guess there's that.

I guess there's that as an exemplar, a template. A guide.

The whore, Tre, didn't really recover after I beat and fucked the hell out of her in the basement. We drop her somewhere, watch her try to pull her shit together as the last dose of meth hits. She tries to run, tries to escape it, but her blood boils with it. She freaks out, smacks into a wall, has a heart attack, and dies. Simple as that. Looks like a self-inflicted overdose.

I listen to them snuggling. She tells him to settle, go to sleep. He lay there quiet, but I can see his hip in shadow, still rubbing up against her. I shake my head, a little disgusted, a lot tired. I sit in the corner, close my eyes. Think about what they said. How she might want me to take her by force. But, I've never thought of her that way. Would be surprising if she thought of me like that, or like anything.

I wake up and she's standing there, naked, a little grin on her face. She sighs, shakes her head. "Useless piece of shit," she says out loud, for my ears to hear. "Had to have your buddy fuck me because you're too scared."

And those words, her words "Because you're too scared" waft over my eardrums, down the ear canal, to the auditory nerve, to my brain, firing cranial neurons that tell me what I have to know now, if I didn't already: I'm going to have to do things to her that I don't think I want to do. She will have to know I'm not a tiny fraidy cat who will only do what she tells me. Tears form in my eyes, and I watch her walk away. I look at the bed. Dug is lying there, playing with his flaccid penis. Just like I do when I don't have anything more interesting to do. I watch her. She has a flabby ass, cellulite formed years ago. Her legs aren't quite bad, but I can't say I find them attractive. I catch a glimpse of side boob and my dick moves. I like it. Her boobs always did it for me. Even when I was twelve and learning about boobs and dongs, shapes of women and where people want and need to put things.

The tear drips down my cheek. I stand up. Follow her to the bathroom. She's sitting on the toilet. I listen to her pee. Never did that before. I open the door when the stream of water stops falling into still water. See her wipe her vaginal area. She shrieks a little when I open the door. "The fuck is wrong with you?" She wants to know.

"You, mom. You're wrong with me."

She sits there, on the toilet, stares at me. "Now what?" She asks.

I shake my head. "Haven't decided," I say. I feel a fist forming in my right hand, though. Punching her feels likely.

"Jeff, I gotta shower." She stands up and flushes and looks at me. She knows how to cut right through me. "You showering with me?" I shake my head. But, I hesitate. Do I want to shower with her? I'm suddenly not sure of anything. I can kill someone, so maybe I can sleep with my mother? I mean, does that make sense? She turns on the water in the shower and brushes her teeth while the water warms up and I stand there, feeling weird tendrils of electricity and shame surging through my whole body, from my foot to my head, thinking about what to do now.

Dug gives me a pull from behind. "Dude, are you gonna fuck your mom? Gross!" He shoves me aside, handling his dick in the other hand. "Jess! I'ma shower wi' you."

She gives a look matching exactly what she says to him, "Like hell you are. Go home, Dug. Or the basement, but get the fuck outta my bathroom." She shoves him back into me, and we both stumble backward, out of the bathroom. She slams the door closed and I can hear the lock engage.

I stand there looking at Dug, his nude ass in the hallway, and for the first time in a long time, I kinda wonder if mom's right: am I just a giant fuckup?

***

What the fuck just happened? Did I for real just invite my thirty-three year old son to join me in the shower? Was I really about to suck his dick? I felt like I was going to suck his dick in the shower. And if Dug had any cock to speak of, I think I wanted them to take me. Like, both of them take me and fuck and suck and bite and slap and just fucking take me. That's so goddamned weird.

The water pours over my hair and my back and I wonder what's wrong with my son. Why did he watch me fuck his friend, just sit there and watch? Was he abused? Did I do something really, really bad bringing him up? I consider his time alone, his time with his aunts, my mother, his time alone. Where did he go so wrong? When did he learn to be so... perverse? Why is so unsympathetic to anyone and everyone? Why is so selfish?

Sighing as I finish cleaning up the last stains and sticky spots that Dug left in his wake, I close my eyes, pray to God just a bit. Think of Jeff's father, who I hate thinking of. Wonder, for the smallest of seconds, what came of that insignificant little man. Shake my head. I nearly married that idiot. Let him put a child in my womb. Who's the real idiot?

I turn off the shower and step out, half expecting to see Dug and Jeff standing in the doorway. Relieved, of course, that they aren't, but curious where they went and what they're doing. I tiptoe down the hallway back to my room, half expecting to find them in my bed, jacking each other off till I'm there to provide assistance.

There it is again. Do I want to fuck Jeff? My own kid? I certainly don't want Dug anywhere near my vagina again, but why do I keep feeling some percentage of disappointment that my fuck up of a kid isn't swinging his dick in my face all of the sudden. It's never, ever occurred to me before, but now, because of that stupid Dug fool... I almost imagine Jeff gently resting me on my back, checking out my wrinkles and blemishes, sliding his fingertips over my scars and scrapes. Kissing my neck, then my breasts and --

I close my bedroom door, make sure it's locked. Check the room to be sure they aren't hiding somewhere. Then I throw myself onto my towel and lie back. My mind swirls around Ernie and Jeff playing at my edges. Jeff is circumspect and deliberate, but Ernie wants to spread me out and fill me up. I don't know if that's exactly what I'd want. I might prefer my perverted fantasy son's method of going slow, investigating, building up the tension. Spreading me and kissing and touching me, feathery fingertips floating over my tender, trepidatious touchstones. Moving slow. Taking time. Kissing me. His tongue on my nipples, on my lips, his teeth at my neck. His dick.

His dick in my mouth. And I'm swallowing all of it and when I realize it's a fantasy, I'm moaning out loud, fingers in my cunt, crying out loud as I cum. I finish with a full body, full throated roar. And then I begin to cry.

I wish he were here to see it: that witless, no-good drug-addicted, slut-chasing garbage man, my ex. To witness how miserable a woman I am that I'm fantasizing about fucking our child. He'd laugh. Then, he'd probably hit me. And fuck me. Because that's how he rolls and it's how we rolled, back in the day. I'm not even sure I was conscious when he impregnated me.

***

With Dug gone, I can relax again. I plod up to the kitchen, pour a bowl of cereal. Sit at the dinette table and chomp on it. I realize a few bites in that there's no other noise. Wish for a TV or at least my phone, but I left that downstairs. Been a weird day. Weirder still when I hear my mom make orgasm sounds upstairs. Ugh. Did I really watch her have sex with Dug? Did I seriously consider walking into my mom's shower and -- do what? Make out? Jack off with her? I mean, what was that gonna be?

Shaking my head, I try to think about what to do today. Finish this bowl of cereal, maybe have another bowl, then go downstairs and go to bed. Haven't slept since yesterday afternoon, almost twenty-four hours ago. I should tell someone online that there's a killing streak happening, after Dug and I poisoned that bitch yesterday. I'm something kind of like proud that we did that. And prouder still that I'm not one bit bothered by it. That bitch was the sort of woman who wanted her life to end, because she was done. Dead-ended in every way.

Mom plods down the stairs. Comes into the kitchen. I keep my eyes down, but glance up at her long enough to see she's wearing a see-through white tee, no bra. Booty shorts? Her ass is too big, but worse, her thighs are cottage cheese as fuck. It's a bad look and I shake my head at the concept that I might have deigned to put my cock in any of that hot mess.

She starts coffee brewing wordlessly, but I know she's looking at me weird. I decide I can't leave well enough alone. "Who made you cum just now? Your boyfriends at work? Dug?" I bite some cereal, chew it with my mouth open because I know it grates on her nerves.

She looks at me, or is looking at me when I look at her. She looks sad. Looks unsure of herself for the first time I can remember. "None of your business." I roll my eyes.

Supposed to be a joke, "Me?"

"I said shut up." Oh, shit. She was fantasizing about me. She stands there in clothes that are not fitting of a middle-aged mother type, and I keep glancing at her, and see she's still standing there staring at me. "I think you need..." she stops, bites her lip. Turns back to the coffee maker. "You should move out, Jeff."

Wait, how'd that happen? "Why? Because you fucked my friend and you know you'll do it again?"

She turns back to face me slowly. I think her nipples are hard now where they weren't previously. "You're a grown man. Get a job. Get out of my house. Please."

"Because you just jacked off -- or whatever -- to me?"

She sips from her cup, looks at me from over the cup. "I need space."

"I don't do anything but give you space. What are you talking about?"

She shakes her head. "You don't pay rent. You don't buy food. You bring people over here, disrupting my lifestyle. I want you out."

I stand up in a loud huff. "You want me in, bitch. You want me in you." I'm sort of sick to my stomach saying the words to my mother.

She puts her coffee mug down on the counter and stares at me, looking me up and down. I think she's actually considering it. And I'm not sure if I'm more aroused or grossed out. She's not pretty. But, her titss are good. And they're firing high beams hard right now that is just... in college, I jumped girls who were showing me less. "What if I did, Jeff? What if, for one second, I wanted to fuck you."

I don't know. I shrug. She motions me to her. "I'm not--"

She waves me to her again. I step toward her. She takes my hands in hers. I'm a little taller than her, and she smells clean, like shower and strawberries. I look at her confused. "Honey," she says, "I've never, ever wanted anything like that with you. Not before last night or earlier this morning. Whenever that was."

"But?"

She nods. "I got sorta curious."

I nod back. "Me, too, I guess."

She sighs, leans into me, her breasts are warm and soft against me. I can kind of feel her nipples biting through her shirt. "If this -- " she chokes on the words.

"We don't want it," I say suddenly.

She cocks her head to the side. "You don't?" Sounding surprised. She lets go of me. Gently makes room for her to pull her shirt up. "Are you sure?"

I don't have words. My mother's tits hanging there in front of me. Full, warm. I put one hand on one, and she pulls the other to her other breast. "No," I squeak.

"No, what?"

I shake my head.

"No, you don't want to?" Her voice is sultry, coquettish. She looks at me with eyes I haven't seen in a woman in a very long time. Maybe ever. Deep desire. Lust. Interest.

"I do." It's barely a sound the comes from me.

She kisses me hard on my mouth, pressed her naked chest and her hips into me and I feel my dick getting thick and hard. And she feels it too, against her belly. "Yeah, you do." She gropes my dick in my sweats, and says, "Let's see it."

Silently, I drop my sweats and underwear, and my cock is standing at full attention, and my mother's fingers are on it. She's gentle at first, slipping her fingers over the length of me. She looks at me, and I'm trembling. I feel like this is some sort of weird wrong. Like, I want it, and she wants it's so why is it wrong? But, then, I think of when I fucked that stupid bitch last night, and like, she didn't want it at all, even though I paid for it, and I have no guilt about that. But this is fucking with me. Making me dizzy.

Then she drops to her knees.

***

His cock is big. Not enormous, but bigger than I remember his father's being. But, again, I don't know if I ever measured it. We were so fucked up all the time, and I was drunk, asleep, or biding my time when he fucked me, so I'm not sure I remember that much about our sex life.

It doesn't taste good. He needs much better hygiene. But, he fills my mouth nicely. It's very hard, good girth. And as I massage his testicles and hear him moan, I know I'm kind of right doing this. I mean, it's weird to me that I want to do it. I have never thought I'd ever be at all into this. I've read stuff online, but dudes make shit up all the time. The guys obsessed with their moms will lie and say that all the sudden, one day, their mom is into them and starts fucking them.

I hold back a laugh as I think it. I'm that mom, the one from the idiotic stories online that bear no resemblance to reality. To swallow the laugh, I take him deeper, and his hands clench my hair. Good boy. He pushes the back of my head, just a little. I fight him a little, just to see what he'll do. Will he take some more control? Does he even want any control? Does me want me to coddle him, even in sex? The idea of it makes me angry. And if I weren't a sopping mess between my thighs, and my knees weren't in absolute agony doing this on the kitchen floor, I'd stop and storm out. But, I'm invested now. I'm sucking Jeff's dick. Jeff's just a guy. And his dick is in my mouth, and he moans nicely. Pushes me onto his cock, not hard, but he's in control. Jeff is a guy who likes to drive when he needs to.

I pull off of him and take a few seconds to get back to my feet. I kiss him and it's this I really hate. He has terrible technique and his breath is awful, smells like rotten cheese or something. "Let's fuck on the couch," I suggest. I start to walk, tugging him by his cock.

"No." His voice is deep. I have my back to him, so I don't know what his face looks like, but I imagine it's suddenly stern, angry looking. He grabs my arm and pulls me round to face him. "I'm fucking you here."

He pushes me onto the kitchen table. I flail an arm as I land on the table, knocking the bowl of cereal and milk asunder. The spoon clatters to the floor and I listen to it reverberate on the floor as it rocks till it finds balance. He pulls my shorts off. He jabs at my pussy thoughtlessly. Just fingers fumbling about like a fucking idiot.

"Hey," I say to him. "Take a minute. Figure it out. It can feel good for me if you try to find my clit."

His whole body stiffens. He growls at me. "I'm going to fuck you how I wanna fuck you." A deep breath. "MOM!"

This is a terrible fucking idea. I want out, but I feel like I'm sort of stuck. I started it. Gotta finish it. Maybe?

He levels my hips to the end of the table, spreads me. Again, his fucking fingers. He's ham handed at everything this little shit. I reach down, take his hands with mine. He snarls, but he doesn't pull back. I lead his index finger to my clit, rub it up and down. Circle my vagina. I'm guiding every movement, so I know what I like. I don't moan deliberately, but it happens.