Betty's Son

I met my son at the top of the basement stairs. A shy smile played at my lips, but I felt as nervous as he looked. My teeth sank into my lower lip as I moved closer, letting our bodies touch. My fingers fluttered at his, letting him grasp at them.

“Are you ready?” I asked, surprised at how soft and sure my voice sounded. When he nodded, I pushed up on my tiptoes and kissed his mouth. “You aren’t allowed to speak,” I reminded him. “And you can only move when I command you. Other than that, still and silent.”

He nodded, and I stood there a moment, facing him. My hands on my son’s broad shoulders. Looking up into his trusting face. I could see he wanted this as much as I did. A deep breath did nothing to calm the butterflies in my stomach as I turned and led my son down the stairs to the basement.

I led him down the dark stairs, one cautious foot after another, until the damp chill of the finished basement met us. I’d arranged it for this, set the scene by candlelight and incense. Everything else was bare concrete and shivering echoes. His new weight bench was centered under a clamp-on spotlight. My tools and toys and implements hidden lay on a nearby hospital tray, hidden in the shadows.

I turned him to face the spotlight, standing at the foot of the weight bench. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead as he blinked. My fingers found the top button of his Oxford, trembling as I pushed it through the buttonhole.

“You’re mine,” I said, my voice a dull echo despite its hushed tone. “I’m not asking for anything tonight. I’m taking. Whatever I want, you’ll give me. No questions. No complaints. No wavering. Just… Mine.”

The second button popped loose, and I pulled his shirt open wide enough to touch my lips to his warm flesh. Wet hunger pulsed low in my gut. I closed my eyes. Parted my lips. Traced a small circle with the flat of my tongue as I fumbled the next button open. Then the next.

“I was shocked,” I said, my lips trailing against his skin. “When I found out what you want from me. Horrified.” My lips closed over his nipple, and he inhaled suddenly as I sucked at it. Flicked it with my tongue. “You want to fuck me.”

It wasn’t a question. If it had been, I could have felt the front of his pants to find the answer. My son’s cock was hard for me. I tugged the tails of his shirt free from his pants and ran my fingers around his hips until my palms were pressed against his back. Holding him against me, I suckled at his hardened nipple. Rubbed my teeth over it and felt him shiver.

“I’m going to hurt you,” I told him. My lips made wet sucking sounds at his nipple. “I’m going to bite you. And you’re going to stand there and let me, because it’s the only way you’ll ever get to put your cock inside your mother.”

Just a tiny bit at first. A nibble. My hand moved up his back to rest between his shoulder blades. Pulling him to my mouth, I settled my teeth against my son’s flesh. My jaws tightened in increments until he gasped at the pain.

“That’s right, baby. Let Mom hurt you.” I bit a little harder. “Mom’s pussy gets so fucking wet when she hurts you.”

My fingernails dug into his back. I raked downwards, trying to rip the flesh with my bare hands. My son arched his back and panted again. I bit and clawed again.

I inspected the ring of tooth marks at the edge of his areola, tongued it. Pushed the shirt off his ...