S.M.O.M.S. – The Origin
by DiscipleN
Chapter 4
Baptists refute canonical sainthood, but their stories survive. Many are regarded as important thinkers or heroes of the faith. Pastors de-emphasize their supposed miracles but quote their works.
The folk of Danlick believed in Saint Dunlop. I would need time to prepare myself to reach her. A month was not enough time. Fortified by Mrs. Orchard’s community, though her christian name came difficult to my tongue, I suffered Hory’s forcefulness without lapsing into despair. I neither felt nor sought pleasure from his manhood. Working farm and sty centered my emotions, lifted me above the darkness that tugged at my soul. My love for Luke increased every day. He was a blessing, if not in the way my neighbors imagined. A month after returning from Danlick, I was gathering eggs from our small hen house. Turning I shook feathers and dung from my apron. I looked up. Hortense had been enlarging one of the pens. His tools stood against a rail. I saw John Tuttle leading my son away.
I dropped the egg basket, ignored the lost, and scurried after them. I reached them at the edge of the copse north of our farm. John sat on a stump, smiling up at Hory. Before I could holler, Hortense slapped the young man. John fell but bounced up, only to receive an angry kick. Following blow with blows, yelling, “You motherfucking tree rat, I’ll kill you!” Hory drove John off our land.
The sight of me did not surprise my son, it angered him. “Whore!” he shouted.
“Hory! What did he tell you?”
“You recognized him!” He stomped close and grabbed my arms. He lifted as if to throw me into the dirt.”
“Break me in half, if I have wronged you, but tell me why!” I pleaded.
Hory pushed and released me. I landed unbalanced but caught myself. He screamed “I do not care with what animals you lay, but if you should ever risk my son again, I will banish you from him and me.”
“No!” I wailed. “I am with you only! I swear!”
“Into the house, Mother!” He raised an arm. I fled inside.
He did not appear immediately behind me. I cowered, standing in the middle of the house, fretting over the unfathomable.
The door opened. He rolled inside like a juggernaut, a wooden pail in his hand. Slamming us shut within, he told me, “Strip.” The air that swirled from the door sent vile fumes out of the bucket and unto my nostrils. I gagged. “What is this?” I recoiled in horror.
“Strip, you pig of a bitch!” Raising the pail, he threatened, leaving no recourse open to me.
I began by untying the knotted apron strings. A river of hatred flooded from him. “I have always known your lying ways.
“I will tell you true, whatever the accusation!” The apron fell and I pulled toggles from loops as fast as I could, down my dress.
“You took Luke into the town, a month ago!” He raged. “You told me the church.”
“I-I did, son. But there was no harm.” My dress peeled away from my undergarments. “I would never endanger our child!”
“Your judgement is as corrupt as your tongue!” Hortense accused with a finger at my undershirt and bloomers. “I will peel away your lies. Strip!”
The air grew rank and I felt my stomach roil. “I went to town, to see the other miracle women.”
“You admit it!” Enraged beyond reason, he scooped a handful of the bucket’s foulness and threw it at my feet.”
“I spoke with one, and I returned. That is all!” I pulled my shirt off revealing my milk engorged teats.
“LIAR!” He sent another handful of stinking muck at my underwear. The impacted my left knee, and I nearly vomited.
I pushed them down and jumped naked, away from his brown missiles. “I swear, my son!”
He grabbed a third glob. “Lying BITCH!” He raised it. “You went to the pastor there. You confessed about me and Luke. You sought to save your soul by sacrificing our family!” His arm shook indecisively.
“NO! I wanted only to know who the women were. He was the one person certain to know. May god strike me dead!”
“AAARRRRGGGG!!” He raged and flung his third missile into my fallen dress. It spattered across pleats and hems and loops and toggles. It soaked in to the sturdy muslin. Hortense scooped and hurled every clod of pig shit into my clothes.
I fell naked to my knees and prayed to my son. “I would leap into hell’s fires to save you and Luke!”
Hory dropped his bucket, eyes cooling. His clean hand opened his trousers. His other grabbed my hair and pulled my head to his cock. I sucked him until he was hard. “From now on, I will treat you like the animal you have become.” Pushing my shoulder, he spun me around. He greased his cock with pig shit and ordered me to raise my ass. I felt his messy, turgid bulb press my bung.
That my son would do this to his faithful and devoted mother, stunned me. Surely devils danced on our roof and under the floorboards. He grabbed my hips and pressed his manhood into my rear. I screamed and shook desperately to escape. “AAAOOOWWW!!! No, Son! NO!!” Satan has entered you.
He humped his cock inside my bottom. He reared and plunged. “I have entered him, Mother, and I will purge the beast from you!”
My next punishment from God began. Hory pulled and thrust. His fucking was swift and agonizing. I wailed like a fallen banshee broken against a mountain peak.
“Greatgran was right. You are slattern and whore. You seduce your son and lay with snakes in the woods.” Cock speared my behind again and again, swiping pig foulness upon my bum. The scraping that drove my cries, he must also have felt, but anger hurt worse. “I found your devil’s idol!” He accused.
“Vile villainy, Greatgran called it. You lay limp at my desire but secretly fornicate with a totem of evil.” He thrust hard into me and walloped my buttocks!
I shrieked! His tirade spewed my sins against my back. My ears burned, and my face drained of blood. His cock never faltered, rutting inside Sodom like an avenging army.
“I l-loved you, Mother.” His voice trembled. “I did.” He pushed inside my bowels one last time and spilled his his cum into my cesspit.
In my puss, he would have stayed, savoring his release. I sensed my son’s release had disgusted him. He pulled out and forsook me to clense himself.
I collapsed to the floor, reeking. “Hory, I am ruined.” I called weakly.
Minutes or hours passed. Hortense returned and threw a damp cloth over my nakedness. He set a pail of fresh water beside me. “Wash, bitch of pigs. You must feed my son.” Leaving, to fetch Luke, he swore, “I will never seed you again.”
He returned Luke to the crib, after his child fell asleep at my breast. I was left to clean the place where I had been defiled. I sneaked out, still naked, to burn my dress, the wash cloths, and fouled under things. I scrubbed the floor until my hands bled upon the brush. Finished, I dared to seek my son’s forgiveness. He had taken to the loft.
“Hory?” The moment my hand touched a rung, he tossed my remaining clothes at me. “Sleep next to the stove. I gave the low mattress to the mule. Sleep with it, if you find the floor too hard. I’m sure it would fuck you as much as you like, but it won’t git you another child neither.
I slept upon my clean clothes.
In the days that followed I was forced into and imprisoned by a life reconstructed by my son. I could wear no clothes except to church or if I needed protection from a task around the farm. I washed myself outside. I was allowed inside to fix meals and at night to sleep. I could only feed Luke on the porch, always in Hory’s sight.
Hortense visited all of our neighbors, hat in hand with terrible news. “The burden of God’s blessing has broke my mother’s mind. Like her grandfather, she wanders naked in the yard and attempts to defile herself. She ain’t a danger, not even to her newborn I swear upon my father’s grave – rest his soul. Please keep her in your prayers. I will bring her to church, to every sermon, in the hope that her soul, the Lord saw fit to bless, will return to her family.
None of my friends and acquaintances spoke with me. Some visited to ask about my health, most came to trade or buy from my son. When he took me to church, he bade me to keep silent, or he would destroy me. I became the idiot of the township. A few times, young, unmarried women sought his attention. He ignored them. The trap he had made for me ensnared him as well.
Reverend Hannity tried three times to interview me. I acted as stupid and empty as I felt. The third time, he wept.
Hortense continued to use me. He flooded my bowels with his spend. I was thankful only for the bacon grease he used to ease his manhood’s thrusting. He sometimes let me suck out his seed, but on the instances when he could no longer refrain from my puss, he withdrew his raging cock from me and spewed cum across my flesh. My son’s releases and pleasure seemed to increase at his greater control over me and my greater shame.
He even took to punishing me with the wooden rod he dubbed, The Villain. After coating my belly and breasts with his spend, he would cry. “Now, Pig, the wicked lover, you would have cuckold me with, will use you by my hand.” He stuffed my puss and fucked me with the rod, daring me to release. My venus wept every time he bedded it, enabling him to plunge my wooden cock. After taking my bottom, my baby hole was too dry for it. “If The Villain pleasures you, it means you truly would have sold me to the devil for it.”
Having fallen as low as I imagined possible, the darkness surrounding me sought to breech my soul and devour it. I did cry out at times, from my son’s rampant manhood plundering my puss, but I never responded to his use of my selfish substitue.
There came a day when I discovered another pit to fall further into. Hory had dropped his tools to take me in the front yard. My son kept grease in a leather pouch at his belt, for sudden urges. After surveying the trail leading to our house, he bent me over a fence rail and pounded his cock into his mother’s behind. I groaned with sorrow. I had long since cried all of my tears for this punishment. He was half done with me when I believed I spied a figure lurking at the edge of the north copse. I blinked, and it was gone, but the image of that person stayed in mind, and the greatest shame I had ever known drowned me. Without warning, a thick tangle of sensations escaped my pummeled innards and washed over my soul. The eruption of pleasure flooded my every thought, and I cried out in joy. “Ooooohhhhh, Son!!”
My intense release shocked Hory, angered him. “You are become a whore of a beast, Slattern!” His balls erupted to his surprise and peaked delight. He joined my shouts. For the first time in our lives, we had released together. The moment he pulled himself out of me, I hugged and kissed my son without thinking. He pushed me away and called me worse names. I understood his insults then. He used the words to protect himself. Out of sympathy I went to the well and washed with cold water.
For a week, he did not use me. The nights grew colder. Autumn is the busiest time for farmers. Harvest and culling pigs for market, slaughtering and butchering and smoking and pickling, and ensuring the house and other structures would withstand winter, those efforts consumed our waking hours.
Perhaps it was merely exhaustion that sapped his lechery. A week after we shared a brief moment of joy, he forced me to my knees and took his pleasure from my mouth. He deprived my stomach of his seed, to pull out and spray my face with cum. “This will be your new mark of obedience, Pig.”
“Thank you, Son.” I said before I realized the words I’d spoken.
His hand raised, but he did not slap. Only in his worst rages, which came every few years until recently, had Hory beaten me. “You will call me “Farmer” from now on, or I will slice you open and smoke your guts.” He spit on the ground next to me and walked heavily away.
The traumatic changes in my life became routine, and I began wondering frequently about the events that had changed them.
What had John said, exactly? He must have learned of my visit to Danlick with Luke, but that was impossible. There was no way he could have seen me enter the church without arousing suspicion from the townsfolk. Someone, possibly the preacher had told of my visit, and that telling eventually found John. At the time, Reverend Onager seemed to want to erase my visit from his thoughts. It made no sense. There was a way I could learn the whole story, with certainty, but my imprisonment denied my ever speaking with Eleanor Tuttle.
I worked another month of autumn, suffering my son’s baptisms of sperm. One day, a stranger approached. I spied the tall, well dressed man in time to scurry into hiding. Hortense greeted him at the far end of our land. They spoke for an hour. At one point my son scratched his head before shaking it, no. The stranger shrugged and returned the way he had arrived.
While I could speak freely of matters concerning Luke and the farm, Hortense allowed me to speak only of those things. What the stranger had wanted or offered, I could not ask.
My son used my mouth frequently for a few days after the visitor’s hour, but he seemed less pleased with his releases. One day he pulled from my mouth without spending and simply walked away.
The next day, he told me to dress. It was not Sunday. He hitched the mule to the cart and we loaded our accumulated goods destined to sell in Danlick. I wanted to carry Luke, but Hory made a cradle for him among the sacks and casks. Our son cried immediately upon embarking, loud and long, until Hory relinquished Luke to my lonely arms. He had taken to chewing tobacco. He spit next to my foot when the joy of motherhood returned to me.
Luke gurgled and spoke, “Mawma.”
My tears lasted for twenty minutes.
“Pig!” Hory startled me when we approached the town. “You may speak freely, today. But I will be listening.”
“Yes, Farmer.”
He took the lead and we spent the rest of the morning bargaining with our goods. After a quick, filling lunch. We returned to the shops and stores, this time to spend some of the money we’d earned. An aging woman, a solid man, and a baby in my arms made a strange looking family. The clerk welcomed us, gaily. Strange families had become the norm in Danlick.
“Greetings, Madam and Sir. How may I serve you? Our tools are the finest crafted items in town, if not the state. I am your humble servant, Samuel.”
I gasped. The four eyes that darted to me were half curious and half threatening.
“My last bite of lunch, sir, caught me by surprise.”
Samuel smiled, nodded pleasantly.”
“Perhaps, you should find water.” Hory indicated the door.
I shuffled outside, leaving Luke with my son.
My full breath didn’t come for a minute. This might well be the shop run by Mrs. Orchard’s son. I dared not ask Samuel’s family name.
I felt there was no danger here after another minute. Rose would never have betrayed me. The one who might have, I could not test. Unless I risked my son’s greatest wrath. I did not hesitate.
Walking as quickly as I could, even to invite suspicion from the townsfolk, I sought the Baptist church. Reverend Onager was in his office, writing. I knocked and fell dumb. Only then did it occur that this brother to our pastor would have heard of my mental breakdown.
The man’s eyes lit up, fear filled, at the sight of me. “Lord of Mercy.” He spoke solemnly. Then he fell to his knees and prayed. His eyes lowered to the floor. “Lord forgive me for I have sinned. Forgive my transgression of this woman, Besha, whom you blessed, but I allowed to slip from your glory. Forgive my surrender to temptation, favoring the woman you cast out over this perfect vessel you gave a son to. Hear my prayer, oh lord. In Je-”
I gasp and ran from the church. I ran back to our cart. My breath raced. Hory stood beside the mule and glared at me. “I would have left you.” He took the reigns and led. He looked at Luke in his makeshift bed. “Pick him up. I can’t have him bawling while we finish buying what we need for winter.”
As the long days were ending, we had but two hours to buy and trade before starting home.
I kept to the shadows. The reverend’s prayer echoed in my mind. Who was the outcast woman who caused him to transgress me? That was all I had after discarding most of his words as empty. The reverend was a man, allowed to marry by Baptist tradition, but infidelity was not unknown. We are all sinners. What was his actual transgression? I would have the entire trip home to think it over and over. Hory had ceased to talk to me.
Finally, the last supplies were bought and loaded. We headed home.
Not five minutes after leaving town, a woman stepped into the road and beseeched us. “God calls unto you, Besha. He knows of your sin, and your fall from grace. He has spoke to me, to bring you back to his glory!”
The most beautiful woman I had ever witnessed stood in our way with her arms outstretched. She was clothed entirely in autumn leaves woven into a sparse concealment of her modesty. One of her nipples was visible though her breasts were slight. Gaps in the leaves allowed sunlight to dapple skin beneath. Even her blond hair curled out of spaces over her loins. To me it was also evident that she was with child, although Hortense had not the experience to see it.
Green eyes bored into our hearts. “Brother to your son, let God be with your mother, here for another day. I will return her with glory gained that will forever bring you joy beyond that of heaven.”
“Ignore this pig, Pig.” Hory turned his head to me. He averted his eyes from Rebecca Dunlop and led his family past her.
“You will suffer, foolish brother. I have seen a son suffer when, having conquered his desires, no joy can remain.”
The silence during our trip home was punctuated by birdsong, wind in branches, and clomping hooves.
Four miles before we reached home, Hortense turned onto a path I did not know. It was fresh, but ruts in it were deep. My son cautioned me to play the idiot. Fifteen minutes from the main road, we reached a modest cabin. Nearby, several lean-tos issued an odor that disagreed with me. Upon the yards, by their meager structures, several nigger women sat on rough hewn chairs and chatted. Three, nigger men played horseshoes. There were no children.
Hortense ignored the darkies and strode up to the main house. He knocked, and seconds later, the stranger from the previous week greeted him in the doorway. This time the white man wore cheap linen, wrinkled and stained. They spoke slowly, but arrived at an agreement in a few minutes. My son shook hands with this doubtless villain and returned to our cart.
The man in doorway waved to us as we departed.
“I have hired a worker and maid.” My son informed me.
She arrived the next day. Too scrawny for real work, too ugly to bed my son, I studied her from behind a far gate. How much had Hortense promised the man in the cabin? My son greeted her in the front yard, where anyone could see him talking to a-”
“Pig! Come her, Pig.” Hory shouted. “Don’t you dare cover yourself!”
I was full red, standing up from behind the gate. I opened it and let myself out. I tread to greater shame as as slowly as I could.
“This is my mother, who became my pig.” He introduced me. “I can fuck her, if I want. Do you understand that you will see me fucking her while you work here?”
The woman trembled, then steadied. Her face had betrayed not fear but disgust. “Mister, I understand.”
“My pig will answer to you. She will obey you, but you do not own her.”
“Nobody should own anybody, Mister.”
My son laughed. “I own her, though, entirely, completely.” He sobered. “If you work hard today, I will give you a penny to take to your boss. If you work hard for a week, I will give you an extra penny that you can keep. I will pay you extra each week that you perform well.”
“I ain’t a monkey, Mister, but I work hard. You won’t regret it.”
“No.” He looked at me. “I won’t.”
“There is one last thing. What I do here, with my Pig, is no different than what a farmer does to any of their livestock. And if you’re naive to think that farmers don’t fornicate with their animals, don’t come back tomorrow. BUT, if you tell you boss anything else, I will be sure you starve in the woods, far from here.”
“What white folk do is their own biznuss, Mister. It’s not my place to tell anything. I just want to work.”
Hortense stepped aside and leered at me. “Pig, meet Jasmine. But you will call her Hand.”
“What do I call your mama?” Jasmine was not shy.
“You call her Besha, nigger.” Hortense spat. He proceded to assign our chores.
Scrawny and ugly, I expected her to last no more than a few hours. By lunch I was flagged. She kept working after Hory called me to the kitchen. She hadn’t spoke, nor had I. We did accomplish three times the work I normally would have.
After filling ourselves, I had fed Luke while making lunch, my son ordered Jasmine to clear the table. He bent me over and fucked my behind. I stared at the black skinned woman while my son thrust his cock into me. She raised more than an eyebrow then. I turned bright as a beet and felt my son’s fucking break free an incredible burst of feelings. I drooled as the pleasure took me. It sustained until his hot seed seared my bowels. He cried out. I had clenched my teeth and grunted.
He stayed inside me for several seconds, panting over my bare back. “You are a whore, Pig.”
He bade me to wash him. This was new. Always we had washed ourselves. He did not let me wash, though. “Get back to work with you both.” He ordered, pulling his pants together.
The competition between me and Jasmine eased. I sensed she wanted to say something to me. I had nothing to say to her. It was best that the afternoon passed productively, without words unless they needed answers to help our work.
Then Hortense gave a penny to Jasmine, and she left. When she was out of sight, he pushed me to the ground and fucked my puss. He left his seed over my naked breasts and belly.
Before he climbed to his bed in the loft, he made me suck his cock until it filled my throat with hot cum. He handed The Villain to me and left me beside the stove. I pleasured myself twice before falling asleep.
In the morning, he fucked me proper, but he spilled his seed into my mouth and made me suck his manhood clean.
Jasmine returned. This time, Hory put on no show. Mid morning, he took me from our work, pushed me up against the smokehouse and fucked my bunghole. His thrusting pleasured me again. Our lunch was eaten quietly. Jasmine’s eyes darted between us. He asked, “Jasmine, do you have questions about your work?”
“Uh, no sir.”
“Then let us continue.”
He paused our afternoon effort for a sit down. We sipped water and ate peaches. He told Jasmine to get back to work. We would follow. I sucked on Hory’s cock for ten minutes before he exploded in my mouth.
When his hot gushes flooded my tongue, I felt my puss jump on the inside, and I knew pleasure from sucking my son’s cock, for the first time.
Come evening another penny left our household. My son and I spent another night moaning from sinful joys.
The first week ended with two pennies in Jasmine’s hand. By the end of the second, we occasionally shared small talk, about the farm and the townsfolk. She said little about her boss and the other darkies. I refrained from any gossip that might have embarrassed my neighbors. We settled into a strange partnership, working hard, keeping our raw curiosities boiled, bottled, up and capped with wax. The rest of autumn made us about a dollar poorer. He gave Jasmine two nickels on her last day. Winter had come. The trees were bare. Our larder and pantry and sheds burgeoned with supplies to last two winters.
“You give one nickel to your boss and tell him I want you to come back in the spring.”
“Yes, sir, I will tell him. Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you, Jasmine.” My son was sincere. His voice hardened. “Thank her, Pig.”
“Thank you, Hand.”
“May God bless you, Besha, and Mister.”
About two days into her second month of work, Jasmine had asked empty air, “What am I to do, Lord?”
I heard her. My instinct was to shrug. “God has a plan for darkies too.” Our preacher claimed.
By the time word had spread, that Hortense had hired help for the harvest and winter preparations, he was not alone in the community. The man in the cabin successfully rented out his workers to several people in the area. A few men hassled my son over the fact, after church service. He told ’em he’d hire them if they could work as much as a nigger women. That got him punched, but my boy punched back, and the fight ended. Church grounds were sacred. We saw less trouble from them men, thereafter. But before winter, word spread of a nigger man hung from a tree. Deserved it, some said, but the sherrif hauled a white man to jail. The jury let him go.
“God has a plan for darkies too.” Reverend Hannity claimed. “We are not invited by the almighty to decide what that plan is.”
Jasmine grieved heavy for a week after the hanging. She worked harder than ever. She broke down a week later, when the jailed white man got off scott free. “What am I to do, Lord?”
My instinct was to shrug. “Suffer.” I growled. “We suffer.”
Long before Jasmine took away her two nickels, my son’s daily fucks and sucks lessened. His pleasure waned slower, this time. At one point, when he was thrusting into me, boldly in front of Hand, he grunted at me, “I should make you suck on her puss.” He cried out hard after that, and his cum filled me full. I lost my pleasure, at his words.
Winter stripped the trees of leaves and darkened the skies and rained and even snowed a couple times. Hortense’s abuse of me was heartbreaking to watch. He pumped my ass and my puss and my mouth. He took my hands to his manhood and even fucked me between my breasts. He spent less often as weeks passed.
Luke took to his feet, toddling around the house and outside to pee and shit.
In the last two months of winter, half the time Hory would fuck me raw but pull away unspent. He swore at me each time, blaming my useless puss and mouth. He swatted my ass with switches before plundering it with with his cock. That lasted two weeks. A week before winter’s end, Hory woke up without a stiff member. He bade me to suck on it, but it never grew long or hard.
All day, he paced the house. That night, he dragged me outside to the pig pens. He swatted a fat hog to separate it from the huddled passal. He drove it into a small pen.
He swore at me, “Get in there, Pig. On your knees.” He thrust me through the gate. I was crying so hard I fell into the muck, a pig proper. “Raise your ass to him, whore!” He struck me with the pig switch. I obeyed. Looking through my tears, I saw Hortense frantically jerking on his dead manhood. “You fuck her, Hog! You fuck my mama, and I gonna make her suck me good this time.”
I felt hot breath and heard snuffling at my ass. My eyes cleared. I had been crying for my son! I raised my ass and waggled it for the hog. “Give Farmer’s mama pig a good fuck!” A cleft hoof pawed my buttock. I yelped! It had drawn blood. Then the poor, confused beast turned round and huddled in the corner of the pen. All of Hory’s swats could not convince it to let his cock take pleasure from me.
I took his swats then. Tears returned to me. The pain was awful, and uncounted blows sent me flat into the muck. The world turned black.
He left me most the night in the sty. The pig eventually broke through a rail. It was found later in the garden, digging up old, withered roots.
I woke shivering, in my sons arms, burning with fever. He poured buckets of hot water on me and scrubbed soap across every inch of my flesh, but the gash in my buttocks was inflamed. I cried out each time he wiped the pus from it. I did not know him from god or the devil. “Luke!” I yelled. “Say, ‘Mama”, Luke!” I cried. “I need you to say it.”
A doctor came. He bled the pus and stitched me proper. “She in god’s hands, Hory.”
When my fever broke, I saw Hortense crying into his hands.
“Farmer, put me to work. Make me suffer. Take your pleasure. I’m yours.”
He hugged me. I was in the loft. We slept in each other’s arms that night.
Spring took another week before the rains warmed and the roads unfroze and turned to thick mud.
I woke one morning and climbed down to feed Luke. My breasts had gone dry. Our baby cried, and I had to go to neighbor to borrow milk. I dressed and walked half a mile to the Smith’s who had a couple cows.
The face that greeted me turned white as a ghost. Young Ann-marie Smith knelt before me and prayed. I had forgotten who I had become to them. She told her parents that I had been cured. It was another miracle to her.
Hortense returned from visiting Jasmine’s boss. He’d found house and shacks empty. In the middle of winter, horsemen wearing sheets burned a cross in the white man’s yard and drove his niggers away. The boss left town, leaving the land to be confiscated by a grinning sheriff.
I hear later, Jasmine was safe but had moved north, into the next county. Loathing himself, Hory switched me hard and swift. “You ruined it, EVERYTHING!” Then he sank into a chair and prayed for god to kill him.
I raised myself up from the floorboards and caressed my son’s leg. “Beat me more, my love, if it ease your heart.”
“I’m taking you into town, tomorrow, Mama.” He blurted. “I want you to go to heaven.”
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/7sysez/smoms_the_origin_ch_4_slow_fm_ms_inc_preg_mdom_sm