Confessions of a Motherfucker Ch.07 by TheGraduate88

Confessions of a Motherfucker Ch.07 by TheGraduate88

I slept too.

In the morning I woke and the bed was empty.

I went into the bathroom, peed, washed my hands, brushed my teeth, and headed for the kitchen.

To my surprise, my mother was busy making breakfast. I literally could not remember the last time she had made me breakfast. Hell, it was rare that she was up and functioning before late morning, and then breakfast was typically a triple shot of vodka in her screwdriver as an eye-opener.

This morning she was moving comfortably in the kitchen wearing nothing but her old-fashioned apron, the kind that loops over her neck and ties in the back. Her slightly oversize ass showed the pink stripe from the switch and until that point in my life, this was the single sexiest thing I had ever seen. The places where I had used the loofah on her showed a very bright pink when they peeked out.

She looked even more delicious than the breakfast she was preparing and that looked DAMN delicious. When she decides to cook, she really is good in the kitchen.

She was moving with a spring in her step I hadn’t seen in years. She was light on her feet and made making breakfast almost a dance.

When I started moving to see if she needed help she smiled, kissed me, and said, “Sit, Baby.”

So I sat and watched her.

When she brought two glasses of orange juice and sat one in front of her chair and one in front of me she lingered long enough for a serious kiss, giggling as my hand lightly traced the welt on her ass.

She actually sang, her voice a whisky-raspy contralto as she sang an obscure Tom Waits song.

I watched, fascinated. She was happier than I had seen her, well, maybe ever.

She kissed me again as she set the omelet with the bacon and toast before me and then sat across from me.

Our eyes met across the table.

“What?” I asked.

She smiled and lightly rubbed the inside of her upper arm where I had abraded her skin.

“Thank you, Honey,” she said.

I smiled and said, “Happy to oblige.”

“No,” she said, turning serious all of a sudden, “David, for the first time in years, Honey, I feel like a woman.”

A tear overflowed her left eye, running down her cheek.

I pushed back from the table and quickly moved around to take her hands.

“Mom,” I said, easing to my knees, holding both of her hands in mine, “I just wish you had told me sooner.”

She smiled, a happy smile, “So you could whip me earlier?”

I grinned, my best boyish grin, the one I practice regularly in the mirror.

“I knew it,” she said, keeping that happy smile, “You liked doing that to me, didn’t you.”

“I did,” I said, “and I’m going to enjoy it the next time and the next time and the next time.”

“Pervert,” she said.

I laughed then.

“And you’re going to enjoy it too, aren’t you?” I said.

She turned serious then.

“It’s good to feel things, David,” she said.

I let it go at that, went back to my side of the table, and finished my breakfast, smiling at her from time to time as we ate in companionable silence.

When we finished we did the dishes, me washing, her drying and putting them away, because she knew where she wanted things.

She was humming but then she dropped a glass and suddenly she was in a rage.

“GOD DAMN IT,” she screamed, “SHIT! FUCK!” She grabbed another glass and threw it against the wall.

I closed the distance between us, scooting my feet to avoid glass, and grabbed her. It was more a boxer’s clinch than an embrace.

“Easy,” I said softly, fighting against her struggles, not wanting to let her get loose for fear she would hit me.

“OH FUCK, SHIT,” she was raging now, almost incoherent, and I could feel her tears and snot wetting my chest as she bawled and shrieked her anger.

I don’t know how long I held her in that embrace, murmuring my quieting words, saying those things you say to quiet a child or a wild animal, “Easy, I’ve got you, it’s okay,” stuff like that.

Finally, she calmed down, or maybe she just got exhausted.

“Okay,” I said when I was pretty sure she wouldn’t hit me, “what was that all about.”

My mother is a pretty woman. She is a true MILF with her girl-next-door good looks, not beautiful with that slightly crooked front tooth but pretty.

But she is not pretty when she cries.

She wasn’t pretty when she looked up at me. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her nose was red and swollen with two distinct bulges rose on either side of her nose from her swollen sinuses and snot was just pouring from her nose. When she opened her mouth to respond to me a sheet of thick, mucus-laden saliva connected her upper and lower lips and more of that was running down her chin as she struggled to breathe through her swollen sinuses.

I brushed hair away from her forehead and repeated, “What’s going on?”

She held up her hand and I could see it shaking in a jerky, uncontrolled tremor.

I caught her hand in mine and kissed it.

I could feel the strength of the tremors as if she was trying to play air drums or maybe air guitar.

“It’s okay,” I said, “I didn’t like those glasses anyway.”

She laughed at that.

“Thank you,” she said, “I needed that.”

“I know what you need,” I said and scooped her up in the classic carry-the-bride-across-the-threshold carry with my left forearm behind her knee and my right across her back. She giggled and reached up so her arms were around my neck, helping me.

I scooted my feet, making it past the shattered glass to the relative safety of the front room before I relaxed and carried her the rest of the way to the bedroom.

She was crying now, her mood swinging like a crazed monkey on a tire swing.

“What?” I asked, holding the hand that twitched, feeling the power as muscles contracted involuntarily.

She looked up at me, red eyes, nose running, and looking absolutely lost.

“I can’t feel it, David,” she said very softly, “I have to look to see what it’s doing.”

She jerked her hand away and slammed it, backhand, into the wall, screaming now, the rage back on her, “I CAN’T FEEL IT!!!!”

I caught her again, clinched. And started with the calming words and the soft voice.

“Help me, Honey, please,” she said.

“What do you need?” I asked, holding that treacherous hand and holding her eyes with mine.

“Make me feel something,” she said.

“What do you need?” I asked again, feeling a little guilty if I’m being honest, at the way my dick responded.

“YOU KNOW WHAT I NEED, GODDAM IT,” she yelled, the rage in charge again, “DO IT YOU FUCKING COWARD!”

And that monster I keep so tightly caged broke free.

I hit her, squarely on the nipple. Not the hardest punch I could throw, but hard enough that her eyes went wide and she coughed with a sharp intake of breath.

“IS THAT WHAT YOU NEED?” I yelled back, the monster in charge now.

I twisted my fingers in her hair, yanking her head back, forcing her to look straight up.

“THIS?!” I yelled, jerking her head from side to side.

“THIS!?” I yelled, grabbing the breast I had punched and squeezing, crushing it.

“YES, GODDAM IT, FUCK YESSSSS!” she yelled back.

Sanity returned.

“STOP IT!” I yelled, and covered her reply with a kiss.

“Stop it, Mom,” I said, holding her now, an embrace not a clinch.

I felt the tension leave her body.

“Now,” I said, kissing her cheek and nuzzling her neck, “tell me what you need.”

She held my eyes for a long ten count and then took the three steps to the closet. She rummaged through it and then came back with one of my work belts in her hand, a heavy leather belt, well worn and oiled with baseball glove oil to keep it supple.

“Strap me, David,” she said, “I need to feel something.”

“Mom,” I said although my hand could feel the belt in my hand and the monster in my head was whispering “yes, “There are other ways for you to feel things.”

“Strap me, David,” she said again, “stuff my dirty panties in my mouth so I can scream, and strap me across the back.”

“Mom,” I said, holding her eyes.

She held up her hand, that uncontrollable, almost spasming tremor making her thumb and finger jump.

“Please, David,” she said, and the look in her eyes was beseeching, one of those words you see written down but never hear spoken, “I NEED to feel something.”

The monster was clawing at that gate I kept up.

I went into the closet and rummaged through the dirty clothes hamper until I came up with a pair of those big granny panties she preferred. I looked at the rack that held her belts and found a narrow belt with one of those infinite buckles, the ones that don’t have holes and a buckle, just this ratcheting arrangement that locks it, well, anywhere.

She was watching me close the distance back to her, her eyes were big but I couldn’t really tell if it was fear or excitement. The womanscent, though, was pure excitement.

“Tell me what you want, Mom,” I said.

“Make me feel something,” she said.

“No,” I said, straining against the monster, “you have to tell me what you WANT!”

She took a deep breath and met my eyes then, no fear now, all desire.

“Strap me, Baby,” she said, “my back, not my ass or my legs, my back between my shoulder blades and my ass. Make me jerk and try to escape. Pull my hair. MAKE ME FEEL SOMETHING!”

I held the belt, swinging in a loop, before her eyes.

“This is what you want?” I asked.

“Please,” she said.

I released the monster inside of me.

“Open your fucking mouth, Mom,” I said, my voice low and I hoped, threatening.

Her eyes held mine as she opened her mouth.

“Wider,” I said, and she opened wider.

Her nose was starting to run with her excitement so I held the panties to it and said, “Blow.”

Her eyes got big as she blew, repeatedly.

She’s a good girl, and hadn’t closed her mouth.

“Not just pain,” the monster whispered, cackling its glee, “she needs humiliation too. She needs to feel it on every level.”

I’m not sure, if I’m being honest, if it was that insane monster me, or the rational me that truly wanted to give my mother what she needed, I don’t suppose it matters, when you get down to it.

What matters is what I did.

And what I did was to shove those panties into her pussy, slick and wet now with her anticipation. She grunted when I pulled them out and her eyes got big as I wiped her ass and then blew my nose into them, her mixed scents making me even harder, and then stuffed them into her mouth. There was enough material that her cheeks bulged out and I watched as she retched a little when the mass filled her mouth enough to trigger her gag reflex.