Ulysses's Mom

Mom pulled up beside me at the first switchback, hands on knees, gasping. “Whew. Sorry, I’m a mess. I haven’t done a real walk since last summer.”

“You’re doing fine,” I said, and reached out to steady her. She smiled at the gesture, her face creasing in a way that made her seem both younger and ancient at once. That used to freak me out, when I was a kid. That moment when parents slip and you catch the child hiding in their face. “We’re almost through the roughest part. The path levels out ahead.”

Mom nodded and plodded along in my footsteps. For a few hundred yards, there was only the slap of our shoes and the busy static of the forest. Even at noon, the light filtered down green and vague, more shadow than sun. The trail twisted tighter, then vanished altogether, lost under a bed of leaves and the rotted ribcage of last year’s windthrow.

“Can I ask you something?” I said. She looked up, squinting against the glare. I leaned in, close enough that I could see the specks in her irises, the tiny, involuntary flicker of her gaze as she tried to read me. “Have you ever sucked a dick?”

Her face was almost comical. Mom blinked in shock. Shook her head. Then kind of squinted before she looked back at me. Her shoulders lifted and dropped. “Yeah, I have.” Mom looked down the trail. “Good God, Ulysses. Is there a reason you would ask your mother such a question?”

“I don’t know,” I lied. Looked around at the tight woods. “Mom, I need to say something that you aren’t going to like.” Turned my eyes back to meet hers. “I brought you out here because no one can hear you scream. We’re alone. No one for miles and miles.” I walked towards her, unzipping my jeans. “I’m glad you know how to suck a dick, Mom, because the only way you’re getting out of here is with my cum on your breath.”

Mom stared at me. Either she couldn’t understand my words or disbelieved them. I grabbed her ponytail one hand. Shoved her hand inside my pants. Once she felt how hard my cock was, she understood everything. She tried to speak, but I wrenched her hair until her jaw went slack, her mouth falling open in a startled O. It was almost comical, how easily the body betrays its owner.

“Please,” she whispered, “don’t do this.”

“Get on your knees,” I told her. Pushed down until she obeyed. “Now, open your mouth and suck my dick. Make me come, Mom.” When she tried to yank away from me, I shook her like a baby kitten. “Mom, I really don’t want to hurt you. But I’m going to come in your mouth. I don’t care if you’re conscious or not.”

I shoved her face forward. At first, she tried to angle away, to let her lips touch only the tip, but I used the leverage of her hair and the perfect, muddy traction of her knees to grind her all the way in. Her lips were cold at first, then warm, then just wet. She made a choked noise as I pressed into her, and I realized she was crying. The tears left streaks in the dirt on her cheeks, carving clean lines through the mess.

Her head rocked back and forth, slow at first, then faster as the resistance drained from her. Her hands scrabbled at my thighs, then at the ground, picking up more mud and twigs with each shift. She gagged once, the sound muffled by the shape of me in her throat, but I didn’t let up. If anything, I pulled harder.

“You want to stop?” I said, pulling her off just long enough for her to catch a breath.

She coughed, spitting out a thread of saliva and dirt. Her lips were already raw.

“Please,” she said again, her voice gone to gravel. “Please don’t make me—”

I shoved her back down, harder this time, until her nose mashed against my skin and the tears flowed faster. The snot joined the mess on her upper lip, which only made the slide easier.

“See how quiet it is?” I said, conversational, as if we were out for a picnic. “No one to hear you. No one to save you.” Mom shuddered but she never tried to scream. Maybe she thought it would make it end faster, or maybe she knew, deep down, that I was right. “I love the noises you make when you suck my dick, Mom.” I yanked her up again, this time twisting her by the hair so she was forced to look at the gash of sky above us. She blinked, snot running, lips streaked with mud and spit and something that wasn’t quite blood. “You know what happens to people who get lost out here?” I said, my voice a whisper just for her. “You remember the stories Dad used to tell? About the wolves, and the things that eat the lost ones? They don’t even bother searching for the bones. The animals drag them off, and by spring, there’s nothing left but a patch of hair and a hole in the ground.”

I let go of her hair, and she crumpled, catching herself on all fours. I watched her shoulders hitch as she struggled to breathe. Let her cry it out a bit.

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” I warned her. “What do you want, Mom? You want to be raped by your son? Or are you going to be a ...