Chapter 12

One day, weeks later than the boys had planned, their sawing and hammering in the cellar ended. A cold shiver shot through Joan, upon their sudden silence.

It was late. Peggy was probably pretending to study in her room, and her husband was entranced by the TV. Joan sat at the kitchen table reading the latest book club novel.

When the cellar door creaked open, Joan dropped her novel and shot up from her chair, aiming for the living room.

“Wait, Momma.” Robert called.

Years of being a proper mother, caused Joan to hesitate at her son’s voice.

“Come down here. We need you.”

“Certainly not!” She hissed. You’ve hurt me every time we’re alone!” She complained.

Torrid incidents had resumed, at irregular intervals. Once, they caught her in the back yard and dragged her between a tree and the fence. They beat her with a fallen branch. That was the oddest incident. They hadn’t tried to fuck her or make her suck them. They just wanted her to fingerfuck herself, while they swatted her already black and blue ass. That time, she couldn’t cum, because they kept switching who swatted her. Her suffering was endless. Robert eventually called a halt to it, “Before she falls unconscious.” He’d said.

Then he surprised her. He told her to lay on her back and open her legs. He kneeled between her thighs, fully clothed and bent his head down. One hand quickly pulled aside her panty’s crotch panel. Then he planted face and sucked her pussy. He licked and sucked and fucked her with his fingers until he made his mother cum screaming into a handkerchief Tommy had stuffed in her mouth.

Joan had been hiding her rear’s discoloration from her husband for so long, she wondered if he remembered she had one. Worse, over the last couple weeks, their lovemaking satisfied her less and less. She could still cum, if she thought of her sons abusing her, but she didn’t dare tell him how his male children were slowly taking over his wife’s erotic responses. Once, she asked him to bite her nipples, not hard, just enough to remind her. He screwed up his face and asked if she was feeling okay. He pulled out of her cunt, slid off of her, and turned over. Joan cried herself to sleep.

“We won’t, Mom. I promise.” Robert tried. “Not much.”

Joan knew she couldn’t trust his promise. Her oldest son had a way of making a lie sound like truth. “You’re not the only one down there.” She countered.

“Just have a look. I won’t touch you. I’ll go to the bottom stair and get out of your way.”

Joan knew it was a trap. When her foot swung away from the living room’s direction, she felt tears in her eyes. Something inside her wanted to go down, where her sons waited. To do what, she could only guess, horrible things. Her body turned to the cellar door, and her other foot stepped closer. “Promise, you’ll keep Tommy away.”

“I will, Momma. He won’t cause any trouble.” He gave her a friendly smile, but she could see the darker grin within it.

“Don’t touch me.” She trembled, walking slowly to the door. “You said you’d go to the bottom.”

“Yes, Momma.” Robert backed down from the door. She heard his shoes on the wooden steps.

Joan peeked into the cellar. She held the door open with one hand and leaned her head into the dimly lit space. More of their old junk had been cleared, either piled higher or thrown away. What mattered was, what had her sons been doing down there?

Robert waited patiently below. “Come down, Momma. I’ll see that Tommy doesn’t bite.” He did grin at that. He shuffled to the far area. “We had to get rid of the couch, to make room, but this is much better.”

Joan knew she should slam the door and go to her husband. They wouldn’t bother her when he was with her. She mewled when her feet took the stairs and descended.

“We’re back here, Mommy.” Tommy called from behind the stacks of junk.

She swallowed and put her back against the wall, along the cleared side of the basement. She shuffled slowly across the wall. Robert and Tommy waited at the far end. Between them was some sort of bench. It was made of wood and had a leather seat, similar to a weight lifting bench. Were they planning workouts? That idea died upon further examination. Hooks were attached to the legs of it, with leather restraints. She knew in her heart, what it was for, but she couldn’t imagine how it operated.