This was absolutely the last straw. The last couple of times Billy got
beaten up at his junior high school, there was really not much I could do.
Children can be awfully cruel, and aside from advising him to stay out of
the troublemakers’ way (and failing that, try to reason with his harassers),
I had to accept that this is part of a boy’s growing up experience. The last
time, I suggested that we report the incident to the school authorities, but
Billy objected, not wanting to come across as some wimp. In a way, he was
right ‘ I didn’t want to seem too protective, as let’s face it…down deep,
it’s important for a male to retain and develop his macho side. If only
Billy had a father…I certainly don’t feel comfortable in dealing with this
sort of rough stuff, and I’m not the best person when it comes to
confrontations either. However, when Billy came home this afternoon,
crying, and with a bloody nose, I knew I had to take some sort of action. I discovered it was the same kid who kept picking on Billy ‘ some fat kid
named Martin. Short of reporting this matter to the school, I told Billy
that at least we can go to Martin’s parents to sort things out. Billy didn’
t want to hear about it…he thought, maybe he can take some martial arts
class. Well! There’s a difference between preventing one’s child from
appearing weak, and actively promoting his engaging in barbaric violence.
My son had to learn the lesson that his brain needed to come into play when
he encountered difficulties in life. I put my foot down, and Billy had no
choice but to accept my decision, although he was whimpering about it. I
wish he didn’t whimper so much. Fortunately, Billy knew Martin’s address, and it was within walking distance
from our house. It was a beautiful, unseasonably warm spring day, really
too hot to wear a jacket. I left mine home, but I made Billy wear his, and
he even complained about that. He started fidgeting as I rang the bell of
Martin’s house. The door swung open, and my heart sank a little when I noticed the woman
wasn’t wearing the friendliest expression. (Did she think we were
soliciting something? I had a little boy with me, for goodness’ sake.) She
had curly hair and was sort of overweight, roughly the same age as me, in
her mid-thirties. She was a couple of inches shorter than I, so that
boosted my confidence a little. At least I could look down on her a bit, and
perhaps intimidate her on a subconscious level. Naturally, I would have to
do something about what people tell me is my perpetually innocent and
friendly appearance ‘ I’m often told I look like Meg Ryan (except I have
long hair). Well, I’m not going to put on an act here, I’m just going to be
myself. Maybe my friendliness will soften this woman up; assuming, that is,
if she poses any problem at all. There was an uncomfortable silence, as she maintained her ‘What the heck do
you want?’ facial grimace, so I went first. ‘Hello, my name is Alisha Wintergreen, and I’m the mother of Billy, here.
Are you Martin’s mother?’ ‘Yeah,’ she answered, rather monosyllablically. I guess it was my turn,
again. ‘Well, you see, Martin seems to have gotten into the habit of, uhmm,
bothering Billy, and I wondered if I could speak to you about that.’ ‘You mean they get into fights? That’s what boys do, right? What’s the
problem?’ ‘They don’t exactly get into fights…Billy doesn’t want to fight your son.’ At this point, Martin’s mother diverted her attention to Billy. ‘Are you
saying that Martin starts these fights? What’s the matter, you can’t protect
yourself? You have to run home to mommy?’ ‘Please, Ms., Ms., uhmm… I’m sorry, what’s your name?’ ‘Mrs. Roche. Look, there isn’t much that I can do. Boys will be boys,
right?’ ‘No, Mrs. Roche, there is such a thing as parental supervision. I’m not
going to allow your son to keep beating up Billy. Now, I need your help on
this, otherwise I’m going to have to go to the school.’ I noticed Mrs. Roche
‘s eyes lighting up. Of course, her little troublemaking pig of a son was
probably one step away from suspension. She seemed to shoot swords at me
with her eyes as she responded. ‘All right. Why don’t you come in. I’ll get Martin.’ As the door closed behind us, I couldn’t believe the clutter in the living
room. Hadn’t this woman ever heard of a vacuum cleaner? Especially since she
seems to be a housewife. I mean, I not only work full time at the
Department of Social Services, but I find time to clean, and cook for Billy
and myself….oh! The floor seems to be shaking. It’s Martin, running down
the stairs, landing on each step like some woolly mammoth. So there he is. I
wouldn’t call him totally obese, but he’s definitely got some meat on him.
A shameful double chin for a child his age. He definitely looks like he can
get the better of Billy, the little monster. ‘What the fuck are you doing in my home, faggot?’ Oh! I can’t believe this language! I couldn’t help making an audible gasp,
and I look toward Mrs. Roche, but all she has is a hint of an amused smile.
I see it is up to me. ‘Martin, that’s not a very nice thing to say. I’m Billy’s mother, and…’ ‘Hee-e-y! Nice tits on mommy, Billy Jean!’ ‘Mrs. Roche!’ This time she had better straighten her disgusting brat out!! ‘Watch your mouth, Marty,’ Mrs. Roche finally volunteers. Couldn’t she at
least lose that trace of a smile? I look at her, maybe a little too
pleadingly, to admonish Martin, but not another word is coming out of her.
Is setting Martin on the correct path supposed to be my job? ‘Now, listen to me, Martin. It’s not right…it’s not very courageous to
pick fights with kids who are smaller than you.’ ‘Aww, I’m not doin’ nothin’! He’s always comin’ up to me, tryin’ to show how
tough he is. I’m just protecting myself, that’s all.’ ‘Mom!’ Billy exclaims, as he starts to speak. ‘That’s not true!’ ‘Oh, I see,’ Mrs. Roche declares, with an irritating anger to her voice. ‘It
‘s your son who’s the real bully.’
I turn to Mrs. Roche to attempt to explain the preposterousness of the
allegation, but I’m interrupted by Martin, who has pugnaciously stepped up
to my son. ‘You callin’ me a liar, faggot?’ I can’t believe how amazingly fast this
peanut M&M shaped excuse for a human being could move, but before I knew it,
he knocked my little Billy down on the floor, and wrapped his beefy arm
around his throat. Billy was choking! I implored to Mrs. Roche to do something, and she only mildly looked
concerned. She mumbled something to the effect that perhaps it was time for
Billy to get his comeuppance, after causing so much trouble for his sweet
little boy. Unbelievable! I had to step in to separate this…this creature
who makes ‘Pugsley’ from The Addams Family look like an angel, before he
could do any serious damage. I grabbed the pig by his soft upper arms, telling him to stop. Suddenly, I
felt Mrs. Roche do the same with me, coming up from behind, and yelling at
me to leave his boy alone. How dare she! I instinctively reached back to
push her away, but my hand caught on her shirt, and I heard a very irksome
tearing sound. I turned around, relaxing my grip on Martin, only to see Mrs. Roche aghast ‘
one side of her shirt was ripped halfway down, not helped by the top buttons
that were also pried loose. (My goodness, was the fabric that shoddy? It
seemed as though I barely touched her.) And the worst part of it was ‘
although it was hard to tell, as she was doing an excellent job of covering
up ‘ she wasn’t wearing a bra! I think I turned redder than she was! ‘Oh! Oh, Mrs. Roche, I am so sorry…it was an accident, please forgive…’ Mrs. Roche didn’t waste any time in tucking the ripped part inside her
shirt. It was a halfway measure, at best; seemed to me like the slightest
movement might bring the torn flap down, exposing what was underneath. But
her mind seemed to be on other things. She was upon me, grabbing me by the
hair, pulling my head back and straightening me from my crouched position. ‘You BITCH!’ she said, with a venom that frightened me. Before I knew it, she spun me around, and punched me in the face. She
punched me in the face! I had never been punched in the face…I had never
been punched anywhere with such force! My knees buckled on me immediately,
and I felt myself landing on my buttocks, then on my back. ‘Mom!’ Billy called to me. Out of the corner of my eye…and barely through
the spinning stars that were dancing in the middle, I noticed Martin
viciously grabbing Billy by the back of the head, and slamming his face onto
the floor. Then, perhaps causing even more damage, the creepy walrus-child
sat on Billy’s back. Billy did not ‘ could not ‘ raise his head. This was
getting serious. Somehow, I had to get myself and my son out of this
horrible house. I felt Mrs. Roche grabbing me by the front of my shirt, and lifting me up.
I forced myself to begin to come to, so I was actually helping her to get me
back on my feet. As soon as she became aware of my struggling, she grabbed
at the base of my shirt, tugged at it fiercely, and raised my shirt over my
head. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. What a ridiculous spectacle I must have looked like,
with my arms standing straight out, my shirt flipped inside out, covering my
head and trapping my arms within. What was worse, my upper body was
exposed. My god, two little boys ‘ one of them my own, my own! ‘ were able
to see me in my brassiere! ‘Mrs. Roche! Mrs. Roche, please stop this, stop it this instan…OHHHH!!’ I
was down on the ground again, landing on my buttocks, sitting up with the
wind knocked out of me. The pain in my face was quickly supplanted by the
pain in my belly. Mrs. Roche had punched me in the stomach. With one swift motion, Mrs. Roche removed the shirt that had pinned my arms.
For a moment, I was grateful, as the immobility added to my helplessness,
and it was good to have the use of my arms back again. However, their use
was quickly taken up by the need to cover my chest, as I couldn’t let the
children see me in my half-naked state. For a moment, I made quick eye
contact with Billy ‘ his head was up, thank goodness, so he wasn’t seriously
hurt ‘ but he was staring at me in sheer horror. A quick glance above him
revealed that pig of a boy with an ugly leer on his face. I turned my
attention to the pig’s mother, looking up at her, standing triumphantly
above me. ‘Mrs. Roche, have you lost your mind? What do you think you’re doing?’ ‘You come into my home with your ugly, troublemaking son, you come with your
snotty attitude, and then you attack Martin, and then me? I’m going to teach
you a lesson you’ll never forget!’ The…the nerve! Does she really believe all of that, or…or… I mean, is
there any reasoning with her? And what is this about a ‘lesson’? ‘Mrs. Roche, I’m sorry that I tore your shirt,’ I explained. I couldn’t
help looking at her torn shirt, which I guess she bought someplace like
K-Mart, and it was amazing that the flap was still up. Of course, maybe it
came down, and she put it back up again. ‘It was an accident, and I’ll be
glad to pay for it. Just hand me my shirt, and…and I just want to leave
with my son. And my son is not ugly!’ ‘Let’s just call it even with the shirts. You already paid for my shirt with
your own.’ ‘Mrs. Roche, my shirt won’t even fit you…I mean! Now, stop this nonsense,
or I’m going to call the police!’ ‘Maybe I should call the police and have you arrested, you bitch!’ Suddenly, I heard a slamming sound. I turned to see Martin’s gleeful face,
as he solidly remained sitting on poor Billy’s back, having slammed Billy’s
face onto the floor again. Martin lifted Billy’s dazed head, and I noticed
blood dripping down his nose. I’m a very kind and patient person, and I’m very slow to anger, but I could
feel myself growing more furious. The only way out of this situation was to
stand up, grab Billy, and get out. The only obstacle before me was Mrs.
Roche, of course. Her, and Martin, but I’m sure I could handle him easily
enough…after all, he’s just a kid. (A kid whose buttocks I’d love to
kick, I’m a little ashamed to admit.) No, all I had to really worry about
was Mrs. Roche. I may not be that athletic, but I have a good two or three
inches on her, so if I can just knock her down, that’s all that may be
necessary. Of course, that will mean having to remove my hands from my
chest, exposing the uppermost part of my breasts to the children…they’re
probably going to see some jiggling, damn it!..but I don’t see any other
way. I felt like a jungle cat, springing onto Mrs. Roche’s legs in front of me.
I quickly wrapped my arms around those legs which were, unfortunately,
spread a little wide apart. I didn’t think that would be a problem: all I
needed to do was apply some force, squeeze those legs together, have her
lose her footing, and cause her to tumble back. The plan, however, wasn’t
working; I was using all my might ‘ and, embarrassingly, I was grunting like
a little girl ‘ and those feet remained heavily on the ground. I could hear
Martin giggling…or was he snorting?…to the side. Mrs. Roche grabbed my hair, and easily pulled me up on my feet. My god, was
I that weak? For a moment, we looked at each other. She looked very smug and
confident, and there was a scary no-nonsense air to her. She turned me
around like a rag doll, and pulled an arm up from behind my back, forcing me
to bend at the waist. I sensed this position revealed the jiggling,
uppermost part of my breasts to Martin, and…and Billy, and I quickly used
my free arm to cover up. Mrs. Roche wasn’t keeping her free arm idle, either. Her other hand came
from behind my waist, and she began to undo the buttons of my jeans. My
jeans? What is this crazy woman doing?? ‘Mrs. Roche, what do you think you’re doing? Let me go, please, let
me…OHHHH!’ Before I realized what was happening, once again, I was thrown
to the floor, flat on my back. Mrs. Roche had succeeded in undoing the
buttons of my jeans and fly. I suppose she figured the jeans were too tight
to simply slide down from a standing position, so she grabbed my legs and
feet, and started removing my tennis shoes. I couldn’t believe this! When I
started to struggle, she stepped on my upper arms to pin me in place. Then
she pulled away my socks, exposing my…my bare feet to the boys! My naked
toes, for goodness’ sake! Why would she do that, it didn’t make any sense,
and I felt like I wanted to cry. I couldn’t cry, of course, I had to provide
Billy with a sign of strength, but strength is one thing I just didn’t have
with this woman…at least bodily strength. Mrs. Roche then started to pull my jeans up. They were tight, and it was
slow going, and she alternately tugged the right side, then the left. She
was stripping me. My heart felt like it was going to stop. Oh, how could
she do this, in front of two young boys, one of them my son…my son! The
jeans were so tight, they were taking my panties along, and the realization
of that snapped me back to reality. I managed to free one of my pinned
arms…perhaps I stumbled onto a flow of adrenaline to give me the much
needed strength…and grabbed my panties. As the waistband of my jeans
travelled up to my knees, in my humiliating and nearly upside-down position,
I knew it would be just a matter of moments before the pants would fully
come off. I hoped this would give me enough time to reposition my panties
back in place, as they slid halfway down as well. I hoped the boys didn’t
see any of my secrets, but it all happened so fast, and…ohh! I don’t even
want to think about it. Mrs. Roche released my legs, and there I was, helplessly lying on the floor
in my bra and panties. I was embarrassed beyond belief. At least, I
rationalized to myself, it was like wearing a bikini at the beach, so it
wasn’t that bad….but I was only fooling myself, as it was that bad. I was
exposed to everyone in my intimate underwear, for god’s sake. I dared to
sneak a peek at the boys, and my brain felt like coming to a halt. Martin
had removed Billy’s shirt, and Billy was crying. Did Martin actually think
he was going to do to my son what his mother was doing to me? I…I had to
do something, but what? I looked up at the victorious Mrs. Roche, and was in
for another shock. The action had caused her torn flap to come down, and
there it was…visible to all, her sagging, fat breast. I was appalled! Was
she wearing her nakedness as a sick badge of honor? But, no, when she caught
me staring, she quickly redid the flap. I think she was even upset that I
caught her in a nude state. ‘M-Mrs. Roche, please listen to me. Don’t…don’t you think this has gone
far enough? Please, before you get in any more trouble, I beg you…’ ‘Before I get in any trouble? You stupid bitch, you really don’t get it, do
you?’ At that, Mrs. Roche stood me up again….oh, how strong she was….sat down,
and laid me across her lap, face-down. She started to spank me! She was
spanking me, fast and hard!! ‘Oh, Mrs. Roche, no, you can’t…OWWW….no,
please….OHHHHH…p-please…NOOOO….’ I lifted my head to check the boys…maybe…maybe they weren’t aware of
what was happening. Am I serious? How could they not know what was
happening? Billy was naked to his underpants, and he seemed paralyzed,
cowering in fear and shock. I had only momentary eye contact with him, as I
didn’t want him to study my face; I was very close to crying, and I didn’t
want him to see me cry. At least Mrs. Roche had the decency not to strip me
any further…after this horrible humiliation, she probably would let us go.
After all, this situation couldn’t possibly get any more humiliating. It
couldn’t! Here I am, an authority figure to my boy, getting spanked in front
of him. Getting spanked with my buttocks and breasts swinging this way and
that in a most feminine manner, covered by thin fabric that leaves little to
the imagination. Then I noticed a most troubling sight, after becoming aware that Martin was
no longer by my boy’s side. He was carrying Billy’s clothing, and was
picking up my socks, pants and the rest of it. What was he going to do with
them? Mrs. Roche wasn’t letting up, and my buttocks felt like it was on fire. My
god, how could her hand stand the pain? My eyes were filled with wetness,
and it felt like I was only seconds away from bawling like a three-year-old.
But I cannot! I must not… Then Mrs. Roche spoke. ‘Here, Marty, take this, too.’ I don’t think my eyes could have opened wider in disbelief as she unclasped
my brassiere, and let it fall down my arms. I had the presence of mind to
keep it from falling all the way off, but the damage was done. I could hide
them from view partially, but my breasts were bare. Martin, that little
monster, grabbed my bra, and after a brief tug-of-war, succeeded in claiming
his prize. Then he had the audacity ‘ the audacity! ‘ to reach in with his
two pudgy, fat hands, and squeezed my nipples in between his fingers. ‘Yo, man, I told you, faggot…mommy’s got a great set of tits, man!’ I heard Billy start to cry, and I could no longer restrain myself…I just
began to lose it. Mrs. Roche began to chuckle, and Martin joined her
beastly mother by snorting his amusement. Then he left the room with our
clothing, effectively ending our chances to make a break for it, imprisoning
us even further. I hated myself for breaking down this way. The physical
pain on my butt was growing more unbearable, but it was the anguish I was
feeling inside that was causing my crying fit. That meant one more victory
for Mrs. Roche…a victory on a more profound level. Suddenly, I sensed a flash of light that caused my crying to immediately
halt. I turned my head to see Martin with a camera…he was photographing
me. He was photographing me! It couldn’t be possible, this was almost like a
surreal state, but there he was, getting that Kodak moment. Fortunately, I
was able to cover my breasts, and ‘ thank god ‘ still had my panties on,
but he was taking pictures of me, getting spanked over his mother’s
knee…as if I were his sister or something!…an image they could enjoy
forever! It…it wasn’t fair! I started crying, even louder than ever, but
I was able to get some words out to express my indignation! ‘M-Mrs. R-Roche…OHHHH….I-I-I de-demand….OWWWWW….that-that y-you
st-st … OOHHHH…stop this! Stop this!!’ ‘Oh, shut up. You deserve everything that you’re getting. But, you
know…my hand is starting to hurt.’ Martin put down his camera. ‘Let me do it, Mom.’ ‘NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I AM NOT LETTING HIM N-NEAR ME! Do…DO YOU H-HEAR
M….OOOOOOWWWWWWWW!!!’ ‘Only I don’t want my hand to hurt, Mom. Can I grab the ping pong paddle
from the basement?’ ‘Sure, honey, go ahead. Ooof…I need to take a break. It’s hard work to
hammer this fat ass.’ As Martin left to grab the paddle, and I lay there on Mrs. Roche’s lap,
quietly sobbing…it was good that the spanking stopped, because I don’t
think I could have taken much more (even though I wished Mrs. Roche didn’t
keep her hand on my butt, quietly petting and stroking it, although that was
much better than the alternative)… I had a chance to reflect on this
unbelievable situation. First, I really had no choice in the matter but to
accept this punishment, as I was no match for Mrs. Roche. The anathema of
letting that porky bastard child lay his hands on me was overwhelming, but
what could I do? Secondly, during this brief respite, my heart sank with the
discovery that I was actually wet. I was wet! I mean, really wet! It’s the
kind of protective wetness that a woman gets, I’m sure, when she’s up
against a rapist, and the wetness does not develop because she’s enjoying
the experience. That, however, is not what these two are going to think,
and I can only thank Mrs. Roche, crazily enough, for allowing me to keep my
panties. Lastly, the other thing I couldn’t help reflecting on was Mrs.
Roche’s cruel ‘fat ass’ comment. I’ve been told repeatedly that I have a
very nice rear end, and that was totally uncalled for. Martin returned, sat on the adjacent couch (after removing all the junk that
was on it. If their basement is anything like their living room, it’s a
wonder how he could have found that ping pong paddle), and Mrs. Roche
slapped me hard on my buttocks as a sign to get off her lap. I was
instructed to lie across Martin’s lap, or whatever passed for a lap. He
actually sat up against the back of the couch, and I lay across his
outstretched legs. As I took my position, the moment that I dreaded took
place. Martin sunk his fingers around the edge of my panties…it took him
a while to fit them in there, and he indelicately slid my panties off. He
let his grimy hands linger on the burning cheeks of my buttocks. In a
mind-altering way, I was almost grateful for the momentary contact, as the
coldness of the little bastard’s hands felt good on my cheeks. What was I
doing during this latest, and last unveiling? I lay upon his cushiony legs,
quietly whimpering. Whimpering, oh my god, like Billy! I hate it when Billy
whimpers, and here he’s witnessing his mother totally wimping out. I should
at least object to my tormentors, why aren’t I objecting? After all, they
undressed me completely, and I was totally naked. Totally naked! But what’s
the use? There’s nothing I can do… The paddling began with an unimaginable furor. My god, my god, this child
was strong! It wasn’t long before I started wailing again. A grown woman,
crying like a child, on a child’s lap. Oh, it’s sickening. He was really
letting me have it, he was putting everything into it! My buttocks were
already tenderized earlier, oh, oh, I don’t think I can take any more, I
really, really can’t! I sense Mrs. Rogue getting up and taking more
pictures, but I really don’t care. All I can concentrate on is the ravaging
of my ass! My naked ass that Mrs. Roche has seen, her son Martin has seen
and touched, and…oh my god, even my son has seen. My son has seen my
naked ass! Mrs. Roche has called Billy to sit on her lap. Sitting on the couch that’s
adjacent at a right angle to mine, Billy has a perfect view of my ass. I try
to keep my legs together, but with each pounding blow, my legs inadvertently
spring open, giving my little boy a view of more than just my ass. Oh, this
is just too much, too much. The ever-increasing pain, Billy’s visual
intimacy with my private parts, and the embarrassing fluids I sense are
rapidly flowing out onto Martin’s ‘lap.’ I turn my head around briefly to see what is happening between Mrs. Roche
and my son, and I notice that his shorts have been removed, and Mrs. Roche
is stroking his…stroking his….oh, oh, oh, nooooo! What’s almost as
worse, she has allowed the torn half of her shirt to fall, exposing her
breast, and she’s holding Billy by the back of his head with her other hand
so that he…he’s sucking on it! For one stomach-sinking moment, I make eye
contact with my beautiful Billy, I see his sad, tearful face, and there is
such poignancy, I quickly turn my head away, letting it drop onto the couch
in utter defeat and resignation. As my nude toes increasingly quiver with
each pounding, seemingly impossible-to-take blow on my nude buttocks, my
mind races with the thought that my relationship with my son can never be
the same again. How can these people do this to me, and to Billy? And how
can I stop this…this punishment before my behind turns into mashed
potatoes? ‘Martin….ohhhhh….please…please….ohhhhh….please stop. Ohhhh….I
can’t….I can’t…ohhhhh…I can’t TAKE it … ohhhh!! Anymore! I CAN’T
TAKE IT…OHHHH!!…ANYMORE!’ The next voice was Mrs. Roche’s. ‘Maybe you should ask her what she’ll do if
you stop, Marty.’ ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Martin answered. ‘What are you gonna do if I stop, old
lady?’ With that, he laid a particularly brutal whack on my poor, helpless
buttocks. ‘OOOOWWWWWWW!’ I cried. Exactly what was he referring to? He
couldn’t be thinking about….no, he couldn’t! He wasn’t actually thinking
about some sort of sexual favor, was he? I mean, there wasn’t any way on
this green earth that I would ever do such a thing, on an underaged boy,
yet. They’ve degraded me so far, and I don’t care if they kill me, but I
have to draw the line somewhe… ‘AAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!!’ His blows were getting harder and harder! Oh, my
god, where does he find the energy? What’s worse, I suddenly became aware
that Martin had let his free hand roam onto my breast, feeling free to touch
it and to squeeze it in a rather brazen manner. ‘Get her to suck your thing, Marty.’ Mrs. Roche helpfully offered. ‘What,
you mean my cock?’ Martin replied. It was a good thing he took the time to
answer, because it took his mind off the next paddling. My buttocks couldn’
t take one more hit, it was so sensitive, so tingly, so…so…
‘Watch your language, understand?’ Mrs. Roche responsibly warned her son. ‘Mrs. R-Roche…you honestly don’t expect me to…to perform oral sex on
your s-son, do you, I’m sor-sorry, b-but I c-can’t…I can’t,’ I tried to
explain between my sobs. ‘Oh,oh,oh,ohhhhhhh!!’ The little monster must have
put the paddle down, as I felt his filthy hand on my vagina! I didn’t
realize how sopping wet it was back there, and for an instant, a great shame
overtook me. Quickly, however, my mind went to the matter at hand, and hand
was the key word here, as he actually inserted some of that chubbiness well
within, and he started moving it around ‘ actually sloshing it around in
there. Even though he probably didn’t know what he was doing, it was
incredibly stimulating, especially as the after-effects of all that
posterior pain! I’m afraid that his beginning to painfully squeeze my nipple
with his other hand ‘ actually digging his dirty fingernails into my poor
nipple ‘ actually aided my turned on condition. When I heard some
ejaculating sounds behind me, along with Billy’s unmistakable sounds of
orgasm, I couldn’t handle it any longer. I started bucking like a horse in
heat. God, when was the last time I had an orgasm? A very long time, that’s
for sure. And I don’t think I’ve ever had one as powerful as that! Along
with my tears and vaginal fluids, my whole body began to perspire profusely,
as the monster was building me up to a second, and potentially more powerful
orgasm. All over, I was one wet dish rag! ‘Since I helped your little girl come, you should do the same with my little
boy, you tramp,’ Mrs. Roche suggested. She was calling me ‘ me, of all
people! ‘ a tramp, probably heartened by my embarrassingly unrepressed
sexual motions. As I was on the verge of possibly getting the most
devastating orgasm of my life, Martin began the spanking again, more
furiously than ever. My legs sprang wide open with the shock, and they knew
I was at the end of my rope. My legs were so wide now, I’m sure Billy saw
everything. He..saw…everything. Not that I really had the presence of mind to reflect on the matter, as my
mind was mostly in a half-primal state dealing with the unbearable pain, but
I wondered why I opened my legs as widely as I did, and just kept them that
way. I mean, I was making a very lewd and obscene exhibition for my two
spectators. I’m sure my vaginal lips could clearly be seen, along with an
inordinate amount of glistening and sticky sexual liquids. On one hand, I
suppose it was a display for Mrs. Roche, clearly indicating my growing
submissiveness. What better way to show that she has succeeded in her
for-the-moment ownership of me than to present my most intimate wares, as if
my vagina were hers to do with whatever she wished? (Figuratively, of
course.) Perhaps she would have less reason to hold onto my boy and myself
upon convincing herself that she really has won our encounter so absolutely.
On a deeper level ‘ a level that I did not want to admit ‘ perhaps my main
reason is that I wanted Billy to view his mother as a sexual entity. It’s a
calamitous way of thinking, and I can’t believe that I, of all people, would
be thinking this way, but it’s almost as if layers of my soul have been
stripped, along with my clothing. At the moment, I was little more than an
animal. And in this raw and primitive state, maybe a small part of me wanted
to show off to my son, to show that his mother is a woman, a sexual being as
well! As long as I can no longer hide from him, let him enjoy himself, is
perhaps what I was thinking, along with exercising a certain pride that my
‘goodies’ are of quite a prime and beautiful variety. On one hand, I feel
like vomiting for even thinking this way, with my own son, for goodness’
sake; but on the other, I’m surrendering to the impulses deep within, and it
‘s bringing me even more perverse pleasure. I was beaten, and they knew it. The next thing I knew, I was on my knees in
front of Martin, now sitting up on the couch, and I had his thing in my
mouth. His plump little disgusting thing. I was never good at fellatio, but
I was putting my heart into it, hoping that they would let us go as soon as
the fat little squirt squirted away. He was a surprisingly resilient rascal,
as I would have imagined a boy his age would have come as soon as a pair of
feminine lips was within target range. He was holding back long enough for
his mother to grab their camcorder, and she recorded the whole activity ‘
preserving the whole episode of my having sex with a minor. As soon as I
realized I was becoming more entangled in their web of depravity, my vagina
got uncomfortably wet, and I was honestly hoping for some sort of relief.
Although certainly not from these two; I was praying it wouldn’t be from
these two! I would not be able to stand degrading myself further. But if
not from these two, then from whom? I didn’t know what I was thinking
anymore… Oh, god, when was it going to end? Not only could I chance getting another
beating from Mrs. Roche and her spooky son ‘ I’m sure my ass was totally
purple by now ‘ but they also (damn them!) had these incriminating pictures.
Whatever they forced me to do, so far I’ve had to do. My only hope was that
they’d have to let us go before the husband came home from work,
unless…unless the family was so sick, they’d have no reason to keep this
from him. And I’ll be damned before they share me with another individual!
After all I’m very particular with whomever sees me naked, let alone with
whom I have sex. If push came to shove, however, and it makes me choke to
even think this, what choice would I really have? Right now, Martin has me spread-eagled on their dirty carpet, my wrists and
ankles bound, and thanks to a suggestion from his witch of a mother, has
borrowed his father’s necktie clips to put on my nipples. The pain is
excruciating. He is threatening to place a third tie clip on my clitoris
(thanks to parental instructions…I’m sure he never knew what a clitoris
was. At my expense, he is certainly getting a first class female anatomical
lesson), which leads to my shamefully begging and pleading with him, a mere
child who has incredibly become my momentary master. When he asks whether I
‘d rather have him suck me down there instead, what could I say? Once again,
the monster gets what he wants, and as he’s disgustingly slurping and
licking my clitoris and vagina with his sloppy tongue, he begins to slowly
drive me out of my mind. To my side, I notice Mrs. Roche has put some cheap
wig on Billy’s head, has applied lipstick and mascara, and is now painting
his nails. She has finished with his fingers, and is now moving on to his
toes. She has imprisoned his little penis and testicles, stringing
everything together in a Madame Butterfly sort of feminine genitalia
environment. I’m worried about my poor boy, he has a blank look on his
face, and I can overhear Mrs. Roche brainwashing him with talk about how he
needs to be a man, and the best way to do that is to have intercourse with a
woman. She had better not take his virginity away, if she’s planning to be
that woman! And she must be planning to be that woman, because what other
woman is there? She has already damaged his innocence, and I curse myself
for allowing this horror to go so far. Suddenly, the fat little pig has crawled on top of me, and is trying to
stick his tongue down my mouth. I resist this foul intrusion, but he makes a
threat he knows I cannot ignore, and before I know it, I’m passionately
french-kissing this amphibian-looking thirteen or fourteen-year-old. Truly,
I feel like I’m kissing some frog-thing! It’s not long before he sticks his
stubby thing inside me, as deep as it can go. Now I’m doing my best to block out what’s happening to me. It’s one thing
to be stripped totally bare down to my toes, with my breasts, nipples,
behind, pubic hair ‘ everything! ‘ everything out in view, and it’s another
to be tortured, and used sexually to some extent. But now my most precious
haven has been invaded. Invaded by a loathsome boy who probably has never
tasted the pleasures of a woman…no less such a prized, above-average woman
as myself. My insides begin to coil as I think about this. And, oh! I just
became aware that as I’m sprawled helplessly on my back with the blubbery
cretin rocking back and forth on top of me, with that self-satisfied grin
just inches away, is my little boy watching this? Watching his naked mother,
with her breasts out in the open and swaying pruriently to and fro, having
intercourse with the one boy who has caused him so much grief? I cannot
resist turning my head to see if Billy has indeed taken notice. I wish I
hadn’t! Mrs. Roche has made him sit on her lap, wearing his freshly painted
finger and toenails, and is forcing him to watch his mother ‘ oh, my god,
his mother having her precious vagina penetrated and, in effect, claimed by
my boy’s worst enemy! I feel like I’m in another world as our eyes meet, and
I notice his stupefied expression. I also notice that in that cheap, blond
wig, aided by the make-up, he looks a little like me. I feel like I’m
looking at a version of myself, I feel like I’m looking in through some
Twilight Zone-like mirror! Suddenly, I get immensely turned on, and I
abruptly look away in shame. The little monster speeds up his rocking back and forth, and I bite my lip
trying not to come ‘ I am not going to give him that satisfaction! ‘ but I’m
so very, very juiced up. I try to divert my thoughts by thinking of
something repulsive, such as ‘ oh, my god. What if Martin shoots his sperm
inside of me? Since I’ve been on a sexual vacation for so long, I’m
certainly not on the pill or anything, and what if I get pregnant? Pregnant
with the baby of this nauseating sub-human debris? Strangely, the repugnance
of this thought turns me on even more, but…why? Soon, I have to accept
that it’s a lost cause, and I start bucking like a wild filly again,
accompanied by guttural screams of ecstasy. (Oh, my god…just before I
entered this mind-blowing state, did I say, beneath my breath but loud
enough for eveyone to hear, things like,
‘Yes…yes…Martin…more…please…’? No, of course not! I couldn’t
have…) As my incredibly intense orgasm ebbs, and I quietly accept Martin’s
snorting sounds that I know are accompanied by his shooting his fluids into
my womb ‘ fluids with exceptionally virile sperm that a young boy of his age
can produce ‘ I turn my head to the side to see Mrs. Roche performing her
camerawoman duties faithfully. Damn her! Damn her to Hell!! Oh, how long can this torture continue? They now have me bent at the waist
over a table, my arms outstretched and bound from underneath the tabletop,
my legs strapped to the table’s legs. They have tied poor Billy down at the
other end similarly, although his legs are just dangling off the edge. His
made up, now-girlish face is within touching distance of mine, and we stare
into each other’s eyes sadly. Mrs. Roche has applied lubrication to my
asshole, sticking her finger deep inside ‘ oh, the intrusion! ‘ and has done
the same with Billy. She forces dildos down our holes, and poor Billy is
grimacing particularly in pain. She turns them on, and we are both in for
new sensations, mother and son. Martin gleefully joins Mrs. Roche, and they
start beating our asses with coat hangers. I haven’t had too much of a
break since my last beating, and the pain is unbearable. She orders us to
start tongueing each other. Does Mrs. Roche seriously expect me to have sex
with my own son? I’m sorry, but this is where I definitely draw the line! I
am not going to allow her to corrupt me or my son any longe…ohhhhhhh!! Mrs. Roche begins to tell me she always needed an easy ‘make money from
home’ sort of scheme, suitable for a housewife, and tells me she has found
it. As she and her monstrous son continue to whack our defenseless and
totally naked asses, she tells me I’m going to make a lot of money for her.
For starters, once I’m off this table, I’m going to sign releases from her
husband’s hard-core magazines, and attempt to sell nude pictures of me. Nude
pictures with my legs spread open, she emphasizes. Is she serious? There is
no way I will do that, doesn’t she realize? I mean, what if someone from the
Department of Social Services saw such pictures? It could ruin me! What if
my parents saw…no! What if my ex-husband came upon them? He could have me
declared as an unfit mother, and have Billy taken…oh, my god, she’s really
letting loose with that coat hanger now. My tears are flowing freely, and
poor Billy is beginning to scream, millimeters from my face! What do I tell
him, how do I soothe him? I think I hear Mrs. Roche tell me that she also
expects me to walk the streets after work, and that I’ll have to surrender
my paycheck to her, and she will have to manage my rent and general
financial situation. The woman must be out of her mind, how long does she
expect this sort of slavery to…oh, oh, ohhh! Oh, my god, I have truly reached the limits of my endurance. I think she is
using both hands to swing that hanger with, and I’m beginning to scream
openly. Billy’s mascara is running down with his tears, and he’s looking
beseechingly into my eyes. He has opened his mouth, and is twirling his
tongue, expecting an invitation into my mouth. I…I…I can’
t….but…what can I do? I have to save my child from this terrifying pain.
And I have to save myself. too. I open my mouth, and our lips lock, one
onto the other’s. Our tongues perform a nervous flamenco within, and Mrs.
Roche graciously brings the blows to a halt. I relax for a minute, and I
become engulfed with the notion that I’m kissing a version of myself, and I’
m excited that I’ve branched out into some weird lesbian territory. (Me, a
lesbian? Oh, that’s too ridiculous…) I open my eyes, and the reality
overtakes me that I am sexually kissing my little boy. Oh, oh! He has opened
his eyes as well, and we communicate our desire ‘ he appears to be extremely
turned on, and, at the moment, I find I cannot get enough of kissing him.
Perversely, the wetness overcomes me, and Mrs. Roche’s despicable hand finds
its way down there, just underneath the humming from deep within my ass, and
begins the stroking ritual. Oh, damn her! As I begin my wanton, up-and-down
bucking motion, I become painfully aware of how much I hate her!