Free Sample
Preview from chapter one
The doorbell chimed through Mother's house at exactly 2:17 PM—I'd timed it perfectly, knowing she'd be between her afternoon shows and before she started dinner preparations. I adjusted my expression into one of mild distress as I heard her slippered feet approaching the door.
"Larry? What are you doing here?" Mother asked, her face registering surprise as she opened the door. She was wearing one of those flowery housedresses she favored, hair neatly styled despite being home alone. Always keeping up appearances, my mother.
"Pipes burst at my place," I lied smoothly, the story I'd crafted on the drive over rolling off my tongue with practiced ease. "Whole apartment's flooded. Need a place to crash for a few hours while the maintenance guys sort it out."
Her face softened immediately, maternal instinct overriding any plans she might have had. "Oh, honey, of course. Come in, come in."
I stepped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of lemon furniture polish and the lingering aroma of whatever she'd baked earlier. The house was immaculate as always. Mother's pride and joy, her sanctuary. Not for long.
"Can I get you some coffee? I just made a fresh pot," she offered, already moving toward the kitchen, playing the perfect hostess.
"That would be nice," I said, following her, watching the unsuspecting sway of her hips as she walked ahead of me. I closed the kitchen door behind us with a soft click. My cock lengthened, already anticipating her helplessness.
She turned at the sound, a question forming on her lips that died when she saw my expression change. The mask of the dutiful son slipped away, replaced by something darker. I found the place I locked away my lifetime of anger and unlocked. Let her see it in my face.
"Larry?" Her voice held a tremor now. The instincts of prey staring down its death at the jaws of a lion.
"On your knees," I said, my voice dropping low and cold. “Now.”
"What? I don't—"
"I said, on your knees, Mother." I moved closer, towering over her. "I’m counting to three, then I’m going to punch you in the fucking nose if you aren’t on your knees. One!”
Her eyes darted toward the kitchen door, a performance we both knew well. There would be no escape, no rescue. There never was.
"Please, Larry, I don't understand what's gotten into you," she protested weakly. She saw my trembling fist at my side and folded her legs. “Okay, son. I’m on my knees. Will you explain why?”