Chapter 9: Aftermath – A new day ... and a new life is dawning

Shawna’s weekend went by fast for she slept through most of it and, when Jonathan asked her if she wanted him to stay home from work on Monday, she had said no. Whatever was coming was coming and, if Jonathan stayed home on Monday, she would just have to face it on Tuesday or Wednesday or ... well, he couldn’t stay home forever. She could see he didn’t really want to anyway. He was too excited about his new job, going about the house, singing, planning, buying and laying out new clothes. He had always been something of a spendthrift and it had made budgeting that much more of a challenge on the family’s one income. Now those days seemed to be over but, rather than life getting better, Shawna had a sinking fear that it was going to get much, much worse. Jonathan kissed her goodbye at 7 on Monday morning; the light pair of lips on her forehead as she sat up in bed feeling all the world like a permanent goodbye.

He then told her that he loved her and that she was to call him if she needed absolutely anything and Shawna could hear a twinge of guilt in his voice, as if he thought he was abandoning her. He was but not in the way he thought and Shawna dreaded it was to a fate more horrible than anything he ever could have imagined. The pretty Catholic mom now told her husband that she loved him too all while a rising sense of panic mushroomed inside her. It wasn’t a pain related to the vicious beating she had received but instead was one accompanied by the screaming voice in her mind. A voice that now shrieked at her to tell Jonathan everything, the consequences be damned. And, if she did so, then what? What would he do? Would he confront Jason or go to the police?

And what about when everyone saw that video, the one of her being raped by her own son, edited by Damon to make it look like she was a willing participant who was enjoying the ardent repeated thrusting of her son’s penis deep inside her pussy? And lastly, if there was a criminal investigation and Shawna thought that there would be, how would she explain posts on the internet coming from her under her account on the family’s home computer? Posts that supposedly confessed her secret desire to do exactly what the video had shown? What would she say? That a couple of junior high school boys had conspired against her and covertly deployed actions to make her seem guilty? Would a single soul believe that? Even if she did somehow escape prison she would be forever ever known as the 38-year-old Catholic soccer mom who had lain naked with her legs spread amongst a group of 14-year-old boys, apparently letting her own son fuck her whilst they all recorded it, most likely so they could share it on the internet.

No, she wasn’t going to risk all that. So, while Jonathan made his way out the door and Jason walked into the room and went to the window, Shawna just sat there and fought against her overwhelming desire to beg her husband to never leave her alone in the presence of this horrifying monster who looked like their only son. This Shawna squelched in the back of her throat. While she did so, the bang of the screen door now rang out. It sounded as loud and as sharp as a gunshot while the sound of Jonathan’s car was not a sharp loud crack like the screen door had been, still, somehow, it sounded even worse. The family’s Caravan had been totaled so she was effectively stuck in the house until he got home again, not that Shawna had the desire to go anywhere. She didn’t have much desire at all anymore; her life was just a never-ending litany of different types of pain and pain pills and, as Jason now walked towards her, Shawna reached for her medication. Before she could take it though, Jason smacked it out of her hand, the small, brown plastic bottle went bouncing off the nightstand and then skittering under the bed.

“Can’t have you gettin’ addicted to those things.”

Jason had been moving like he was going to climb on the bed but now his path diverted. Instead, he kneeled on the carpet, reached under the nightstand that stood by the bed and retrieved the bottle of pills.

“I’m gonna hold onto these” Jason now told her, holding up Shawna’s prescription medication.

“Maybe I’ll throw ‘em away or maybe I’ll dole ‘em out to you one at a time when you obey simple directions like a good subservient mom should. I haven’t decided but, either way, you’re not taking any more unless I say so.”

Shawna’s son tossed the medicine towards the door that led to the hallway and, now, he did climb onto the bed with her.

“J-Jason, wuh-what are you d-doing?”

Shawna’s voice was fearful but, in the deepest recesses of her mind, the 38-year-old suburban soccer mom already knew the terrible answer. Jason now straddled her as she sat up in her bed, her back propped up on pillows, and his two hands then snaked forward. The right one grabbed Shawna by the throat while the left one reached around behind her and painfully seized a fistful of her long and thick brown hair.

“Jesus fucking Christ you just don’t get it do you?”

Jason’s voice sounded angry and his grip on both her throat and her hair tightened so painfully that the pretty Catholic mom had to stop herself from crying out in pain.

“What am I doing? I’m doing whatever the fuck I want, get it?! This is your new reality. Your son is gonna do whatever the fuck he feels like. Every single second of every single day, I’m gonna do whatever the fuck I want. To you or with you. For the rest of your long and useless life. Understand me?!”

As quickly as he had grabbed her, Jason now let his mom go. His hands dropped to his waist and he just sat there, with his legs straddled over her hips, his face impassive. Shawna wanted nothing more than to fight back, to push her son away, but she was just so afraid. Her one arm was already in a cast and the pretty Catholic mom was afraid that breaking her bones was just one of infinite number of ways that her son would punish any challenge. His hands now came forward again and, this time, they stretched towards her as if he was going to lovingly stroke her cheek. She couldn’t help herself.

Shawna knew she was going to get herself in trouble but she just didn’t seem to be able to stop. Everything about her son was now completely repulsive to her and that included his touch, no matter how soft and tender it might be. Shawna turned her head to the side but, as a part of her knew it would be, this action was in vain. Now his hands weren’t moving as if he would touch her tenderly. Again, one was grabbing a fistful of hair while the other one was wrapping itself around her chin. His own face now came forward while he held hers still and, a second later, Shawna felt her son’s lips touch hers.

She didn’t kiss him back, at least for a second and, when she didn’t, a new agonizing bloom of fire rose up in her scalp. That left hand was wrapping itself ever tighter around her hair and, if he kept this up, he would eventually tear it away. This was all it now took to get the pretty Catholic mom to surrender; just those few seconds of pain. It was the tipping point that pushed her over the cliff; with everything else he could use to coerce her, it was amazing that she resisted at all. After that sense of hot tearing fire in her scalp first blossomed and then kept increasing, Shawna’s will finally collapsed. As repulsive as it was, the pretty Catholic mom now not only didn’t resist as her son passionately kissed her, but she reluctantly kissed him back. All her prior painful lessons had convinced her that only full cooperation would keep her out of trouble. Even as Jason now forced his tongue into her barely open mouth, Shawna didn’t resist; soon, the feeling of her own son’s warm and wet, rough and bumpy muscle spiraling over her own was making her want to retch. Something else, however was happening also though Shawna struggled to not believe it.

That sensation that was so repulsive was, at the same time, also comforting even while it made Shawna’s skin crawl with disgust. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Jason’s lips pulled away from hers and the kiss ended, and his hands instead reached for the edges of her plain, white

T-shirt. Eight delicate fingers now wrapped themselves around its lower edge and, as her son’s blue eyes now stared directly into her green ones, he began to lift it up.

“That video we shot of you laying there and letting your son fuck you can come out any time I want it to. Remember that.” said Jason.

“Dad’s life can be destroyed, heck mom the life of everyone you care about can be destroyed. They can all live the rest of their days in pure public shame and embarrassment ‘cause, I promise you, Damon and his friends gonna constantly be looking. Any time Grandma or Grandad, or any one of your and dads’ siblings, cousins, nieces or aunts, any time they meet someone new, be it a friend or a new business acquaintance, you can be sure we’re gonna find out about it. And that person’s gonna be getting a link in their e-mail or a DVD in their mailbox along with an explanation of just who that woman is; the one in the video fucking her son and just how you’re related to the person they met. Everyone you care about will be a social pariah. An outcast. You try and stop me now, and I guarantee you, everyone you care about is gonna live a life of utter humiliation and shame. What about Rebecca and Jen? Both your nieces just started senior year in high school. How you think that’s gonna go over when every other kid at their school gets a link to your video and a suggestion that they just as much a couple of dirty disgusting sluts as is their Aunt Shawna?”

The pain was just too much, for now the pretty Catholic mom knew what was going to happen, even if she still struggled to accept it. It wasn’t supposed to take place even once, but it had, and now she was faced with a dilemma that was even worse. She could try and stop Jason and, regardless of if she was successful, she would risk destroying the lives of everyone she cared about. On the other hand, she could submit and, by doing so, acknowledge that a fate worse than death awaited her, at least in the short term. The answer, even if it was the most heartbreaking question she would ever be asked, was easy. There were other people at stake here. Innocent people who had done nothing to deserve the horrors and humiliations her own little hell spawn and his minions would inflict upon them if she didn’t cooperate.

Shawna couldn’t allow that to happen. No matter what it meant that she would have to suffer; she could never allow all her loved ones to befall such a horrible fate. As Shawna now accepted this nightmare as her new reality, her head tilted forward until her chin almost touched her chest. There was a series of short gasping sobs, a hiccupping cry that repeatedly stuck in her throat, but no tears came out. Whatever stage of grief she was now experiencing was somewhere beyond crying and, when Jason went to lift up her shirt again, she didn’t resist. As her son now cooed at her and told her what a good girl she was, the porcelain skin of Shawna’s stomach was revealed and this was followed by her pretty white bra. A moment later, Jason was telling her to lean forward, which she did, freeing the back of her shirt from the pillows behind her. Jason now giggled excitedly as, for the first time ever, his 38-year-old mom let him to take off her shirt. The pretty Catholic mom forced her green eyes to stare up into his and, as she did so, her son continued to taunt her.

“That’s right ... it’s o.k.”

Jason now continued to whisper encouragement to her as Shawna’s wrists passed her shoulders and her vision was obscured by the fabric of her own white shirt.

“It ain’t nothing. It’s just you lettin’ your own son take your shirt off and see you in your bra.”

Jason now guided her right arm down through its inverted sleeve and once that arm was free, lifted the shirt so that it was over her head. Shawna’s long brown hair made the process more difficult but, unfortunately for her, not impossible. Her long chestnut locks rose up as the back of the T-shirt rose. They then folded over upon themselves before spilling down the inside of the neck hole.

“Please Jason, you don’t have to do this.”

Shawna reviewed her three options: fight, quietly submit or plead for mercy and, as the process played itself out and her shirt came off, the former college valedictorian tried to imagine the right combination that would save her from this hell.

“Do you know what a complete dumb fuck you sound like when you say that mom?” Jason now asked.

“Anyone who isn’t completely fuckin’ retarded would already know that I’m not doing this because I have to; I’m doing it because I want to. But you know, I get it, you’re a woman so, obviously, the good lord didn’t make you for your brains. He made you so that anyting with a penis could have another place to drain their balls.”

Even with everything that happened, Shawna couldn’t believe the callous things Jason said. How could she ever plead, bargain or evoke sympathy from such a horrible monster? While she pondered the answer to this nightmarish question, Shawna also watched in helpless horror as her t-shirt slid down her left arm, over the cast that covered her hand and wrist and then past her still perfectly manicured fingernails. Her shirt finally off, Jason quickly tossed it over his shoulder, apparently unconcerned with where it landed. Before it had even done so, Shawna’s son was leaning towards her again. His face came within a few inches of hers but, this time, their lips didn’t meet. Shawna’s son instead just stared into her eyes.

“Jason please.”

It was one more futile plea as the hands of her own son slipped around behind her. There was that familiar feeling of tension as the lateral strap of her bra dug into her sides but it lasted only a second. Then it was gone and replaced by a dreaded slight tickling sensation. The two ends of the lateral strap were now hanging loose on either side of her and the pretty Catholic mom tried to steel herself for the experience of sitting there and doing nothing while her own son finished taking off her bra. She had almost no time to prepare for, a moment later, Jason’s hands were on her shoulders and he was lifting the thin white straps that kept her undergarment on.

“Come on mom, look at your little boy. He wants you staring into his eyes while he takes your bra off and gets to see your tits for the second time in only a few days. Watch it happen and know in your mind that your big succulent breasts now belong to your very own son and he’s gonna have has hands and mouth on them any time he wants from now ‘til the end of your life.”

Shawna was already looking at Jason and, as the lump grew in her throat and she thought she might finally cry, the pretty Catholic mom, once again, felt someone other than her husband lift the straps of her bra off of her shoulders. A moment later, a cool rush of air swirled around her breasts instantly making her nipples hard. There was the sensation of her bra straps hitting her, just below the elbows, but it only lasted a moment. For no sooner had it landed then her entire bra was yanked away, tossed over Jason’s shoulder just as casually as her shirt had been. Jason now smirked down at her and, as Shawna sat there, helpless and staring up into his eyes, the pretty Catholic mom felt her hate for her own son grow larger in her heart.

He was savoring his latest victory, positively delighting in the humiliation he knew she must be feeling as he began to grope her breasts. Jason now cupped and squeezed them gently before switching to a soft and loving caress that sent shivers of revulsion down Shawna’s spine. His fingertips then explored every square inch of those two large and globular mammaries, probing, pinching and touching, and there was a sense of great relief when this lasted until Jason apparently decided to focus on a specific area. Her son’s fingers now closed on Shawna’s nipples, and Jason slowly first pinched and then rolled the sensitive nubs in a way that was simultaneously shamefully arousing and incredibly draining. The 38-year-old Catholic mom’s sex now awoke inside her panties; it was the first sign of wetness she had experienced since her horribly brutal assault. Mixed in with the crushing feelings of disgrace and sadness that it now brought on, there was also a feeling of anger. It wasn’t entirely at Jason, but also at her own traitorous body, as if it was making a conscious decision to betray her by reacting to her son’s touch.

“Your little boy’s got his hands on your tits, Mom.”

Jason’s taunts came in that same soft low whisper and the glee that echoed in his voice made Shawna only hate him more.

“Tell me you surrender your tits to your son mom. Tell me any boy can do with your body as he pleases. Tell me this mom and this will go easier for you. Tell me you understand that you’re so weak and pathetic that you won’t even be able to stop your son from taking off your shirt and bra and then seein’ and touching your tits every day from now on and maybe I’ll show you some mercy.”

Shawna now twisted and turned beneath him, growing ever more uncomfortable with the horrible arousing agony that was blooming in her shorts. There was that horrible itch, that ache to be completely filled up and, finally, that sense of heat rising, of an engorging swell and of ever-increasing wetness. If saying the degrading, depraved things that her son wanted to hear was going to reduce this torture; then Shawna was ready to do it. Her green eyes, which she had once more unconsciously cast down in shame, now lifted from the bedsheet until the pretty Catholic mom was staring up and boring into the blue ones of her own son.

“I ... Jason ... I ... I suh-render my ... my ... my breasts to you. I ... uh ... I’m ... I’m uh s-so w-weak and puh-pathetic that ... that even though ... that even though I’m uh ... that even though I’m th-thirty eight years old ... I ... I nuh-now understuh-stand that wuh-women are ... are ... are suh-so infuh-ferior to men ... uh ... b-boys even ... th-that ... any ... any ... any wuh-woman shuh-should fuh-feel uh-honored ... honored ... honored ... to ... uh ... suh-surrender her ... her ... her ... any mom ... of any age ... sh-should feel ... feel ... feel honored ... to surrender ... surrender ... surrender ... her tits ... luh-let uh-any b-boy of any ... any age t-take her sh-shirt and b-bra off and luh-let him puh-play with her tits.”

In some strange away, this admission felt even more demeaning to the pretty Catholic mom than being raped in public by her own son had been and Shawna didn’t know why this was. Perhaps it was because she now believed every word to be true. She was a 38-year-old woman, a mom, a college graduate and empowered as much as any woman had ever been and here she was admitting that she was so powerless that she had to surrender her most private possession, her very own body, to any smirking and self-satisfied 14-year-old boy who demanded it. What had happened to that woman on the bus? The one who had been so filled with moral outrage when a strange black boy had tried to touch her without her permission. Shawna knew the answer.

That classy but unpretentious high-achieving woman, the one who had prided herself on being so strong and independent as she made her way through the world, that woman had been broken. She had been broken and she had been broken easily and by a single black boy to boot. How had this happened? How could she not have seen that she was being manipulated and maneuvered into a position where this was the end result? Was she really so stupid that even 14-year-old boys were smart enough to manipulate her so that she ended up completely naked with her own son lying between her spread legs, so other boys could watch as her own son’s penis impaled her pussy over and over again? Shawna told herself that it wasn’t her fault.

The idea that something like this could ever have happened was so far outside the reality of her former sheltered upper middle-class white world that any rational suburban American mom would have thought it impossible. In the end, even if she was completely blameless, it was a cold comfort. For now, here she was, her sneering and pompous son straddling her waist. Her bare breasts were out, thanks to him, and on display so that he could not only gawk at them but also grope them in any way he chose. A moment later, Jason was leaning forward, his lips pressing against hers while his tongue tried to force its way into her mouth. Its tip now wiggled between her lips and slid itself over her teeth and, only after a moment of trying to pull her head back with revulsion, did the pretty Catholic mom regain her self-control. She now reluctantly relented despite her disgust at having to French kiss her own son.

Perhaps most horrifying of all was the feeling against which she now had to struggle; the feeling that there was something both pacifying and, at the same time, wearisome about that kiss. Perhaps it was the sensation of the spiraling action of her own son’s tongue at it slid itself over hers; soft, slow, and wet, it seemed to make her weaker by the moment while, at the same time, sickening her to an ever-greater degree. Jason’s left hand now came away from her right breast and instead rested lightly on her cheek. The deeply intimate kiss shared by mom and son lasted only a few seconds more; and, to the pretty Catholic mom’s deep chagrin, she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she had been kissed so tenderly by her very own husband.