Killer Mom

When I was five, I saw my mother kill my father. I watched as she sat over him yelling, and stabbing him in the chest. She then called 'uncle' Jerry who came over and took him away. We never talked about that night. On the few occasions I mentioned him without thinking, she just said, "He's gone, and we have to get on with our lives."

I knew why she did it. It was because he used to beat her almost every night. I remember that she was nice to me and gave me a lot of things, but that didn't stop me from being afraid. For years I thought that if I did something wrong, she would kill me too.

Mom went over to 'Uncle' Jerry's house a lot for a few years, and then one day she said that he had left and that we wouldn't be seeing him any more. I asked her, "Do you mean he's 'Gone'?"

She looked at me strangely and said, "Yes." So I figured she'd killed him too.

As I got older, I spilled juice on the rug, broke her glass unicorn, and once even set a fire in her closet -- and still remained alive. My fears subsided. When I got into my early teens, I decided she'd done the right thing to kill him since he was beating her.

That was about the time I started getting into the computer. Mom had shown me how to use it but I wasn't that interested until then. So one day I 'Googled' my name just to see what would happen, and references came up all over the place. They were about a person in the movie business who had my name. They named a few movies he had produced and there were some pictures of him. It was my father. I didn't really remember what he looked like, but I'd seen some photos in a box in mom's closet. There was an article that said he'd died of a heart attack at age thirty-one. What the hell?

Mom had told me almost nothing about him, but I was filled with a thousand questions. I printed out a few pages and went to find her. She was in the backyard. Our house was in the California hills and the closest houses were hidden behind bushes and hedges. It always felt that we lived in a world of our own.

I said to mom, "This says that dad was a producer, that he made movies. It says he died from a heart attack...but I thought you killed him?"

My mother looked at me as if I was crazy. "What? What are you talking about?"

I said, "I remember mom; I saw you, you were screaming at him and you were on top of him and you were stabbing him, I remember, I saw it."

She covered her mouth for a moment and her eyes opened wide. "You saw me? Oh my God. Listen to me Jason...you saw me trying to bring him back...I was pounding on his chest, I didn't think you remembered any of it."

The reversal was almost as shocking as the time I thought it happened. I said, "You didn't kill him then...did you?"

Mom said, "Of course not. I loved him so much; I couldn't even talk about it... I never wanted to. If it wasn't for you, I don't know what I would have done. I thought you were too young and I didn't want to burden you with my unhappiness. All this time you thought I..." She had an astonished look on her face.

I said, "Well, I thought because he used to beat you at night and make you...yell because he was hitting you."

"When?" She asked. "When did you see dad ever hit me? He was the sweetest man. Everything we have is because of him. What are you talking about?"

I said, "At night...when you thought I was asleep...I heard you."

"Oh my God..." She was laughing and covering her mouth. She kept laughing until she saw I getting upset. "This is unbelievable...one day you're going to laugh about this too Jason. He wasn't beating me. We were having sex." She blushed when she said; "I just made a lot of noise with him." She covered her face again and said with another laugh, "Oh my God, all these years you thought...and you never said anything?"

I said, "Well I thought if you did it, he deserved it."

She came over to me and hugged me and said, "Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry, I should have talked you about him...it just hurt me so much...I'm sorry baby, can you forgive me?"

I said, "Sure mom. I'm glad you didn't..."

She squeezed me to her and said, "Oh you crazy boy."

And what stuck in my crazy head the most from all of this? The part where she told me about her making noises while having sex. Maybe I wasn't ready to hear it, and maybe it was that I was too ready. But that was when that sex switch flipped up in me, and I was turned on and ready to go. The girls in my class looked different, women on the street looked different, and my mother looked different.

Besides my attention to her, my mother really did look 'Different'. It was probably because of the mixed blood. She was ¼ Cherokee and somehow it made her look almost Eurasian, with long straight dark hair and a smooth dusky complexion. She even had a Cherokee name, Inali, which referred to a fox. She went by Nali because she told me that whenever I heard someone call her by name, I repeated, 'Nali' over and over.

Mom told me about my father who had made some films that we were still getting money from, but that what we had mostly came from what he had inherited from his father. I knew we had money because mom never said no if I asked for some, and she would go to an expensive spa every week and get this treatment or that from someone named Janice.

After our talk, I began having 'The Dream' at least once or twice a week. In the dream, I'm in the woods and it's getting dark. I'm not sure how to get out. I'm hearing noises and I start running. Finally I find a dirt road and there's a black car sitting there. I can't see in the windows. I'm cold. The back door opens and a woman motions me in. She's dressed in black with a black hat and I can't see her face, but I think it's my mother.

I lean up against her breasts and close my eyes. Her hands are warming me. They go between my legs and they stay there. I fondle her breasts over the black dress. She massages my cock. We touch like that until I come. The dream triggered my first nocturnal emissions.

That was also about the time I began drawing seriously. I had always doodled, and people said they liked what I drew, but Miss Canava, the art teacher, saw something more. She gave me lessons. Mom insisted on paying her, and in a few years I had technique and an individual style. I could do a pencil portrait of someone in about ten minutes that were surprisingly accurate at capturing at least an aspect of a personality.

For a while it was a fun thing. In high school I was invited to lots of parties. I knew why. When I got tired of being the trained seal that could do his 'tricks,' I stopped going. I did the sidewalk art fairs and made great money, which I didn't need, so I stopped that too. I didn't stop drawing. And I had hundreds of my mother. I did it so much she didn't even notice if I was drawing her as she read, or fixed dinner, or watched TV.

When I started college, we often talked during the week, and I came home on weekends and holidays, because I was only eighty miles away. When the weather warmed, we spent all our time at the beach. Her creamy cleavage always turned me on. I often asked her to wear her white two-piece, even though I knew it would engender stares from others. You could just see a hint of the dark nipples through the fabric. I'd seen them a few times when she'd bent down and wasn't wearing a bra.

I flirted with her and she flirted back. I thought about crossing the line many times and never did. She stood in front of the mirror one day and said, "God, I'm falling apart."

I said, "Stop it mom, you've got a killer body." We both laughed after an awkward moment, and after that, I'd jokingly call her 'Killer' sometimes. Once in a while I'd bring a girl home that I was seeing. Sandy a particularly big-boobed brunette, that I was with the longest, seemed to annoy mom more than others.

On the phone she asked me, "Are those things of hers real?"

I laughed, "Of course not. Mom, you've got the last pair of real boobs around, and probably the best." Mom really did have great boobs.

She said, "Oh go on." She sounded pleased. Then she said, "Are you serious about her?"

I said, "No mom, we both see other people."

She said, "Good, it's too soon, and I don't think she's the one for you anyway."

I said, "Why not?"

She said, "She's not smart enough, or pretty enough...or good enough for my boy." That was the first time she had ever said anything negative about a girl I was with.

I laughed, "Mom, by your criteria, the only one that would be okay for me, is you."

She said, "Well, if I was a little younger, and not your mom, you'd be in trouble."

I said, "I wouldn't be in trouble, you'd be the one in trouble mom."

That was when I started drawing her from memory, and from imagination. I drew her in the white bathing suit, and turned it into a string bikini, which clearly showed the darkened circles of her nipples. And then I drew her asleep on the lounge chair, without the string bikini. And then there were a hundred different pictures of her in every possible position I could imagine her nude body.

And when I got past the reluctance to draw what I had always wanted to draw, there were all the pictures of mom and me, kissing, touching, fucking. I spent hours, days and weeks creating my fantasyland. I made a graphic story of how we first make love, with every detail showing, and all the dialogue I wanted to put in her mouth, and all the places I wanted to be inside of, and she was filled with me.

I guess it was inevitable that she would find them, or I would leave them for her to find. I found out on the phone. I was doing my usual teasing and flirting, but mom wasn't responding. When I asked her if something was wrong, She said, "I was cleaning up and I came across one of your sketchpads..." I didn't say anything because I went cold. I waited. She said, Honey, we have to talk when you come home."

The only good thing I could think of was that she called me 'Honey' and not 'Pervert.' I was glad it was Friday because I would have went nuts if I had to go over it all in my head for more than a day. I went home that night instead of my usual Saturday morning. We sat down before dinner and she brought the drawings she had found. Thank God. I saw that it was one of the earlier pads. I looked through it and it had mostly nudes of her and a few drawings of the two of us kissing. They were from different angles and there was no doubt about who the two people were.

She said, "Is this how you feel about me?"

I said, "Mom, you know it's how I feel about you, don't you? Please don't be upset, I won't do it anymore if it bothers you."

"No baby," she said. "I couldn't tell you what to draw any more than I could tell you what to feel. It's just...confusing."

"Do you hate them mom?" I asked.

She said, "No, of course not, they're so well done...and full of love. You made me look beautiful."

"You are beautiful mom," I said. "I guess I wanted you to finally know how I feel, but I was afraid you might be shocked."

She gave a wry smile and said, "No baby, I wasn't shocked; I guess I knew...I won't lie to you...I was excited when I realized what the pictures were."

My temples started to throb when she said that and I said, "Mom, let me draw you, now, from life, I always wanted to, you're so beautiful...let me."

She said, "How...?"

I said, "Right there." She sat in a deep plush chair. I turned the pad to a clean page and got a pencil. I said, "Take off your top mom." She stopped for a moment and then took off her blouse. She hesitantly asked with her eyes if I wanted her to take off her bra. I nodded and she reached behind and unclasped it, freeing the full globes and exposing the large mocha circles around her nipples.

I said, "Mom, take off your skirt." It pulled down easily over the gentle curve of her hips. She kicked off her shoes and sat. She had tan thigh highs on that added some shine to her shapely legs. Her panties were almost the same color and made of satin.

I said, "Let me see you."

She took a deep breath, and as she took her panties off, she raised her eyebrows and said, "I'm glad I went to Janice's yesterday." She sat.

I said, "You're gorgeous mom, you're perfect." She was shaved clean and her coloring was smooth between her legs. I walked up to her and her eyes opened wide in the uncertainty of what I was about to do. I asked her to sit back in the deep chair. I lifted her legs from the ankles and placed her feet on the chair exposing her completely. Her fragrance almost made me dizzy.

I went back and began drawing. After about three minutes, I was out of my mind. I could see the wetness shining on my mother's pussy and I was about to break the zipper with my hard-on. I walked over and kneeled in front of the incredible sight and put my hands on her ankles. She was saying "Jason..." in a way that could have meant either yes or no. I didn't wait to figure it out. I put mouth on her pussy and it was more than wet. Her hand caressed the back of my head. I licked her sweet juices and pushed my tongue between the soft slick folds of her lips. I went deep enough to slide along the walls of her vagina.

I said, "Nali, you taste so good." Then I put the tip of my tongue on her clit. Mom moaned loudly. I wanted to fuck my mother at that moment more than I thought I could. I hurriedly undid my pants and brought my hard cock to her opening. She was still saying my name when I entered her. Her slit opened for me and she received her son. I was inside my mother's pussy, and I experience relief and a building of tension at the same time.

Mom was saying, "Oh God, Oh my God..." I began to enter her with the full length of my shaft. She was wet and yielding and before I stroked her more than two or three times, she began to cry.

I didn't want to stop, but seeing her upset continue, I pulled out. I said, "I'm sorry mom...I shouldn't have. I just wanted you so much; I love you so much." Seeing the tears fall affected me, and then I said the most difficult thing for me to say, "I won't bother you any more, I promise." I reached for her clothes.

Mom said, "Oh Jason, no, you didn't do anything I didn't want you to do. It's just that when you were inside me, it brought it all back for me. Your father...you feel just like him, when you were in me you filled me like he did, you even move in me like he did. Jason, I'm okay...I really think I am. That was the past, a different life. You and I are now. Baby, come be inside me again, it's what I want. I leaned over and kissed away her tears and then her lips found mine and, I tasted her tongue for the first time.

She reached for me and my cock was hard in her hand as she guided me into her again. This time she didn't cry. I saw her smile as I stroked her pussy that wrapped itself around me. I pulled her toward me and she hung on because she could tell I was taking her down to the rug; I didn't want to be out of her. Once she was on the floor, I could get deeper into her pussy. I pushed her legs back and she was as opened as she could get. I pressed home and she moaned with each thrust. I was home when I felt myself inside her.

"Jason, don't ever leave me," she said, "don't ever go away, I couldn't stand it."

I knew what she thinking about and I said, "I promise mom, I'm here, and this is where I want to be, with you, inside you."

She said, "Yes baby, inside me, inside your momma who loves you so much. Jason...Jason...Jason..." She was raising her hips to meet my thrusts and my name came out as a little yell as I filled her completely.

I loved the feel of her skin up and down my body, and the stockings that she still wore felt sexy when she moved on my thighs or legs, and especially when she wrapped her legs around my waist. I knew I couldn't go on for much longer at the insistent pace she was pushing as she took me deep. Her breaths were coming closer together and when she grabbed my ass and drew me in I said, "Mom can I come inside you?"

She said, "Yes baby, come inside me, come inside your mommy, come baby, come...come...come." It sounded as if she was almost there, but I had no choice. The first release was so intense it made me cry out. With the second release into her, I heard my mother say, "Yes baby, come with me...OH...OH, OH GOD..." She let out a long "OHHhhhhhhh..." that diminished in volume until it was a whisper. She wrapped her legs around me and pulled me to her and said, "Darling, darling Jason, you made me feel so good baby."

I said, "Mom, I fantasized and dreamed about being with you this way for so long, and this was even better than I could have imagined."

"Oh baby," she said, "I'm so glad, and I'm proud to have you."

We never did get to have dinner. It was a night filled with wonders. Neither of us could stop. We slept between bouts, but inevitably one would wake the other with a touch, or a mouth, or a finger.

At one point I asked her if she had known how I felt, or known that something was happening between us. She slid her hand down my chest and let it rest over my cock and she said, "When I realized that your flirting with me was serious, I had to examine my own feelings. I never thought it would come to anything, but I enjoyed fantasizing. I noticed that you were hard around me sometimes." She laughed a little and said, "This is embarrassing, but I began looking to see if I made you hard by not wearing a bra, or letting my skirt ride up, or some silly thing like that."

I was getting hard in her hand and I reached to touch her pussy as she talked. She said, "Then I found myself thinking more and more about you. I thought of you and me walking in the woods holding hands, and you'd stop and kiss me. Then I started thinking about you having sex with me."

"How mom?" I asked, as we gently masturbated each other.

"At first I imagined you came to me when you thought I was sleeping, and you touched me...you ran your hands over my body and when I didn't wake up, you would touch my pussy until I came. And sometimes, I'd try to stop you, but you would tie me up and you forced me to...suck you..."

"I would never do that mom", I said.

She laughed, "I know silly, it was just a way to get to imagine you...like this..." She leaned over and took the expanded knob between her lips and sucked on it. She pressed it and I could feel that some pre-cum had oozed, and she took it on her tongue. She looked so hot. She said, "You want your mommy, don't you baby," as she licked her lips with my juice.

I said, "The answer might incriminate me mom."

She laughed and took the whole head and part of my shaft into the warm confines of her mouth. She made a small 'Mmmm...' sound each time she went down the thickened pole. She caressed my balls lovingly and said, "Well, your mommy wants you, and I don't care if it does incriminate me as a bad mother."

She went back and licked the column that sprang each time her tongue made contact. I said, "You're a perfect mom, and the way you take care of your son proves it; that's why I love you so much."

She said, "And you're perfect for me baby." She began sucking me in earnest. With my eyes closed, I listened to the sounds of her mouth and tones of pleasure we each made. She stroked the shaft when she wasn't trying to take more of me into her throat.

I played with her tits as she sucked, and the tips of her nipples felt diamond hard in my palm. We had come a long way through a night that began with my asking her if I could come inside her pussy. I knew I was going to come in her mouth. I felt so close to her, so loving, so loved.

Mom worked my cock with her hand and mouth slowly and teasingly, to extend the pleasure and build up the orgasmic energy to pressure-cooker intensity, but after a while, it was clear to both of us that I was about to come. She only stopped long enough to say, "I want to taste you darling."