I sat on the sofa, staring at the television. After twenty minutes of Mom’s mindless babble, I had lost interest. All I could think about was how much I hated her. How she had ruined my life with her ultra-conservative Jesus-freak friends during my childhood. I hated her for that. For that and a thousand other insults and injuries from twenty years of her nattering, nit-picking, bullshit.

“I wish someone would just rape you,” I muttered too softly for her to hear.

The idea shocked me. I wasn’t a violent guy, but there was something about the idea of my mother having her legs forced apart, of having a big dick shoved into her worthless cunt, that appealed to me. My cock throbbed, aching so hard that I knew I’d have to find an excuse to go to my room and whack off. I grinned, knowing exactly the images I’d fantasize over.

“I don’t think you’re even listening to me,” Mom said, standing in the kitchen doorway, waving the feared wooden spoon at me. “I’m your mother, young man. You listen when I talk. You’re not so big that I can’t paddle your behind.”

Fear shot through me. Mom had been vicious with that spoon, and I knew exactly what shape bruises it left on my skin. I popped to my feet, the picture of attentiveness. Mom gave me an exasperated shake of her head and turned back to the kitchen.

There was no decision-making. No moment where I knew what I had to do. No thought whatsoever. I just found myself in the kitchen, standing behind my mother. Hatred raged through me as I doubled up my fist and slammed it into her kidney.

Mom screamed in agony as her knees crumpled. I grabbed a handful of her gray-streaked, curly hair and yanked her upright. Threw her across the bar. My hands ripped at the front of her jeans, pulling them open and shoving them down her thighs.

“What are you doing? Mark. Mark! No! I’m your mother!”

“Shut up, cunt.” I punched her other kidney. While Mom sobbed for breath, I yanked her pants down. Ripped away to Walmart-special cotton underwear. My cock was already in my hand, the head of it rubbing against the soft folds of my mother’s pussy. “In case you’re too stupid to know what your son is doing… I’m raping you. I’m raping your fucking cunt, Mom.”

My hips punched forward, forcing my throbbing cock into her dry cunt. Mom screamed again, slapping at me behind her back. I caught both of her hands and wrenched them up between her shoulder blades. Slammed my cock into her cunt until I felt the base of my cock grinding against her ass.

“How does it feel to be raped by your own son?” I snarled. My hips made a slow circle, making sure she knew how much cock I’d put into her. I shoved my dick into my mother so hard it lifted her off her feet. “I love the way your cunt feels, Mom. I can feel it squeeze my dick when you cry.”

My mother's sobs turned to whimpers as I worked my cock in and out of her. Her body trembled beneath mine, and I could feel her trying to squirm away. That only made me harder. I yanked her hair back, wrenching her neck so I could see my mother’s face as I raped her.

"This is what you deserve," I growled. "All those years of making me feel worthless. All those times you hit me with that fucking spoon."

Mom's mascara ran down her cheeks in black streaks. "Please, Mark," she choked out. "I'm your mother. This is a sin. You'll go to hell for this."

I laughed, a hollow sound that surprised even me. "Hell? You think I give a shit about hell? I've been living in hell my whole life with you."

Her pussy had grown slick despite her protests, and the friction eased. I pounded into her harder, feeling a surge of power with each thrust. The kitchen counter rattled beneath us, knocking over a ceramic saltshaker that shattered on the linoleum floor. I drove my fist into Mom’s ribs again, making her cry out in pain and fight for breath.

"You're getting wet," I taunted. "Your own son is raping you, and you're getting wet."

"No," she sobbed. "I'm not... please stop..."

But her body betrayed her. I could feel her cunt clenching around me rhythmically. The knowledge that my mother's body was responding to me sent a fresh wave of arousal through me. I reached around and grabbed one of her sagging tits through her blouse, squeezing it roughly.

"Remember when you caught me looking at porn?" I snarled. "Remember how you made me kneel on rice while you read Bible verses? Where's your precious Jesus now, Mom?"

She stopped struggling then, her body going limp against the counter. Only her sobs told me she was still conscious. Something about her surrender made me even more furious. I wanted her to fight, to feel every second of her violation.

I pulled out abruptly and flipped her around to face me. Her makeup was smeared, her face a mess of tears and snot. I grabbed her throat with one hand, slammed her back onto the counter. Slapped her face.

"Look at me," I demanded. "Look at your son while he rapes you."

“Please, you don’t have to do this…”

My hand cracked against my mother’s face again. Then again. I grabbed her by the throat and squeezed while I raped her. My mother’s eyes met mine, wide with fear.

“That’s what I want,” I said, my balls bouncing on Mom’s ass. “Look at me, Mom. You like your son’s cock in your horny little cunt, don’t you, Mom? Jesus is watching. Don’t lie. It’s a sin, isn’t it, Mom?”

Mom's eyes fluttered, and for a moment, I thought she might pass out. Her lips moved in what looked like a silent prayer, but no sound came out. I laughed and squeezed her throat harder, feeling her pulse hammer against my palm.

"God can't hear you," I whispered, leaning close to her ear. "But I can hear your cunt sucking on my dick. That's the only prayer that matters now."

I released her throat just enough for her to gasp for air. Her hands clawed weakly at my wrists, her wedding ring catching the light from the kitchen fixture. Dad had been gone three years now. He'd never protected me from her anyway. I slapped her again. Then caught her again with a backhand.

"Mark," she wheezed, "this isn't you. This isn't my boy."

Something in her words made me hesitate, but only for a second. My cock dug deeper into my mother’s pussy. Beat that pussy into submission. Bruised her guts. I felt my orgasm building, my balls tightening against her ass.

"I'm exactly who you made me," I growled, increasing my pace. "Every fucking beating, every punishment, every time you told me I was worthless—this is what you created."

Mom's body jerked with each thrust now. Her eyes had gone distant, staring at something beyond me, beyond the kitchen ceiling. I recognized that look from my childhood—she was retreating into prayer, into her fantasy world where Jesus made everything better. I ripped her blouse open and twisted a nipple as tight and hard as I could.

"Look at me!" I roared, slapping her again. "Stay here and feel this!" I was panting. So fucking close. “I want you to feel it when your son comes inside you for the first time.”

Her gaze snapped back to mine, and I saw something unexpected there. Not just fear or pain, but recognition. Like she was truly seeing me for the first time.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Too late for that," I snarled. “Too little, too late. You’re being raped, Mom. Your own son has his bare cock in your pussy. Fucking you. Raping you. And I’m going to come inside you.”

I felt my climax approaching, unstoppable now. My hips jerked erratically as I drove into her one final time, burying myself to the hilt as I came. I emptied myself inside her, marking her in the most primal way possible. When I finally pulled out, a mixture of cum and blood trickled down her inner thigh.

Mom slid to the floor, curling into herself. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. I stood over her, my cock still hanging out, suddenly unsure what to do next. The rage that had propelled me was ebbing, leaving behind a hollow feeling I couldn't name.

I tucked myself back into my pants, zipping up mechanically. The kitchen seemed unnaturally bright now, every detail in sharp focus: the broken saltshaker, the wooden spoon lying on the counter, Mom's sprawled on the floor, broken and shattered.

Chapter 2

“I’m sorry,” Mom whimpered, trying to cover her tits with her ripped blouse. Trying to pretend like her son’s cum wasn’t leaking out of her pussy. “I’m sorry, Mark. I only did it because I love you.”

That was it. That was the lie that she’d used too often after she’d beaten me bloody. After she’d discovered some new cruelty to inflict on me. Hate bloomed in my heart all over again.

“Don’t you fucking say that to me,” I snarled. My heavy workbook thudded into her stomach. Air whooshed out of her and fresh tears leaked from her eyes. “You don’t know what love is, you fucking cunt. You know what, Mom? I’m raping you because I love you. How does that sound?”

I shoved her legs apart again. Hatred made my cock hard as I thought about ripping her pussy apart again. Blood trickled out of Mom’s pussy from where I’d dry-fucked her. Mixed with my cum, it lubed my cock perfectly for Mom’s second rape of the afternoon.

“Yeah, I’m raping you because I love you, Mom,” I grabbed her throat and pinned her to the floor. “Tell me you love me for raping you. Say it, or I’ll break your fucking jaw.”

“I love you,” Mom whimpered. “You’re my son. Of course, I love you.”

My palm cracked against her face, spinning it from the impact. Mom’s eyes blinked against the pain as I turned her face to mine. As soon as she focused on me, I hit her again.

“You say what I told you to say,” I snarled. “Say you love me for raping you. Say you hope I’ll rape you every day for the rest of your life. Say it, Mom!”

“No!” Something fierce raised itself in Mom. She bared her teeth and snarled. “I will not say such a filthy lie!”

My fist slammed into the pit of her stomach. Gasping for breath, Mom stared at me while I fucked her. Raped her slick pussy. I punched her guts again.

“I kind of like having a punching bag for a mother,” I said, my hips slowing so I could use both hands to punch her. “Lay still and let me show you how much I love you.”

Mom whimpered as my knuckles connected with her ribs, her soft flesh yielding beneath each blow. Her lips were split and swollen, a trickle of blood running down her chin. I couldn't remember seeing anything more satisfying.

"I wonder what your church friends would say if they could see you now," I taunted, maintaining my rhythm inside her. "Their perfect Christian woman, getting fucked on her own kitchen floor by her son."

"Please," she gasped between punches. "Mark, this isn't you. The devil has—"

I shoved my hand over her mouth, pressing down hard enough that her teeth cut into her lips. "Shut up about the devil. There's no devil here, just me. Just your son who's finally giving you what you deserve." I stared into her eyes as I fucked her. “Just your son. Raping your pussy. Again. And you know what, Mom? I’m going to rape this pussy anytime I want. You aren’t going to stop me, are you? No. You’re going to spread your legs for your son and hope he doesn’t beat the shit out of you.”

Her eyes were wild with fear as I continued to pound into her. I felt a second orgasm building, slower this time but more intense. I removed my hand from her mouth and wrapped both around her throat instead, squeezing until her face began to redden.

"You know what? I think I'm going to keep you like this. My personal punching bag and fuck toy." I grinned down at her. "No more church. No more Bible study. Just you serving me the way you should have all along."

Mom's eyes bulged as I tightened my grip. I could feel her pulse fluttering beneath my fingers like a trapped bird. Just as her eyelids began to ...