Mike and Helen
Copyright© 2025 by work for nothin
Chapter 9: The Help
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 9: The Help - Helen Price and Mike Price are a mother and son who are in an incestuous relationship. After a long relationship, Mike becomes increasingly obsessed with his mother and wants to possess her completely. Can Mike completely possess Helen, who has decide to be one of the women of a gang leader named Big Daddy?
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/Fa Ma/Ma Consensual Rape Romantic Fiction Crime War Incest Mother Son Orgy Interracial Black Male White Female Anal Sex Double Penetration Fisting Sex Toys Cat-Fighting Violence AI Generated
The next day, Mike sat at his computer, his heart racing as he checked their website’s earnings. The numbers were there, taunting him—$150,000. Not enough. The goal of $200,000 loomed over him like a dark cloud, a constant reminder of the price they had to pay for Helen’s freedom. He had hoped the ‘Behind the Scenes’ content would be their golden ticket, but it hadn’t been enough.
He scanned the comments, the praise and the demands for more extreme content. The messages were a mix of excitement and depravity, a reflection of the twisted world they had created. But amidst the sea of debauchery, there were a few words that stood out—messages of support and understanding from those who knew the truth about their mission. It was a small glimmer of light in the otherwise grim reality of their situation.
Mike took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he had to do next. He needed to talk to Roxie, to lay it all out on the table and figure out their next move. He knew where he would find her—at the underground club where it all began, Pussy’s Playpen. He threw on some clothes and headed out, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat of his own thoughts.
The club was as grimy and seedy as ever, the bass thumping through the walls and the smell of sex and sweat hanging thick in the air. He descended the stairs, his eyes scanning the room for the fiery redhead he knew would be there, holding court in her own twisted way. There she was, perched on the edge of the wrestling ring, watching the latest match with a predatory gaze. He approached, his heart racing, the weight of their situation heavy in his chest.
“Roxie,” he called out over the music, his voice strained with urgency. She turned to face him, her expression unreadable in the strobing lights. “We’re not going to make it,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “The money’s not enough. We need more.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she gestured for him to follow her to a quieter corner of the club. The wrestling match had started, a big young black woman facing off against a busty mature blonde who was no stranger to the ring. Mike’s heart sank as he watched the scene unfold—the naked blonde, clearly in distress, was trying to fight off her opponent, who was attempting to force herself on her. It was a stark reminder of the dark world they were in, where even in the throes of ‘sport’, rape was a spectacle for entertainment.
The blonde, her large breasts bouncing with every movement, managed to land a kick to the younger woman’s stomach, pushing her back. The crowd roared, a mix of excitement and anticipation. Roxie leaned in close to Mike’s ear, her breath hot against his skin. “You’re right,” she murmured, her eyes not leaving the match. “We need more. And I think I know just the thing.”
Her hand slid down his chest, gripping his crotch firmly. “But you’re going to have to trust me,” she said, her voice a seductive purr. “I’ve got a plan, but it’s going to require some serious commitment.” Mike felt his cock stir in response, his body betraying his anxiety. He had come to rely on Roxie’s guidance, her willingness to push the boundaries of their kinky community.
The match in the ring reached a crescendo, the blonde screaming in a mix of pain and pleasure as she was finally pinned down, her legs spread wide for all to see. The crowd cheered, their lustful energy pulsing through the air. Roxie took a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving Mike’s. “I’m going to tell Ishawna about our little problem,” she whispered, her grip on him tightening. “And I’ll ask her to lean us some more cash.”
Mike swallowed hard, his heart racing at the thought of Ishawna knowing their dire situation. But he knew Roxie was right—they needed her help, her connections, and her expertise if they were going to save Helen. “Okay,” he managed to choke out, his voice thick with nerves.
Roxie leaned back, a smug smile playing on her lips as she released him. “Good boy,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now, let’s go make this deal.”
As the black girl started brutally raping the blonde mature with her hand, Mike felt a twinge of discomfort, but Roxie’s grip on his arm was firm, pulling him away from the ring. They weaved through the crowd, the screams of the woman in the ring fading as they reached the exit. Once outside, Mike took a deep breath, the cool air a welcome respite from the oppressive heat of the club.
“Let’s get to my car,” Roxie said, her voice firm and determined. She led him to a nearby car park, the neon lights casting a garish glow over their damp skin. They take a breath to clear their heads. Mike couldn’t shake the image of the woman’s contorted face, her cries of pain and pleasure indistinguishable amidst the roars of the crowd.
The cool leather of Roxie’s car seat was a stark contrast to the sticky heat of the club, and Mike felt a shiver run down his spine as he slammed the door shut behind him. Roxie started the engine, her hands confident on the wheel as she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the deserted street. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the road ahead like a beacon of hope amidst the chaos of their lives.
The ride to Ishawna’s mansion was a silent one, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Mike knew that Roxie had something planned, something that would push them even further into the abyss of depravity, but he didn’t dare ask. He was in too deep now, his cock still half-hard from the show at the club. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, his stomach a swirl of excitement and dread.
When they arrived, the gates swung open automatically, as if the house itself knew they were coming. The mansion loomed before them, a bastion of wealth and power that seemed to pulse with the same dark energy that had consumed their lives. Roxie led the way, her hips swaying seductively as she climbed the stairs to the front door. Mike followed, his eyes glued to the sway of her perfect ass.
Inside, the opulence was overwhelming—marble floors, velvet curtains, and a grand staircase that seemed to ascend to the heavens themselves. Ishawna awaited them in a room that could only be described as a shrine to sexual excess—leather couches, velvet drapes, and a wall lined with dildos and whips. She was dressed in a sheer negligee that barely contained her ample curves, a cigarette dangling from her lips.
“Welcome, my little revolutionaries,” she purred, her eyes gleaming with a hunger that made Mike’s cock twitch in his pants. She led them to her work room, a space that was both an office and a playroom. A marble desk sat in the center, flanked by shelves of leather-bound books and gleaming adult entertainment awards. The smell of sex and money hung heavy in the air, a heady mix that made Mike’s head spin.
Roxie wasted no time, launching into their proposal. She outlined their financial woes with a confidence that made Mike’s palms sweat, her words as smooth as the leather of the couch they sat on. Ishawna listened intently, her eyes never leaving Mike’s, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “You know what I need,” she said finally, her voice a low growl. “I’ll give you the money, but you’re going to have to give me something in return.”
Mike’s stomach twisted into a knot. He knew what she wanted, had seen it in her eyes since the moment he agreed to perform for her. But he was desperate, and Helen’s freedom was worth any price. “Whatever it takes,” he murmured, his voice a whisper of resignation.
Ishawna leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving his. She took a long drag from her cigarette, the cherry burning brighter in the dim light. “Good, boy,” she said, a wicked smile spreading across her face. “But remember, this is a partnership. You’re not just my performer; you’re my right hand.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken expectations. Mike felt his stomach drop as he nodded, understanding all too well what she was implying. He was willing to do anything for his mother, even if it meant submitting to the woman who had brought him into this world of depravity industry.
Ishawna stood from her chair, the sound of her heels clicking against the marble floor echoing through the room. She strode over to a large, iron deposit box that was tucked into the corner. It looked like a relic from another time, a testament to the value she placed on the currency of flesh and pleasure. With a dramatic flourish, she twirled the dial and pulled the heavy lid open, revealing a treasure trove of crisp bills and envelopes.
“This is what you need?” she asked, her eyes gleaming as she held up a thick wad of cash. Mike nodded, his throat dry with anticipation. This was it, the moment they could potentially tip the scales in their favor. Ishawna slammed the box shut with a metallic clang and sailed across the room to her desk. She slid the money across the polished surface, the smell of leather and sex thick in the air.
Mike took the cash, feeling the weight of their future in his hands. It was a king’s ransom, a fortune earned from the darkest recesses of human desire. His heart hammered in his chest as he peeled off the topmost bill, feeling the soft cotton paper between his fingers. It was a symbol of hope, a ticket to freedom for Helen, and a stark reminder of the path they had chosen to walk.
“Now,” Ishawna said, her voice a velvety purr, “for my part of the deal.” She gestured to the contract paper on her desk. “I want you to become my director, but with a twist. Instead of scripted scenes, I want reality. You will capture moments of pure, unbridled passion, like a journalist, but with only one subject in mind—the erotic.”
Mike’s heart sank as he realized the extent of her request. He was to become a voyeur once again, but this time with a more significant role. He was to invade the most intimate moments of their lives and present them for the world to see. But he knew he had no choice; he needed her backing to save Helen. He took the pen, his hand shaking slightly, and signed his name at the bottom of the page.
“Why the shift to reality, Ishawna?” Roxie’s voice was curious, a hint of challenge in her tone. “You’ve made your name on fantasy and scripted scenes. What made you want to move into this ... unpredictable format?”
Ishawna leaned back in her chair, her eyes glinting with the glow of the neon lights outside. “Because, my dear Roxie, reality is so much more thrilling than fantasy,” she replied with a knowing smile. “People crave authenticity, the raw, unfiltered truth of desire. It’s not about the perfect bodies or the ideal scenarios anymore—it’s about the real emotions, the unscripted moments of passion and pain that resonate in every viewer’s soul.”
Mike felt his stomach churn at the thought of delving even deeper into the lives of the people he had come to know as more than just performers. He was no longer just a camera operator—he was a purveyor of their most intimate moments, a role that weighed heavily on his conscience.
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