BITTER PILL Chapters 1 & 2 (long), [mom/son], [non con], [BDSM], [MF], [MDom]

*This is fiction. Rape is wrong. Cheers.*

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Bitter Pill Ch 1

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She knew I was coming for her. She didn’t know how or when, but I’d made it clear that she wasn’t safe anymore. She was confused for a moment when I swept the bed covers off of her. Not sure if she had been asleep yet, but she definitely seemed surprised to see someone standing over her holding a pair of cuffs in the dim light coming through her bedroom door.

“Danny?” she asked.

She knew it was me. What she was really asking was, ‘Danny are you going to hurt me?’

The rage I felt. It’s what she deserved for being a faithless whore and an absentee mother all these years. But she was also asking if there was a way out, which made my hard dick pulse under my pj’s because there wasn’t.

“Yes.” I hissed. “And no.”

*****

About me: I’m a sick fuck. I’m athletic, 6’3” and sort of thick now, but I was both a late bloomer and one of the younger kids in my class. So, for a few years, I was a primary target of opportunity at a boarding school for the rich and sadistic.

Since my mom was the consensus ‘hot mom’ I used to dread any school events that included parents. For years I took abuse from frustrated upper class-men who wanted nothing more than to abuse my mother and were angry at a universe that would never allow it. Let’s face it, they were just angry.

‘How shitty could it have been, you bouji, entitled, cunt?’ you might be asking yourself.

Turns out overprivileged boarding school boys are not in touch with their feelings. Aside from the outright beatings and homophobic quasi-rapes, the real threat was always psychological. I think of my time at St. Beastious as a master class in exposing and exploiting vulnerability. Think: Lord of the Flies meets American Psycho.

Here’s an example – The Rape Game. Every night after lights out the boys held a competition to describe the most obscene, graphic, and creative techniques they could invent to rape a teacher, parent, or celebrity, while everybody shot loads into socks. What made it especially diabolical was how often my mother was the fan-favorite. Not only because she was the mom everybody wanted to bone, but because they knew how uncomfortable it was for me to have to visualize what they wanted to do to her.

I fell asleep countless nights, face buried in my pillow, spent cock in hand, burning with shame and confusion over my lust for her, but I never let them know it. It is not an overstatement to say that surviving boarding school depended a great deal on hiding my secret.

It’s a syndrome according to the internet. Wanting to fuck your mom. It happens sometimes when family members spend a good chunk of their lives separated from each other. Something about love being transmogrified by absence into unnatural lust. Whatever. Bitch had to pay.

Probably, I’m a bit of a douchebag by now in case I haven’t made that clear, yet. How could I not be, am I right?

I don’t have many friends at home anymore because I have only spent summers here since I was twelve. Though, since I joined my father’s club I have had little trouble finding ways to entertain myself. It’s not the kind of club you are thinking of.

Over the past year, a friend at the club has helped me to make this night with mother a possibility. Not only has she has trained me in the art of domination, but she also provided me with the intel I needed to force my mother into servitude.

*****

I had been abusing her in the worst ways since I got home after graduation. Humiliating her to show her I could. I pinched her sometimes when we were alone hard enough to make her squeal, but she kept quiet about it.

One time she was in the kitchen rinsing something at the sink while Dad was in the den reading a newspaper in front of the television. I held up a print I had made of Mom and her boyfriend for her to see then stuck it to the fridge with a magnet. While she glared at me from across the room I said loud enough for Dad to hear, “Uh Dad, did you get that message about Octavio?”

Her eyes bulged and she dashed around the kitchen island to remove the incriminating evidence. I stepped in her way and grabbed her in a loose tackle around the waist as she tried to scurry by. I pawed at her while she beat at my arms and tried to push away from my chest. I giggled as I playfully controlled her, a few times letting her think she was slipping from my grasp only to trap her in my arms again and hug her body to mine.

As we tussled her robe was pulled off of one shoulder exposing a bouncing tit barely contained by a slinky yellow knit bikini. I may have helped free her generous breast from the overtaxed hammock while we ‘fought’, but mother was so intent upon getting to the picture that I don’t think she even noticed.

I said a little louder. “Dad? Did you hear me?”

“What?” he yelled back after a few seconds.

Mom redoubled her efforts to escape my arms while her lovely tit sloshed enticingly.

“The message,” I yelled back.

Just then our cook, Janka walked in. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene. I grinned at her and let go of Mom. Unaware that Janka was behind her, Janice huffed angrily and completed her dash to the fridge in her disheveled state. She snatched at the print sending the little plastic ear of corn magnet clattering to the floor. She turned around with her exposed tit still swinging freely to see Janka staring at her with a shocked expression.

Mom stared back at Janka for a few seconds in awkward silence, her mouth gaping as though she wanted to say something before looking down to notice that her tit was out.

Janka is a prim bitch. She is a tall and slender woman, somewhere in her late forties with small shapely tits, wide womanly hips, and an ass toned from years of perpetual labor. She always wore her long greying blond hair pinned in a bun so tight it had to hurt. She was more plain than pretty, but she had this brittle, unattainable, anti-sexual, bitch in glasses thing that did something for me. What can I say? I like a challenge.

Over the years she has caught me staring absentmindedly at her body countless times. She didn’t like me much. And that was even before she caught me ogling her daughter, Ania.

My folks had sponsored Janka and her then fifteen year old daughter to immigrate from Poland to work for them four years ago. Janka mostly cooked and Ania didn’t officially do anything. For the first three years of their time with us, she attended a local public high school while off the books ‘training’ as an upstairs maid on weekends. She didn’t seem to get along with her mom so her mentor was a pleasant Korean woman who’s name I can’t pronounce. I call her Fanny. Not to get off track, but I really liked her fanny. I know, I’m an asshole.

After high school, Ania started attending a localish junior college two bus rides from here when not employed as a sullen maid in our house. Not that I blamed her. If the stories are true she hasn’t had an easy life.

I can’t even remember how times Mom regaled party guests with the sordid tale of a helpless mother and daughter enslaved by a gangster daddy back in the old country. As Janice told it, they were rescued from a life of poverty and abuse so horrible one could only imply what that might have entailed while the obviously mortified pair stood side by side in matching uniforms likely as not holding serving trays – both doing their level best not to drop their frozen smiles while the guests stared openly and used their imaginations. A lot of love there.

I don’t think either of them ever felt a ton of gratitude towards Mom and Dad anyway because in our house they were practically indentured servants. As far as they knew their ability to stay in this country was entirely in my parent’s hands so it wasn’t like either of them could set her own hours or negotiate for raises. This was a common practice. The folks preferred their servants barely legal and deeply indebted. Still feeling sorry for Mom?

“What message? Dad yelled back from the living room.

Father is also a tool. He is a self-important and overbearing robber baron who has slashed and burned his way through legal barriers to other people’s money leaving businesses gutted and countless lives diminished in his wake. So don’t feel bad for Dad, either. He’ll get his.

“Uh, my bad. It wasn’t for you.” I yelled back at my clueless father. He didn’t reply.

Normally Mom wouldn’t think twice about exposing herself to the help because she has no fucks to give that her nudity made her underlings uncomfortable, but the fact that she cared more about removing a photo than in fixing her tit, and that her son who had just been mauling her was standing there with rather obvious wood tenting the front of my sweats made the gist of our little vignette pretty obvious.

She shrugged her gown back over her shoulder to cover herself without bothering to pull the bikini top over her very erect nipple. She opened her mouth to speak again but stopped short when she realized she could think of nothing to say. Cheeks flushed with rage and shame, she clutched the photo to her chest and stormed from the kitchen.

Janka stepped aside to let her pass and watched my mother escape down the hall, then turned back to me with a malevolent glare. I waggled my eyebrows at her and walked out with a shit-eating grin as she followed me with the stink eye.

That was the moment I decided Janka might be a problem that needed fixing. I know. Ominous much?

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Bitter Pill Ch 2

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Yesterday I crossed a line. It was after seven on a Thursday when I came home so I knew mom’s Pilates trainer was gone and Janka had retired to the servant’s residence for the night. Mom was in the front hall talking on her phone. I heard enough to know she was talking to Dad about his upcoming business trip. Without saying a word I dropped my gym bag and came up behind her. She was obviously recently showered because her bobbed auburn hair was wrapped in a towel and the full-length t-shirt thingy she puts on after showers was clinging to her dampness. I wrapped my arms around her and started groping her heavy hanging tits through the moo moo while she batted at me one-handed and strained to maintain her convo with Dad.

I had never touched her like this before. That time in the kitchen was fun but only hinted at what this was going to feel like. This was like being awake in a dream. It was intoxicating to finally handle the breasts I had been obsessing over since I first learned how to jack off in a dormitory bed.

The towel fell from her hair as I rolled her fat nipples through the thin cotton. She grabbed at my groping hands with her free hand but so what. Her unwillingness to tell my dad what I was doing to her as I pinched her nipples hard and ground my cock into her toned ass made me want to yell in triumph.

She must’ve sounded a little crazy on the phone because she let slip the occasional gasp or squeal, but he was barely there when they talked anyway, so probably he thought she was multitasking in the bathroom or the gym or whatever.

As soon as she could she ended the call with a hasty, “O.K. See you soon.” and dropped her phone. With her hands free, she spun in my grasp and gave my face a ringing slap. I let go of her and she staggered back a few steps until her back was against the wall.

We locked eyes. We both had tears on our faces. Mine from being smacked and hers from the shock I guess. I watched her realize that she wasn’t safe anymore.

“Danny, you fucking BASTARD!” she screamed at me after a few jagged breaths. “What is WRONG with you?” She was trying to sound tough but I could hear the fear in her voice. I just smiled and looked pointedly down at her erect nipples tenting the thin material. She flushed and covered her braless tits with one arm. I felt giddy.

I advanced and pinned her against the wall with one hand against her chest. “I know what you are Janice, you self serving bitch! I’ve always known!” I shouted at her. “And now I have proof! Your life is over, Janice! Whenever I decide!”

“Let me GO!” she said grabbing my wrist with both of her hands.

“You fucked up, Janice. The big brown penis in your holiday photos? You know dad’s lawyers are going to be dropping loads to those pics, right? Graphic stuff, mom!” I said as I slid my other hand over her vagina. She gasped and dropped one hand to grab the wrist between her legs.

I felt as free as I have ever felt. Though her knees were clenched I was able to force my hand between the girlish gap in her thighs to cup her pussy. I could feel the heat and moisture between her lips through the thin cotton.

She gasped a surprised, “OH!” as I gripped her cunt.

“Yeah. Oh.” I snarled.

She wouldn’t talk because she couldn’t. She was mine to do what I wanted with and we both knew it.

“Danny, stop it! I’m your MOM!” she pleaded.

“At one time, Janice. But we both know you’ve been outsourcing that job for years.”

“Oh God! Danny, stop it, just stop!” she demanded in a quavering voice.

I grabbed both birdlike arms and pinned her wrists overhead against the wall under one hand. While she tried in vain to wrench her hands free I used my free hand to lift the front of her dress above her waist. Current trends aside, I fucking loved that my mom still kept a full bush! Never understood why grown-assed women want to look prepubescent, anyway.

“JESUS, Danny! Just STOP! STOP IT!”

I didn’t. I slid my hand between her legs again. This time without fabric in the way I was able to slip a finger up inside her. She barked, “OH!” and dropped to the floor, twisting free of my awful grip.

We froze there like that for a little while; Mom breathing heavily in a ball on the floor with her dress bunched up around her, and me standing over her with an ironclad erection. I was trying to decide if my point had been made yet when the sound of a garage door signaled the arrival of dear old Dad. “Fuck him, too” I muttered to myself and followed my boner upstairs to my room.

*****

Janice has always been more concerned with maintaining her social status than with the needs of her child which is why I grew up in a boarding school. Having a child at home got in the way of workouts and organizing because that’s what rich women do. They take care of their bodies and they organize. Over the years my absence and her obsessive social climbing have made us strangers to each other.

She travels a lot for her charities. Gone almost as much as dad attending fact finding missions and board meetings and whatnot. Apparently pop is a little slow to twig that his wife is a whore or has always known and just doesn’t care anymore. He was already a partner at his firm and sixteen years older than her when they met so of course, she was his second wife, and of course, there’s an iron-clad prenup. She turns into a homeless nobody if the divorce is due to her wandering. Why do I know this? Because gin and Xanax is why.

When I am home they treat me like furniture unless I draw attention to myself so I have learned not to. They drink, they fight, they say too much, and they don’t give a fuck that I’m absorbing all their bullshit.

My first night home after graduation they had a boozy classic that ended with doors slamming, Dad in his room and Mom passed out fully dressed on her bed with her laptop open and still awake. I know. Already clear I’m a shitty person.

Her laptop was still awake because I had snuck in earlier in the day when she had briefly walked away from it and changed her sleep setting. While she snored gently I found the emails I had been told to look for in a badly disguised partition labeled ‘Recipes’. As if she cooked. They were all dated from sometime last year from someone named Octavio. The most recent were mostly pleas to resume their relationship with attached pictures that left little doubt as to what that entailed.

Apparently Octavio and I thought along similar lines because some of those pictures of Janice and him were nasty. There was one in particular that made me want to kill. It showed my mother naked, tits flying, flashing her movie star smile in absolute bliss astride his lap while they stared into the camera he was holding at arm’s length. She had longer hair then, and it bounced in a halo around her head indicating that she was actively impaling herself on his big dick as the shot was taken. It told a story.

I was furious when I found them. How stupid could she be? I guess she thought she was safe because her lover lived in another country and she was using this super-secret email account. I forwarded the worst of her correspondence to an address I kept, deleted the emails from her computer because fuck that shit, reset her sleep timer, then closed her computer.

I could have fucked her that night and she never would have woken up but that is not what I want. For the last year I have been studying under a master of BDSM in preparation for raping my mom. Lyn taught me how to bind, humiliate, and control. And she taught me how to force women to cum.

That’s what I wanted. I wanted to control her. Humiliate her. Punish her. I wanted to tie her down and make her cum again and again until she begged me to make it stop. Promised me anything. I was going to do far more than just rape her. My plan was to make her my slave.

I know. Cliche porn fantasy about a boy dominating his mother. The difference being I had resources and leverage. I was going to make my fantasy real.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/f2hmoc/bitter_pill_chapters_1_2_long_momson_non_con_bdsm