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From: "sklookingood" <sklookingood@iname.com>
Subject: REPOST - Part 2, "Mom's Humiliating Catfight"
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WARNING! This article contains adult fiction and includes explicit
descriptions of sexual acts. If you are under the age of 18 or under the age
of majority and consent as defined by your community and government, you don
’t belong here and you must go away. Similarly, if you are offended by the
exploration of adult themes in literature or on the Internet, please do not
read further.
Copyright 1999 by the author, nicknamed Sklookingood. Do not be misled by
the seeming anonymity; all Internet authors and creators have rights, and
any person or corporation infringing copyright will be liable to civil
and/or criminal prosecution.
Specific permission is granted for publication in the newsgroups
Alt.Sex.Stories & Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated, and for archiving by the
Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated archive and DejaNews. All other rights are
reserved. Do not repost or distribute by any other means without express
permission from the author.
Author may be contacted at: sklookingood@iname.com
Once again, particularly if you are under the age of eighteen, this story is
not for you. Just leave. Others may scroll down.
MOM’S HUMILIATING CATFIGHT - Part 2
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!
(The End)
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