Because I Said So
BECAUSE I SAID SO
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DUTCH BROADSTREET
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SHABBY STREET
NEW YORK
© 2026 Dutch Broadstreet
All Rights Reserved
First Edition, 2026
Shabby Street Books
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The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this publication are fictitious.
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Book Cover by Nimble Fingers
Table of Contents
1
Mommy had my thumb in her mouth and she was staring at me with her steamy eyes as I inched my way into the place where I belonged, the place where she had baked me into being. She was sucking hard and I was sinking my teeth into her ankle and arching my back, holding her fast with one hand on her hip, holding her tight like she was going to get away. And the heat that I felt between us was enough to melt the polar ice caps.
Everything I had ever felt for her was consummated in that fleeting moment as I chewed on her sun-kissed toes and worked myself as deep into my Mom's warm center as my eighteen-year-old anatomy would allow. She ground her hips into mine as we rocked back and forth on the water bed, the ripple of the mattress matching the cadence of our love.
She rolled her tongue around on my pollex as I worked my mouth around her perfect hallux. Paying attention in Biology class had finally paid off.
Those steamy eyes receded into slits as she pinched my nipple hard enough to draw blood. My loins quaked as I eased my shaft out of her tight little pussy, savoring the sensation of her flesh closing and pulsating around my glans. Then she sunk her nails into my ass cheek, urging me to return every inch at once.
I was pounding her so hard and she was giving off so much juice that our collective movement was creating a sound of suction that seemed to symbolize how inseparable we had become. The squishy pull of our sex brought me to a precipice I didn't think possible, and as I felt myself fitting to give up everything within me, she grabbed me by my throat and clamped her fingers around my windpipe. Then she pulled me close and breathed into my ear.
“Fill me up,” she panted.
It hadn't always been like this between Mom and me. I was not molested when I was a kid. Mommy and Daddy never diddled me, or let anyone else diddle me. I had a happy childhood... but I always looked at Mom in a way that people deemed inappropriate, and she always looked at me that way, too.
Mom had me early in life. Too early, many people thought. She threw her whole life away, my cunt grandmother liked to say. But Mom's life wasn't complete until she'd had me. That's how she put it, and I believed her. Because I could see it was true, how we completed each other.
It started out when I was eight years old and I first discovered girls. Me and Mom would watch R-rated movies on cable and I'd see all the teenagers making out and fingering each other, and one day while Mom was helping me make mud pies in our front yard, I told her I wanted to learn how to kiss and could I practice on her.
I remember how she took a long time to answer, how her panicked eyes lingered on me a little too long before she said, “No.” And the way she said it wasn't how Mom usually talked to me; it was cold and stern in a way that felt forced and foreign. Like she was steeling herself because she felt like she had to deny my request or face consequences beyond her.
I remember also the way that Mom studied me as I matured—how she watched me grow into myself in the same way a high school senior might observe changes in a sophomore. Like the school year just started and she was seeing me come back from summer break with the...