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Message-ID: <42247asstr$1051981806@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: thedisciplen@yahoo.com (DiscipleN)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 3 May 2003 14:50:59 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} A River in Egypt (F/F,F/f, F/m, incest)
Date: Sat,  3 May 2003 13:10:06 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

A River in Egypt
by DiscipleN
Copyright (c) 2003, by DiscipleN. All rights reserved.


Why would a mature woman find pleasure in resisting her desires? I ask
myself that question about three times a day, and usually my family
has to suffer the answer. I know I am not normal. No responsible
mother would risk her children's future sexuality simply to resolve
emotional troubles that have haunted her since her own childhood.

My mother drank because my father liked to fuck drunk women. They
would carouse the night away while I was tucked into bed or, on a
better planned night, given a baby-sitter. Sometimes more than the two
of them would return, filling their bedroom with a stranger's
laughter. Once, when I was ten, they returned with the baby-sitter's
face glued between my legs. They laughed a lot over that one. I think
my father fucked the baby sitter, while my mother rested on a couch
arm and gave me the strangest look. I didn't like the baby-sitter, I
told her. Her only response was to lift her skirt up, she never wore
underwear, and told me not to judge in ignorance. Her eyes swirled
with alcohol inspired lust. The next day, she and dad refused to admit
anything had happened with the baby-sitter. They went to great lengths
to assure me they hadn't hired that particular girl in over a month.

I grew older, and my parents' open sexuality grew less oppressive. Was
it just me beginning to grasp adult feelings for the first time, or
did they actually change their ways? Mom still drank, a lot. Dad took
her out less often, but he went out more often. Their marriage kept
degrading until I remember thinking when mom and dad had sex, it was
like their fuse had blown, only the bed made a noise. I remember
coming home one afternoon to find my mother slumped over the kitchen
table, drooling the worst smelling phlegm upstream of a gutter drunk.
She mumbled.

"Rat bastard and yer young girls... I oughta call tha cops. Rat
bastard."

Her arms circled a pile of Polaroid's on the table, drool ruining
their cheap finish. I scanned them until my stomach cramped. Rat
bastard. There he was taking pictures of himself fucking girls, some
of them nearly as old as myself. There was a note too. 'These girls
like it! You're already a fucking drunk, let me know when you want to
try this new shit.'

I didn't know it at the time, but my dad was dealing. Coke was just
becoming popular, and dad found out early that teenage girls ate it up
like candy. I still don't know how a white, suburban salaryman like
him had hooked into the game, but the cops never caught him. I heard
stories that a manager at his advertising firm was busted for giving
his employees coke as the ultimate work motivation, and then he'd fire
the ones who burned themselves out. He was the fastest rising manager
in dad's company. Dad was the slowest. My father enjoyed a different
kind of power.

He wanted to fuck himself to death and sought the power to remove any
obstacle to his lusts. If a pretty teenager flashed by his BMW, he'd
stop and ask directions. On the seat next to him, he'd lay a vial of
cocaine in plain view. If the girl stared at it, he'd invite her to a
party, take the bitch to a hotel, and they have coke sex until the
coke or his sperm ran out. If an older woman flirted with him at a
party, he'd tell her she was perfect for a tv commercial; you know,
the 'real woman' look. That line got his cock between plenty of
cellulite. He took all the sex he wanted, but on the day he died from
a heart attack, mother was humping a plastic dong into my ass.

The worst of my troubles reaching adulthood stemmed more from my
mother than my father. As their sex life disintegrated, I turned first
to support my mother. To me, she was the obvious victim. Little did I
realize I only set myself up as her private sanitarium. She came to
rely on me as her emotional support column, but when her natural sex
drive came a knocking she eventually turned me into her little cunt
maid. One day I was holding her as she cried over dad's photos. One
day, not so many months later, she was holding me down with her waist
smothering my face.

After I blew my mother cunt juice out my nose and wiped it, I raced to
my bed where I cried myself to sleep. Mother apologized the next day,
but not three days passed before she sneaked into my bed and sucked on
my pussy. By the next morning, she refused to admit any such thing had
happened. She turned her sexual assaults on me, her 13 year old
daughter, into the phantasms of an alcoholic. She used her control
over a family's basic necessities to coerce me into more deviant
escapades. If I wanted a new dress, I had to fist her. If I wanted to
invite a friend over to play, that cost a rim job. If I asked her for
pocket change, other than my lousy dollar per week allowance, she'd
get to ream my ass with her double dildo. On the day my daddy died, I
needed five dollars for a rock star poster.

I think I grew to like her attentions, but my memories are too
fragmented with my own delusions to be sure. In truth, we probably
only had sex a couple times a week, and most of the rest of the time,
my mom was better than a lot of mothers. She didn't shirk parenting
simply because I was her fuck doll. I said she refused to admit ever
having assaulting me. Her drinking was like curtain. When she didn't
drink, she took me to art galleries, bicycling along the river, helped
me with my homework, and let me go out and play. If I asked her for
anything as simple as a new pair of gloves, Mother reached for the
bottle. Two hours later, I would be sucking on her cunt like a girl
scout.

That's plenty to fuck up the mind of any child. But what I hated most
of all were her outbursts. Once a month, she'd totally lose it,
drinking way to much, and having to chase me down for a hard raping.
She would curse and scream that I should have been a son. A son knows
how to please a mom. A son wouldn't need to be taught how to respond
to her needs. A son loves to fuck and suck and drive his cock into his
mom's ass, suck on her tits like a good boy, and shoot a steaming load
of cum into her womb. I grew up believing I was only a younger version
of what she was, a horny cunt without a man to give herself. At best I
would be just another cunt tease for daddy to coke-up and screw. I was
mom's enemy!

Daddy never did fuck me. He died when I was fifteen, not too young for
his tastes, but too young as his daughter. Dollar to nickels, he'd
have offered me a white snort on my seventeenth birthday. Instead,
that was the day I left home.

Mother caught me in bed with a young neighbor boy, Raymond. He
couldn't have been older than twelve, but I felt safe with him. My
parents were my only example of adult sexuality, and I was scare to
death of it. That doesn't mean I didn't get horny. I grew to inherit
both my parent's sex drives. Sick of my mom's raping lesbianism, and
spiteful of my father's lechery, it's understandable that I took to
seducing little boys, before they could grow up and hurt me
emotionally, like dad had mom. On my seventeenth birthday, mom baked a
marvelous cake and had invited a few of the neighbors along with my
friends to celebrate. It was a lovely day, and by the end of it, I was
feeling brave and very horny. I told Raymond to meet me in our
backyard, and I'd give him something to thank him for visiting. He
really was a sweet boy.

Mother began drinking while she cleared the house of party wreckage,
but I didn't notice. I figured I could sneak Raymond into my room,
through the kitchen back door, and I did. Unfortunately, he was really
shy and it took me a lot of patient explaining that what I wanted from
him would be really good for him. I had hardly begun to suck on his
delicious young cock when mother barged into my room waving a well
used double dildo. I got more than an ass reaming that night, and
Raymond got a scare that made him piss in my mouth. Mother froze at
the sight of my young conquest. You could see the flame in her eyes,
the flare of her nostrils, and her short but powerful intake of
breath. Her alcohol supercharged desire kicked her into a mental orbit
of the room, unable to reenter until she'd burned up most of her fuel.
She froze solid.

I spit Raymond's piss back into his groin, grabbed up his jeans and
snapped them back together. Mother started screaming. I don't remember
what she said. Raymond looked like a kitten facing a deadly tomcat. I
tried to intervene, but mother grabbed my ear and pulled me away like
a naughty little girl. She hit me once with the dildo and dropped it.
Then she lunged for Raymond. She would have put a vise grip on him,
but I grabbed her arm spun her around, leaving a space between her and
the door. Raymond got a clue and leaped. I held on to mother for his
dear life. At seventeen, I hadn't fully realized how much I had grown.
I was nearly my mother's height, but not half her weight. She
clobbered me more than I ever thought I could take before I fell
sobbing beneath her blows. I had to stay a week out of school to
recuperate. The next day, Mother swore all she remembered was saving
me from that horrid hooligan. She tried to make herself and me believe
that Raymond was older, bigger, meaner and my real assailant. I didn't
care what she wanted to fantasize. I was through with her. I had found
my strength.

I guess it was fortunate that Raymond's parents called the
authorities. I was still a sight when they showed up with questions,
five days later. They hauled my mother to jail and put me into foster
care for the remainder of my minority. Before that though, mother was
released into an alcohol treatment facility, and after promising me
she'd never drink again, I moved back in with her. She never did drink
again. There were nights when I caught her doing something else out of
the corner of my eye. She would sometimes finger fuck herself when we
were in the same room, as long as she thought I couldn't see her. I
didn't really care. I had begun to set my future on a course that made
her perversions seem quaint by comparison.

***

My twenties flash across my memory like a 30 second commercial.
Father's life insurance paid my way through college. I fucked a lot of
teenage boys. I graduated with honors in physical therapy. Unlike most
children of alcoholics, I never fell into drinking beyond an
occasional glass of wine or cocktail. My mother wasn't a classic
alcoholic, she'd been driven to it by her husband, and when she dried
out she dried out for good.

I met a physics graduate in my senior year and found myself at odds
with my feelings. He was a good man. He wasn't much to look at, nice
eyes, dressed like his mother had told him, quiet unless he was with
his science friends. I know I didn't love him, but neither was I
afraid of him. And for me that was a solid gold key to my cunt. Henry
loved my cunt! He fell head over heels in love with me a few minutes
before he began fucking it. I was getting too old to pick up high
school boys, and by no means was it a compulsion. It was simply my
most comfortable sexual relationship. Henry was sweet. He had a nice
cock, and it didn't take me very long to teach him how to use it. We
went steady until I graduated. Then we moved together into my
apartment. I got a job at a very exclusive medical center, and he
worked on his master's degree. I let him get me pregnant the day he
landed three job offers. He knew how babies were made, but I had let
him think he was in control of his sperm. When I broke the 'good news'
to him he scratched his head and made sort of a embarrassed smile. We
were married within the year.

Neither Henry nor I believed that we should limit our sexual
experiences to each other. My man wasn't a creature of repressed
religious doctrine, or America's sexually ignorant culture. I taught
him good. Funny thing was, we never really did go outside of our
marriage for sex. Henry was not my perfect sexual partner, but he was
ready with a hard-on when I needed it, whereas many before him had
failed to produce wood consistently over time. I never brought a
sopping cunt home for him to suck, and the phone never rang with his
bastard's manic mother on the other end.

I was twenty seven when Michael was born. I hardly remember much of
those three years, except how much I hated motherhood. He was a
whiney, fussy, messy, smelly son of a diaper bulge. Henry tried with
the best of intentions and all of his precise logic to convince me to
have another child. Two children near the same age were bound to grow
up better individuals than a lone child or two separated by many
years. I almost left him for his eagerness. Instead we hired a nanny,
and I issued one beautiful and healthy girl into the world a year
later. My thirtieth birthday struck a month after Julia's.

I think I panicked. After thirty years of living in the world, I had
accomplished everything a woman might desire. The problem was, I
realized, never had I actually faced what it was that 'I' desired!
Suddenly, it seemed like I had been living someone else's life. I
didn't know who I was or what I wanted. I was entering my prime, but
the only thing ahead was the traditional long fade into retirement.
This did not sit well with my psyche. Some long lost, root of my soul
wailed within me, and I was inconsolable. I cried for weeks.

The doctors said it was postpartum depression. They prescribed drugs.
I took them, threw up, and took some more. My shrink said it was a
dangling thread of my personality, and the best way to sew back into
place was with his cock as the needle. I fucked him. Then I fired him.
Henry was no help at all. I'd married him for material and sexual
security, not emotional support. The poor dear tried but hadn't a clue
about mending a female soul. He wouldn't have had a clue about women's
sexual needs if I hadn't taught him. No woman can teach a man how to
bridge her psychological rifts. She has to find the one man who
happens to fill hers. Out of options, I turned to the only other
emotional support I had.

I was never one to make women friends. I saw them as either leeches or
competitors. My experiences of forced lesbianism colored my natural
instinct to forge social links with my female peers. I saw men as
either potential orgasm donors or emotional Jack the Rippers. I flew
cross-country to my mother. We met mingling our tears upon her
doorstep.

Mother was now forty-seven. Ten years earlier she had begun to date
again. Three years earlier, she had married again. I did not attend
the wedding, but I sent her a basket of fruit in the form of a gift
certificate. For my prodigal return, she sent Vincent out of the house
for a week. After twelve hours of sobbing my life's story into her
breasts, she offered me a drink to settle my nerves. I gulped it down.
Three glasses later, I couldn't feel her remove my dress. Head
spinning, I lied prostrate on her couch. It's worn floral pattern was
lucky I hit the carpet with my first gush of vomit. Mom hurried me
into the bathroom, globulous projectiles marking the path. I threw up
into the toilet bowl until the dry heaves left me too weak to drool.
Mother knew what was best for me. As I hovered over the porcelain
receptacle her fingers sneaked into my cunt and eased my suffering.
She took me to her bed and tucked me in. I slept for an entire day.

I awoke over the course of two hours. Full daylight struggled against
thick curtains. I eased my aching body out of bed and showered. I felt
better after that. I dressed and entered the hall where a promising
smell led me. Mother was making coffee in the kitchen. When I timidly
poked my head in, she turned and looked at me, a little pained.

"Mother did you..." I began to accuse her.

"Yes, I did." Her lower lip trembled. "I don't regret it."

My voice lost its strength. "What am I going to do?"

"Stay with me, until Vincent returns." She crossed the room and placed
her hand against my forearm. "I've missed you terribly." Her hand
smoothed down my arm until she gripped my hand. It burned with need.

I reached for her, and we embraced. We spent the remainder of the week
in her bed.

My return home was no happier than when I had left. I was stronger. My
path remained uncertain, but fraught with fewer pits. Mother had
helped me face one thing, but it was not the important one. I did not
forgive her for betraying her maternal trust, once again, but I
understood it. Understanding it, I had begun to glean something new of
myself. I was a sexual predator, the daughter of a sexual predator. In
the jungle of nature's passions, cluttered with mechanical rabbits, I
was the she leopard. My range overlapped the males'. Their domains
remained isolated and interlopers were driven off by tooth and claw.
In my season, the males should copulate with me and dispersed. Unlike
leopards, I would remain in season until my pores ran with cum and my
breast burst with milk. From that moment on, I had bound myself to a
dreadful and irrevocable decision. I spoke nothing of this to anyone,
hardly even unto myself.

Henry was the first to sense my change, but he was the last to know
what hit him. I took a lover, a random one. Kevin and I met outside a
department store, waiting for it to open. I followed him to the
menswear and raped him in the change booth. He dangled from my key
chain for weeks thereafter. Kevin was a younger man, twenty five,
salesman, the kind of man that use to intimidate me. I devoured him
whole until the day when he showed up on my doorstep with a gigantic
half-gross of carnations and a promise to rid me of my 'weak and
insufficient' husband. I sicked the dog on him. The best thing I got
from Kevin was getting over my fear of emotionally crippling men.
Instead I began to hunt them like foxes.

Henry figured out I was cheating on him. I think he rationalized it by
telling himself it was a phase I was going through. He didn't act
cuckolded, but I knew his misery was just beginning. I left plenty of
scraps for him, not just occasional morsels seeping from my pussy
lips, but full intercourse, oral, anal, vaginal, mammarian, whatever
he asked for. Henry just wasn't a sexual athlete. His sex drive
dropped into gear only when I sought him. I doubt he craved sex all
that much when I was out trying three different colors of cock. He
tended his research and theories as meticulously and passionately as
he tended my dripping pussy with his reliable hard-on.

After five years of total un-inhibition, I felt like I had just
graduated from college all over again. There wasn't a man alive who
could bend me to their will, and all of them had fallen to my
voracious appetite. From state congressmen to local starlets, I had
made them beg to partake from my sex. In my third year of full sexual
awakening, I returned to the gender that had laid the foundation for
my perversions. I sought women out for sex as men became too easy. I
even tried to share them with Henry, but he was rapidly loosing the
one thing he needed from me, his wife. I hardly gave him the time of
day. My cunt was open to him whenever I crawled home, leaving a slime
trail of sexual juices, but my heart soared far out of his reach.

Let me say this. I am not the most attractive of women. I am good
looking, but when the heat spills from my eyes it mesmerizes my prey
like headlights. My internal nature makes up for my external
mediocrity. Sure there were men who could resist me, but in my book
that made them less of a man. Their reasons were not so noble,
religious fanatics were easier seduce than freshmen college students.
The men who did not fall prey to me were either too distractible like
schizophrenics or sexually retarded. My husband was nearly the first
case. After five years of getting the sopping end, Henry finally broke
down.

"Come back to me, honey. Let the others go. Your family needs you.
Your children need you. I need you." He held me dearly, but he could
feel the stellar heat burning in my depths.  I considered him,
seriously. Henry was still a good man, a nice man. I did not want him
to finish last. I maybe even loved him. I came back each time to his
house and our children even after weeks of perversions. Michael was
eight and Julia was five and a half. I might have quit my rebellious
antics for them and Henry. I could have done it. I didn't have to
sacrifice all of my new freedoms and power to give my family what they
needed from their mother. We could have came to an arrangement that
satisfied everyone. We could have, until our nanny, Nancy, turned up
pregnant.

"You miserable, CHEATING, SCUMBAG!!!" I screamed at Henry.

"But Honey, I thought it was a logical thing to do. I just made a
mistake with our contraception."

"Just like the mistake you made with me! Your silly little condoms are
no match for a sewing needle. And I bet Nancy is an expert with sewing
needles!" I accused. Somehow, I kept my tears behind my facade of
hate.

"She said she was on the pill." He offered meekly.

I didn't dare look at him anymore. My mask was melting from the flood
of water dammed behind it. I fled my home. My heart felt as if it had
burst. I cursed myself. How could I have ever let that geek-ridden
creature into my life? He did not deserve to affect me so. That stupid
little man... I left Henry to let him muddle through his mistake. For
two years I abandoned family and friends. I lived no better than a
whore, selling my sex for money, clothes, food, and shelter. My
ability to lure men to their demise quickly faded as the power in my
soul drained away through un-mendable rips. Eventually, I was selling
blow jobs to alcoholics for ten bucks a pop. Sick, broke, and
unhinged, I found myself ready one day to crawl back to Henry and beg
his forgiveness. Mother met me at the door. She welcomed me with arms
like snakes.

It was only natural, I guess. Henry had to dismiss Nancy. He paid
every cent of the child support she demanded from him, and we never
heard from her again. From court documents sifted from the internet,
he discovered she eventually married and had named their son James. He
left it at that. To help him raise little Michael and Julia, mother
jumped at the chance to offer her services. It was only natural our
children's Grandmother took the place of their wayward mother. She had
recently sent Vincent packing, permanently this time. "He wasn't my
sort of gentleman after all." She said. In other words, even Viagra
couldn't help him against my mother's tide of sexuality. Likewise, it
was only natural that she discovered Henry could withstand it. Once
again, my mother had stolen my sexual core being, but she was willing
to share. She and Henry welcomed me back with open arms, a warm place
in the bed beside them, healthy food, attention to my physical ills,
and even outreach for my tattered being.

Mother had changed Henry. He dressed better in those days and he
regularly sought out satisfaction for his own sexual needs, instead of
waiting for me to open my legs. I was resting on the living room
couch, watching 10 year old Julia play with a train set when Henry,
uncharacteristically marched out of his den, ignored Julia and I as he
passed by, entered the kitchen and dragged mother back through the
living room to the master bedroom. Julia looked at me with a bright
pair of eyes.

"Daddy's going to fuck Grandma now." She tittered.

I was speechless. I had known what Henry was up to. It was as plain as
the wetness that started seeping into my pussy. I had almost jumped up
to join them. Instead I froze at Julia's revelation. How did she know
what her father and grandmother were doing? And when did a ten year
old, say the word 'fuck' openly in front of her parents?

"Do you know what that means?" I decided I needed to learn more about
my young daughter's life.

"Well, uh, they go to bed and wrestle around, and uh..." Julia began
to shy away from her outburst, and I almost sighed with relief. "I-I
don't know all of it, But Daddy said he'd show me when I got a little
older."

"That son of a bitch!" I cursed through my teeth, smiling. He was
going to rape his own daughter. I could have marched in the bedroom
and killed him. If mother hadn't begun to roar from her effort in the
master bedroom, I might have. I didn't calm down. I was pissed!

"Can I go watch them, mommy?" Julia snagged my attention. "Sometimes I
watch."

The thing I now regret most is, at her innocent words, my anger
suddenly transferred to her.

"Fine!" I snapped. "Go and see what your dirty daddy and your nasty
gram are doing in there. Soon you'll be doing it too, whether you like
it or not!"

Julia shrunk back and began to cry. I didn't catch myself then,
either. "Go on!" I urged. "Take yourself a good look at fucking, and
see what it does to women."

She ran out of the room, sobbing, but she ran to the master bedroom.
Still angry, I followed, walking with a slow but deliberate intensity.
 
Julia stopped just inside the open door. The bed was hardly able to
contain the action ravaging across it.

"Fuck that cunt!" Mother ordered Henry. She was biting on his left
ear. Her hands scratched his chest and upper arms and shoulders. Henry
was giving her back as much. His experienced tool drilled into my
mom's leaking cunt. He shifted her upon the bed, hands gripping her
shoulders. "You scabby old bitch. I'll teach you to make my cock hard.
I'm going to stuff your own spit back inside your guts." His knees
tightened their grip on her legs and he bounced in a circle, hoisting
her figure around clockwise. Mom's head left the support of the
mattress, but her neck muscles held it firm beyond the edged of the
bed.

I felt my anger draining, but excitement reenergized me. I spoke less
maliciously, but with similar intensity.

"That's fucking, daughter of mine. That's fucking done right. Your
father knows how, and your gram knows who. She'll take his cock into
all of his holes before they finish. She's already sucked his dick.
Maybe he already came, wasting his baby making goo into her mouth.
Your daddy doesn't care if he cums, when he cums, or where he cums.
He'll keep fucking until his dick bleeds or his aging joints crack.

"Oh, I don't want to get fucked!" Julia wailed.

"Are you sure about that."

"Yes mommy. Daddy is like a beast. He scares me."

"Your daddy is a beast, but on a short chain. He wouldn't dare hurt
you honey. Have you seen enough?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good, how does it make you feel?"

"It's just awful!" she wailed.

My mother had grabbed Henry's head and was pushing it away as she
screamed at him to drive it deeper.

"I asked you how it made you feel, Julia." I persisted with my
question.

"I-I feel sick, like I have a flu."

"You mean it makes you hot, don't you." I pressed. "You feel dizzy,
and uncertain, and hot, and you're afraid of it at the same time. Am I
right?"

"Yes momma, I feel real warm, and dizzy."

"What about your cunt? You know what your cunt is, don't you. If you
know what fucking is, you know what your cunt is, right you little
slut?" I reached for my daughter and spun her around to face me. Her
tears continued to flow.

She nodded.

"How does it feel, your cunt?"

"It's all slimy, and it itches!" She bawled. "Please mommy, let me go.
I wanna go!"

I let go of her, and she raced away. Again I followed, staring down
the hallway like a hunter. I followed her to her room. I went inside
and slammed the door.

That was the first time I raped my daughter. She wasn't even close to
the age of my first rape, but she was ready. I knew it, right then.
She was a natural. The only thing I used was my hands and my tongue,
but she got off. The little slut screeched with her first orgasm ten
minutes after I shut us in to her room. She screeched twice more, the
last was a plea to stop. I did stop then, but only after I was sure
she had learned proper respect for fucking.

It was the worst thing I could do. Very quickly thereafter, guilt
crashed around me like bricks from a demolished building. I had raped
my daughter, and forever erased her childhood.

Now there are those who might imagine a girl forcibly introduced to
cumming suddenly goes wild for sex. Orgasms are the ultimate drug,
they think. Once dose and you're hooked. That's pretty fucking stupid,
even for ignorant perverts. But it gets them off. Julia did not talk
about sex, in front of me or anyone else, for the next year. She
stayed in her room, a chair against her door, for the first month
after my raping her.

Michael wanted to know what the hell was the matter with her. I told
him.

"I raped her." I didn't even look at him. My thirteen year old was
standing behind the couch. I was watching some stupid sit-com. It was
late. Henry dozed in his chair, and my mother was messing around with
a crochet hook. She looked up.

"Your mother hasn't been feeling well, honey. Come talk with your
gram.

But Michael stayed behind me. 

"What's the matter mom? Did you really mean what you said?"

Bless this child, I thought. "No honey. I'm just angry with myself."

"Golly, why are you angry?"

"Because your mother isn't any better than her mother. She's a stupid
slut with manic-depressive episodes. She's a cunt without a clue.
She'd rather jab her tongue into her daughter's cunny than hold her
gently and kiss her forehead." I reeled off my sins, my mother's sins,
as if they were not mine to keep.

"I-I'm sorry mom." He might have actually known what I was talking
about. In this house sex wasn't a dirty word, it was the word du-jour.
He didn't really believe me. Michael reached for my hair and picked up
one lock in his hand. "Can I help, somehow?"

"No." I sighed. My mother couldn't leave well enough, alone.

"You could take your mom into your room and stick your hard-on into
her cunt." Mom suggested, not even looking up from the mess of yarn in
her hand. "It's about time you took care of your mom. She's in
dreadful need. She wouldn't have had to rape your sister if you had
been forceful with her. I'm getting too old to keep her and her
husband in line."

I felt Michael's involuntarily tug on my hair. "Ow!"

"Don't fool me boy." Mother told him. "You got a prick filled with
half your blood, right now, and you're probably trying to hide it
behind the couch. You know what you want to do with it but don't have
the guts. Well you'd better get some soon, or this whole family will
wreck worse than a ocean liner against a battleship."

"We all know who the battleship is." I muttered.

Michael let go of my hair, and I couldn't tell if he just stepped back
or shied completely away. I could hear his embarrassment. He caught
his breath.

"Sure, go ahead and fuck me. I don't give a damn anymore." I said
lifelessly.

"Hmmnn?" Henry shifted in his sleep.

It seemed as if the the television kept repeating the same five
minutes of show. It was the only sound in the house. I remember mother
started breathing heavier, thinking about what I'd just said. Michael
didn't utter a peep. He didn't even breath. He stepped silently across
the shag rug. He took my hand in his and waited for me. I placed my
lap blanket carefully on the sofa arm and stood. My son led me to his
room.

We entered in silence. He flicked the light switch. My eyes saw only
darkness. He guided me to the center of his room and hugged me. He
would have just hugged me if I hadn't begun to pull my top up from my
waist. I pulled it through his warm but firm arms and tossed it over
my head. My left breast brushed curls of his brown hair. It was cool
in the room, but a heat was already growing inside me. I acted on
instinct, instinct honed by a thousand passes of my mother's tongue,
shaped by a willing multitude of men: married, unmarried, fathers,
sons, all shaped by my father without ever having touched his prick.

I reached between my son's legs and touched his prick through his
loose pants. It was hard, harder than any I had know.

"Mom, I-I don't know what to do." Michael admitted.

I placed one arm around his head and drew it to the top of my belly,
just below my tits. If he had looked up to meet my eyes, he would have
seen two dark nipples growing hard. "Shhhh." I answered. We continued
to hold each other. I felt empty. I had no guilt left to guide me. I
acted on instinct.

My free hand fumbled with his fly, unbuttoned it, unzipped it. I
reached in and felt warm cock pressing against his stained briefs. He
pushed at his pants, down past his knees. I fondled his member.

"You have a good cock, son. It will serve you well."

"Will you serve me, mother?"

"Shhhh... yes, child." I pulled at his briefs, and he rolled them down
straight away. While he stood in the room cluttered with books and
action figures, pants and underwear clinging to his legs, I released
him and stepped across to his single bed. I sat down and began to
remove my shoes. Michael bent over, almost fell and hurried to untie
his. One knotted like a stone, and he had to lower himself to the
floor in order to fight the sneaker off of his foot. He followed
quickly with his pants. His cock shimmered like a sword in sunlight,
then it began to droop.

My son looked up from his position. A new kind of embarrassment moved
him. "Mother, help me." He saw my cunt then. I had raised my skirt
above my knees and spread my legs just wide enough to educate him.

"You're doing fine, Mikey." I teased him with his baby name. "Come to
mommy." I reached my hands out." Damn, if the boy didn't crawl on his
hands and knees. I held his head. "Stand up and show your mother what
a fine son she has."

Michael smiled then, and his cock saluted once more at full attention.
I reached for it as he stood. I gripped it lightly and jacked it slow.
"It's beautiful, son. You have a beautiful cock."

"Why are you doing this mother?" My son's eyes cleared. His body
betrayed him. It pressed his dick into my hand.

"Because I can't help myself." I told him. "I've got nothing left to
be proud of, except you. I applied my tongue to his swollen head,
licking the base of it. He shuddered. I continued to jack my son.

"I want to help. I want you to be proud of me." His boyish grin, broke
out of the facade of his innocence. "I can already tell you're proud
of one thing about me."

I nodded. His shaft continued to strengthen in my grip. I slid its
skin up and down the length of it, never rubbing the skin directly,
but used it to massage my son's interior meat. I could do this for
hours before his cock skin got sore. He wasn't ready to wait that
long. Pulses deep in his root began to quicken.

"Oh mommy, th-that's so goood." My son whispered.

"You're mommy's bad, Michael. Always remember that. I'm nothing but
bad." I didn't want to ever think that I could redeem myself. I
abandoned any prospect of future sanity. I was called by my mother to
fuck my baby boy, and he had led me to his bed. I would ensure that I
never fought my nature nor used it to my advantage over others. I
would be nothing but a slave to my depravity.

"Gram-ma-ma says you are a whore." His dick jumped in my hand, but it
didn't spit.

"Your grand-ma-ma is a bigger whore." I responded sincerely.

"She said you're a slut."

"I'm much worse than that." I hung my head.

"What are you mother? Tell me." My son's voice carried an edge to it.

"I'm a rapist and a molester. I am a cunt who has lost all
self-esteem. I am anything you want to make of me."

"I want you to be my whore, mommy. I want you do the things I tell
you.

"Yes Michael, I'll do whatever you tell me." I shut my eyes to the
single tear in each of them.

"Wow, mom, really? Would you even suck my penis mom. Would you do
that?"

"It's not a penis, Michael. You have a cock. Your father has a penis."
I corrected him and silenced myself on his twitching cock. My lips
gobbled up his shaft like a soda straw. It almost spurt immediately
upon the sudden warm and moist contact. Somehow my son was able hold
on a little longer. He wanted to experience my whole mouth and tongue
before blasting his young seed into oblivion.

"Ooohhh, that's like woww! Mommy, you're doing what I told you,
sucking my cock. I've never felt anything that good!"

My mouth pulled hard on his turgid stem, while my lips nibbled gently.
My tongue lashed beneath it's tip. Then I dragged my head back over
the lightly veined skin. It shined, bright red from suction. He had
trouble standing then, and just as my mouth slurped the bone swiftly
to the back of my throat, he couldn't last a heartbeat longer. Salty
cum burned into my gullet. I sucked it greedily and my hands grabbed
my son's naked ass and pressed his hips to my face.

Michael shouted and grunted, both of them at once. He gripped my thick
hair and pulled hard. I nearly bit him, but the soothing, hot sperm
soaking into my intestines gave me a rush that nearly masked his
desperate grip. I felt dizzy, electrically so.

The best thing was, he stayed hard. My son's virginal cock had blasted
his proto-progeny into his mother's mouth, and he was stronger for it.
I continued to suck him and play with his ass, draining his every
seed. His hands released their grip, and he steadied himself with one
hand on a bedpost. When his head cleared, his free hand lifted my head
by the chin, his prick nearly slipping from my straining lips. He
looked down at me and grinned.

"Momma, can I fuck you now?" His own eyes blazed!

I had readied myself to be content with sucking my son off, but now he
wanted more. He wanted cunt. It was what he had led me in his room
for.

I nodded and uttered an assenting mumble.

He pulled his cock from my mouth and stepped back. A last trace of
embarrassment seeped into his cheeks.

"You have to do it mommy." He told me.

"You're a very confident boy." I complemented my son and slid back on
his bed, laying myself back on it. My skirt was still coiled around my
waist, and my long legs lifted and widened. "Here honey," I pointed.
"Come here."

He gave a brief grin and ambled towards me. His cock shifted like a
metronome counting down the end of his virginity. In the cunt of his
mother he would find transcendence.

His knees bumped into the bed, and he leaned down, aiming his prick
with one hand while he lowered himself further over his mother's
waiting pussy. When his cock head touched my outer lips, a surge of
voltage ripped across my belly.

He showed me then that he was already a man and thrust his stiffness
inside my cunt burying himself to the root.

"Uuunng!" I couldn't suppress my surprise.

"Now I'm going to fuck you mommy." My son pulled back and plunged his
cock deep into his mother's pussy. His hips beat into my exposed ass
cheeks. My legs flew up parallel to his body angle and they trembled
and twitched as his whole form rocked into my flesh.

His child's bed shifted easily from my 13 year old son's efforts. He
punched cock more diligently than my husband had ever since I
returned. The boy's father spent his main energies on my mother, and I
hated it. Here was the fucking I had been looking for! Michael wasn't
just young and naive. He was single-minded. His entire ambition was
devoted to cumming inside his mother's cunt. He knew fucking led to
pregnancy which led to crying babies and shitty diapers. He wasn't
thinking about how his youthful seed would climb into my womb, where
it belonged, and spark new life inside his own mother. He wanted me
for what I was, his whore. He didn't have to think about fucking his
whore any more than he would tying his shoe, but it was all he was
thinking about and that made the difference, to me.

"Yes, child. I am your whore!" I shouted without provocation. I humped
into his focused thrusts, trying to empty my own mind of everything
spiteful about my mother and husband and all the stupid cocks in the
world that had fucked me without a care for what they were really
receiving. Michael knew it instinctively. Fucking was power. Women are
engines, objects, soulless beasts, but the fuel burning inside us are
men's souls.

 I felt my son tense. His breath labored as mightily as his legs. The
bed rammed into the wall, leaving long dents. Had he not just cum in
my mouth, he would have spewed his seed into my cunt. His cock beat
into my moist flesh as his hands began to roam, experimenting with all
the knobs and buttons and switches available beneath him.

"Oh, mommy. You are so fucking beautiful!" He shouted. His eyes burned
like two bonfires. My son's hands were shorted electric blankets, hot
and shocking. They ran up my sides and zapped into my nipples. His
fingers pinched and poked, and his palms stroked my tit mounds. Drool
dripped into my navel. He hunched and bucked.

Already, I was cumming. Egad, my trained pussy erupted three times in
the presence of my son's passion. Liquid fuck juice spilled down his
legs. I lost track of his rhythm each time and awoke from bliss to
return to the experience of his minor battery.

"Fuck, oh yeah, mommy. I'm cumming!"

His incestuous spume burst into my cunt, spurt pushing spurt deeper
inside my mother-fucked womb.

"You're sucking up my semen, mom. I can feel your cunt vacuuming my
cock. I don't think I'll ever stop cumming!"

"Fill your mommy with your incestuous seed. Fill me honey with your
honey!" I gripped his cock with my cunt muscles and milked my boy for
every drop of boiling cum. His fucking faltered only when the last
jets forced themselves into my body. His body hunched lower, drooped
while his eyes spun from erotic lightning coursing through his young
brain. He slunk down upon my naked body and turned his head, panting.
I stroked his neck length hair.

"That's how to treat your whore mommy. Dear, that's what you must do."

"I'll fuck you again. When can I fuck you again?" His inexperience
spoke both command and request.

"You tell me. I can only be your whore if you tell me."

"Yes mommy. What else do I do to a whore?"

"You fuck her and only her."

He looked at me.

"I'll fuck anybody I want."

"Don't fuck your grandma, please honey? She isn't your whore mommy,
she never could be..."

"I'll make her my whore too." He cut me off and ignored my every plea
that followed. It was perfect.

***

It happened later than I expected. Michael used me for another two
weeks to soak up his white hot semen. He learned not to care if I came
or not. He learned to speak only commands. He told me to suck his cock
in the morning. He told me to fuck him in the hallway when my mother
and his father were fucking in the master bedroom. He told me to suck
on Julia's clit and make her cum, but he never fucked his sister. I
think he told her to fuck him once, and his sister punched him in the
nose. He came crying to me and ordered me to suck his cock until the
blood ran dry from his nose. Then he fucked me and left me lying in
the kitchen.

Mother found me there, her grandson's cum dripping from my cunt. She
dropped between my legs and sucked that still warm fluid from her
daughter's womb. I think Michael watched her. The next day he made her
his whore.

My mother didn't understand what happened to her. Her grandchild
stomped up to her in the main bathroom while she was peeing and he
pulled down his pants and showed her his cock. He told her she was his
whore now and she would suck his cock 'til he came in her mouth. He
told her she would drink his cum and then he would fuck her grandma
cunt. My mother's first reaction was to open her mouth, to protest. My
brave son cut her off at the larynx.

I wept for joy, the first time I stumbled upon my son pushing his
manly cock into my mother's ass. She was crying from self-pity. He
fucked his two whores without pity. And he cut off his father's last
source of pussy. I don't know who was more miserable, watching Henry
stamp around his house unable to punish his son, or my mother who was
forced daily to offer her ass to an increasingly experienced master.

Michael told me he fucked my mother's cunt too, but he never came in
it. He either came in her mouth or her ass. He saved his cunt dousing
for me.

I was the happiest mother in the world, for the third time. I had
another son, Jason, and he grew up watching his father/brother command
two aging women for his pleasure and cuckold a piteous old man. By the
time Michael set out to conquer the rest of the world, Jason was
greedily sperming his mother and grandmother while poor old Henry was
left to clean our wrinkled cunts with his tongue.

Julia escaped nearly all of the horror life had inflicted upon her
mother. The last time I tried to suck her pussy she kicked me off of
her, and when I fell to the floor she kept kicking me until her foot
hurt. It required six weeks in a cast. I was left to heal on a rug in
front of the couch while my two sons fed me their cocks.

The last I heard of my daughter, she was piloting a barge up the Nile.
Just think, while we're here jacking off, some dark faced son is being
shredded by a machine gun.

The End

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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