Chapter 8

Now that Mother had officially called me, I expected her to hang up, and I never would speak with her again. “I don’t want to lose you, Mother.” I pleaded. My well exercised tear ducts ratcheted up to full gear.

“I’m suppose to talk it out with you.” She huffed. “Talk.”

“It’s all my fault.”

“I doubt that. You and Andrew don’t have that dynamic.” Mother knew because my son’s dynamic took after hers.

“Yes, he was complicit.” I backpedaled. “But I never should have involved him.”

“Talk.”

“I-I have a fetish, Mother. You saw it.”

“I don’t know what I saw anymore. It was so wrong, I blacked it from my mind.”

Interesting choice of color. “I finally told Garrick about it. He’s more understanding than I expected.” After you left, I never sought Andrew’s help again. From now on, Garrick will help me.”

“You need therapy.”

“I do, Mom, but I was told at a young age that shrinks are dinks for believing they can mess around with people’s heads.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“You wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t.” I surprised myself by saying it.

“I’m hanging up.” It was the only way she could reestablish control.

I called Andrew and listed everything I’d told Mom. Then I went to work. The three pounds in my ass felt like two, until I actually started working.

Claire inquired. “Is your back okay?”

“Yes.”

“I swear, for the last few weeks, you’ve been assigning all the lower shelves to me.”

“You need the exercise more.”

“Your breasts have been shrinking.” She agreed with a wink.

Seriously? I’d only been on a low poop diet for three weeks! I looked around before feeling my breasts in front of my subordinate. “They fit the same bra like they always have.” I stuck out my tongue.

“Oh, and Mrs. Elgin asked for you. She left a note and said it was private.

“What does it say?”

“Oh, no. I take that shit seriously, Ingrid.” She did. I knew.

I returned to the counter and found Tess’s note: folded, stapled and stuck between pages 104 and 105 of “500 Knots Around the Seas”. It was a manual printed by and for the British Navy.

“Ingrid, I can’t come to the library anymore, but there is a park in my neighborhood. Few people spend time there. You can always find a quiet corner. Henry sleeps late, most days. I could meet you on Thursday mornings around 8am.”

A park didn’t feel at all right. It felt dangerous, but less so than yelling one’s incestual secrets in a parking lot. I had to go at least once. We could decide something else.

The note didn’t say which Thursday morning. I had to trust she would be there this coming Thursday. That made me feel less safe.

That Wednesday night, Mother called again.

“I spoke with Andrew.” She accused. Her voice could say anything as an accusation. “Something fishy is going on. Your stories match too well.”

“Mom, I love you too.”

“Hush! I don’t care what you put up your ass. I want to know how my grandson was involved. I’m willing to call the police.” That would have been either a desperate move on her part or a bald lie.

I improvised. “It got stuck, and I needed help.”

“You go to the emergency room, Daughter, for something like that. They’ve seen worse by a million miles. YOU DO NOT INVOLVE YOUR CHILD!”

There was nothing that could be said. I waited.

She hung up.

I almost called her back. If I had. I would have destroyed the last thread between us.

I slept poorly, anticipating what might happen at the park where Mrs. Elgin offered to meet. I half expected her to bail, the other half to go ballistic.

I made a simple breakfast and borrowed Garrick’s car. Tess lived in a poor but not shit part of town. The park wasn’t crowded because a gang sold drugs out of it. From my college days, I knew. If you ignored them. They’d ignore you.

No cat-calls. These guys were professionals.

Tess was waiting, on the side of the park farthest from the dealers. She ran to me and raped me with a hug. I returned it hesitantly.

“It’s not a cure. It’s just talking.” I reminded her.

That didn’t phase her eagerness. “How do we start?”

“Tell me who you are?”

“I told you. It’s Tess.”

“I mean, who are you?”

She nodded. “I’m Tess Elgin. I’m a submissive to my son. I’m studying to reapply to the bar exam. I wear nipple extenders under my bra. I like Bluegrass.” She shrugged.

“Good. But I think we can keep the non-submissive parts of our lives private.” I tried to sound grateful. “Let me try.” I cleared my throat. “My name is Ingrid Mulderhoek, I have been under my son’s control for two years, give or take a few incidents. I nearly lost my Mother when she discovered my son and I, removing a three pound, cock shaped butt plug from my rear. Yesterday, she called. I have a chance to redeem myself, but to get that chance, I lied to her. I’m terrified she’ll discover the lie and leave me and my family forever.” I cried as I said that.

“Huh. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t.” I recalled. “We’re not looking for advice. This isn’t for solving our problems.”

She smirked. “I guess we’d be the worst to ask, since we’re all trapped.”

“I think it’s more about getting shit out in the open. Thank you for listening.”

“Is that it?”

“We take turns, until we don’t have anything left to say or an hour goes by. It’s your turn.” I interrupted her before she began again. “You don’t have to say who you are each time.”

That earned a brief smile, however guilty. “Ahem. I married my high school sweetheart, but we waited until after college. He worked for a tool foundry. I was a public defender. He was a strange man. He might have been bisexual, but the thought of any gayness enraged him. He never struck me, but I endured hours of verbal abuse. I learned to tune him out. Despite it, he was a good provider, and an okay father. We had one son. Henry’s sixteen, small for his age. When he was eight, he heard his dad berating me. He’d heard it before, but something silly happened soon thereafter, and he ranted at me blaming me. For an eight year-old, I was stunned by how well he could put words together. He’s some kind of shit-talking genius. I could tune out my husband, but Henry’s words always stuck in my brain, like cheap music. I’d screw up on oral exams for the bar, because I’d suddenly be reciting my son’s abuse.”

She stopped, and looked worried. “Am I talking too much?”

“No.” Her tale fascinated me. It was entirely different than my own.

“When puberty hit, at thirteen thank the gods, his verbal lashings turned sexual. I was a cunt, a piece of junk fit only for cocks that didn’t give a shit. He’d complain about the clothes I wore, calling them slut suits. They were modest business dress. I found myself donating them to thrift stores. He complained about my whore make up. I tossed all of it in the trash. He said I was trying to make him into a mother fucker. He said my bras were too loose, my panties too vulgar. I took him to a fine clothing store. I dared him to find clothes he approved of. He raped me in the changing booth. He had just turned fourteen.”

She stopped to wipe tears from her eyes. She had been so lost in her story, she hadn’t felt them.

“I-I’m sorrry.” She blubbered.

“Do you want me to talk?”

She shook her head. “No! I need to get through it.” She gulped and continued. “Henry impregnated me that day. I didn’t guess for the first six weeks, I was too worried about him raping me again. As soon as I knew, I sought an abortion, but Henry guessed. His father hadn’t a clue. Henry called me a baby killer. He gave some stupid, elaborate reason why a mother had to deliver an incest child. I canceled my appointment. I told my husband, he was the father.

I delivered a healthy boy, Jerry. I remember his grandfather saying how much they looked alike. He hadn’t said that about Henry. His father’s half-hearted parenting gave Henry plenty of time to press his luck with me. I went on the pill after delivering. I avoided getting raped regularly, but every month or two Henry caught me off guard. My tenth rape happened on his fifteenth birthday. He and his friends were playing a kissing game in the closet. He rigged the game and raped me, while his friends tittered from the living room. That night, I was cleaning up. He sauntered in and claimed me. ‘Ten fucks makes me a master mother fucker, Mom. From now on, you can’t deny me.’ He never had to rape me again.”

She sniffed and paused. “Am I shutting you out with all this?”

“No, there’s plenty of time.” I looked at my phone. I had to be at work by 9:05 at the latest. It was 8:27.

Tess resumed. “My husband caught us fucking, twice. The first time, he couldn’t believe his eyes. We made up a story about falling down together. He didn’t believe that either, but it was either believe it or believe his son was cuckolding him. Our sex life was terrible. After delivering my second child, I complained about post birth pains. I slept with my husband about twice a month. When he was horny but didn’t fuck me, he would rage at me.

“The second time he caught us, he beat me and Henry. Henry blamed me for ‘wanting Dad to find us’ again. His father set his terms to avoid my going to prison. I agreed. He must have guessed that Jerry wasn’t really his, but that would be a second, painful thing to live with. He left us with his grandson. I suspect Henry told him before he left, but he never called the police.

“Henry found my birth control pills, three months ago. He threw them out and told me how bad they were for my body. I begged him to let me get an IUD or use female condoms. Henry said those weren’t natural. Pregnancy is natural.” She almost shouted.

“How long-” I clapped on hand over my mouth. “Sorry, I shouldn’t pry.”

“I’m two months. I told the doctor that my husband and I had a brief reconciliation. Henry loves to tell me how this child will be his! I haven’t told him. It’s a girl.”

“I-I can’t go on.” She deflated in front of me, but her nervousness had vanished.

I filled the resulting silence. “Uh-um, I don’t know why Andrew hasn’t fucked me yet. I don’t think impregnating me is a thing for him. Maybe he respects his father just enough to let him have that part of me. For a while, I couldn’t have sex with my husband, except hand jobs and blow jobs. I even tried a foot job. Andrew’s anal, obedience training had to be hidden from his father. I figured out a great solution. My son doesn’t know it, and it should stay secret from him. I have sex with my husband, now whenever I want. Still, every couple weeks, Andrew takes out my plug so I can make love to his father. I pretend gratitude.

“Mostly, I’m worried about my Mother. I just know I’m going to lose her.” I reiterated.

“You have to get over the lie.” Tess said without meaning to.

“You need to get an abortion, to save that girl from your son.” I countered.

“You’re right.” She sighed. “We shouldn’t try to help.”

“Thank you.” I remembered the women in the other town, saying that often.

“Thank you.” She came in slow for a parting hug.

I returned it. “Next Thursday?”

“Maybe.”

“How will I know? I mean, I’m not sure I can get out of the house every week at this time. It’s too obvious at my home.”

“I don’t have any other good time of day or week. Is a month too long?”

“Yes! But it’s better than every other month.” I agreed.

I told her I’d leave first. That way I wouldn’t know which direction led to her house. If my encounter with Lila’s Eric, had taught me anything, never get involved in another mother’s troubles. I hurried to my car and drove to work. My phone pinged during the drive. I didn’t check it until I’d checked in at the library. It was from my mother.

“You and Andrew will visit as soon as you are able.”

I tried texting back, about how impossible that was for any time soon. She never replied.

Claire arrived late that day.

“Sorry, Ingrid. I had a date.”

“You don’t look dated-”

“I look late.” She completed the saying. “Ha, fucking ha.” She signed in late and went straight to work. I caught her up on the day’s tasks and left early.

Andrew wasn’t home when I arrived from the library. His mechanic sideline was picking up. If he ever went online and studied to pass a few auto manufacturer’s, technician qualification certificates, he could charge twice as much.

He arrived while I was sixteen browser tabs deep in planing a trip to Mother’s. I told him.

“We can’t go, Mom. She’ll tear our story apart.”

“If we don’t go, she’ll never talk to us again.”

“What will Dad say about it? Oh. Yeah, you have him wrapped around your little finger.”

“I might not, if you weren’t taking that lump out of my butt regularly.”

“It’s pretty much served its purpose. I think you like it in there.”

“Bullshit!” I pounded the computer desk.

He responded to my defiance by collaring me. He led me to my bedroom and fucked my ass on his parent’s bed after I got him hard with my mouth.

“Shit, I love to cum in you, Mom! I can’t decide if I like it better down your neck or up your butt. Variety rocks!”

The moment he took back the collar, I scrambled to wash and dry the comforter before Garrick returned from work. I had been more than sufficiently punished.

I told Garrick at dinner. “Mother wants Andrew and I to visit as soon as possible.”

“Is she well?”

“Well, yes, but not as she was.” I answered cryptically, in front of our son.

In our bed, after a satisfying fuck. (I hadn’t cum from Andrew’s attentions.) He asked me. “Is there something you should be telling me, now?”

“This trip will probably make it worse between Mother and I, but I have to try.”

“I worry about Andrew. She has a stronger influence over him than I ever had.”

“She lost most of that when she overdosed. Andrew doesn’t think she’s Superwoman, any more, just super human.” I quipped.

“I thought you had more time to keep an eye on him. He’s spending an awful amount of time at the university.”

“He’s fixing cars and racing on a proper track.” I covered for my son.

“Something doesn’t add up.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. You have to make up with your mother, but is there any way Andrew can stay?”

“Garrick, I won’t lie to my mother!” Another one would be a disaster.

The next day, he texted her. Such a thing had never been done. She actually replied.

“Both of them, Garrick. You stay put.”

It was at the airport, I realized how jauntily Andrew was taking this trip. He tried to bring my collar in his carry-on. The x-ray technician asked him about it. I tossed it in the rejected items bin. Later, I nearly drubbed his shoulders into bone fragments, waiting in line to board. “How could you, even think of that?”

“Optimism?”

I dismissed his reply as sour grapes. “Dipshit.” I called him just before the boarding attendant scanned our tickets.

He didn’t try anything on the flight, and I thanked my lucky stars. The x-ray technician hadn’t mentioned the giant, black, fake cock in my carry-on. Modern airports offer everything. At our destination, I found a jar of coconut oil in an incredibly overpriced market.

Armed and ready for the apocalypse, I met my mother at the waiting area. She sized up Andrew, stone faced. She didn’t hug me. She led us to her car in short term parking. We put our things in the trunk, sat ourselves in the back seat, and she drove us to her house. Other than calling our names, she didn’t say a word. I was fine with silence. Andrew’s knee bounced. If only a semi-truck would crush us into bloody asphalt sealant, I wished.

“Put your things in my room, Ingrid. Andrew you have the guest room.” She switched on lights, preceding us into her home. Mother sounded very well indeed. The moment Andrew and I separated, she locked me in her room and grabbed my hair. “What kind of fool do you think I am?”

“Ow! Mother!”

Angry but quiet, she accused. “I know you, bitch daughter. You had that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“Obedience.” She had taught me its fullness, after all. That quickly, my lie was undone.

“Andrew is abusing you. Isn’t he?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t say anything. It’s all over your face.” She warned. “I tried to believe you, Daughter. I desperately tried. I bet you brought that horrid simulacrum to try and convince me.” She released me. “Fetch it. If it’s not in your rolling case, I’m not the woman who raised you.”

I wanted to cry, but in front of my mother, that was only allowed when she punished me. It wouldn’t be a long wait until I could ball like a baby. I unzipped the inner compartment within an inner compartment. I dragged my giant, black cock facsimile and the unopened jar of oil before her.

She looked sad. Not mean sad or disappointed sad, just sad. “I wish I could have given you a better upbringing, Ingrid. Maybe you needed a father after all. Maybe you’d have more balls now.” She shook her head.

“What are you going to do to Andrew?” I had to know.

“Ingrid, I don’t know what to do with you, other than what I always did when you failed me.”

I swallowed and nodded.

“That wasn’t a promise. I honestly don’t know what do when my daughter has fallen under a sexually abusive son. It’s out of some insane fiction.”

“It happens, Mother. I’m not a victim. I’m just as responsible as he.”

“Were you responsible for raising you?” She raised her voice.

“None, starting out.” I tried. “Later, a lot.”

“Remember his fifteen birthday?”

“You gave him a car.”

“I gave him a challenge, but he already had one.” She eyed me like a demon totem.

“You called him a man.”

“He is, but now I know he’s a bad one. I want to blame Garrick, but that would be like blaming the dark side of the moon for being dark.”

I cracked. “My husband is a wonderful man and father! Andrew has never fucked me because he respects his father too much!”

“Are you trying to provoke me, Daughter?” Mother’s whisper intensified. “What are you, regressing to childhood? Andrew is a product of you and your father’s incompetence! A grope is as bad as a fuck, Ingrid Mulderhoek!”

“Say it, Mother!” I shouted. “I’m worthless!”

“You are my most loved treasure.” Mom’s eyes glistened. “I spent too much time polishing you instead of treasuring you.” Her voice faltered. I’d never seen my mother cry, not even when she begged for drugs to stop her cravings.