Cain is our only child. Thank God, because I never could have raised two. Cain would have been a handful for any mother under the best of circumstances. My husband, Cliff, hamstrung me with Dr. Spock's method of child raising. Yes, Cliff read the book forward and backward. He firmly believed in the non-physical method of child raising. Dr. Spock never tried his methods on a kid like Cain. If he had, his book would have been completely different.

You can say no to Cain until you're blue; he doesn't mind. You can talk and reason until you're black and blue; nothing gets through. Even at the age of three, Cain would stand flat-footed and yell, "NO!" Consequently, Cain grew up getting his way. I don't dare try to shop with him. As for getting help from Cliff, no chance. Cliff thinks the method is working just fine. He would, he's never around.

Cliff thinks a kid that gets expelled twice a year since first grade is a sign of being high spirited. He will not help me break his kid's spirit. Cliff can control Cain by a firm lecture, but avoids them if possible. In order to curb an intolerable situation, I must call on Cliff. Afterwards, Cain stays pissed at me for days, making my life miserable for telling on him. Therefore, I try not to involve Cliff.

As an example, when Cain was eight, he suddenly took an interest in the physical differences between boys and girls. He marched in the door one day, strode up to me, and said, "Mom, take your clothes off. I want to see you naked."

I looked at him like he was nuts and told him, in a manner of speaking, to go to hell. The war was on. I could not turn my back on him after that. He'd lift my skirt and try to yank my panties down. He'd reach inside my blouse. He even snuck under my bedding with a flash light. When I told Cliff what Cain was doing, Cliff quoted book and verse from Dr. Spock's book. "Parents should satisfy the natural curiosity of children. Sex should be discussed openly to the degree the child wants to know." He told me to let the kid look.

I am painfully shy about my body, even though I think I have a good one. I'm not big busted, but I am trim and shapely. Without Cliff's help, I knew I was fighting a losing battle. The worst part of all was that the war interfered with my favorite pastime, masturbation. I could never relax knowing Cain might be hiding and watching.

The next day, while fighting off Cain, I suddenly jumped up, stripped, and reclined with my legs apart in complete surrender. Cain had a field day exploring every nook and cranny of my body. I gave him the three dollar tour. At his insistence, I even demonstrated how women pee, sitting on the toilet with my knees out wide while Cain peeled back my labia lips.

He fondled, pinched, and sucked my tits. There was nothing sexual about this. He was simply curious. After that, he stopped bugging me. He paid little attention to my body, in fact. The positive side effect of this was that I overcame my inhibitions around Cain. Being nude in Cain's presence was easier than being nude with Cliff. Cliff and I still made love with the lights off.

I thought I'd been through the worst, and then puberty hit. Cain shot up like a weed. Now, in the seventh grade, when he stands flat-footed to tell me no, we are eye to eye. Furthermore, he took a renewed interest in my body, a sexual interest, at a time when Cliff wouldn't look twice at a beaver shot. I can't say I didn't enjoy the attention, but I strongly resented my son's crude fondling. When he'd finger fuck me or try to suck my titties, I'd tell him no. He rarely took my no, but I tried to be firm. I struggled against his assaults, but he could overpower me.

I'm a petite woman anyway. I stand five two, and my normal weight is one hundred and ten pounds. Cain weighs about the same, but he is all muscle. I couldn't hold him down if I wanted to take a belt to him. In those early months of puberty, I wanted to do just that. If Cliff only knew what his son has put me through, he'd...well, he'd have done something, I'm sure. I just wish I'd told him when the trouble first started.

This all started when Cain's voice started changing. He began taking an abnormal interest in women, not girls, women. He had a source for hard-core pornography. He kept these slick magazines in his room. Since I cleaned his room, I noticed everything. Cain never tried to hide them, anyway. I knew the first time he had an ejaculation. He proudly soiled his bed sheets, underwear, and socks which I had to handle.

When I made no comment about this, he became bolder. He began depositing his load on my personal things. I found sperm on my toothbrush, in my clean panties, on my pillow, in my favorite coffee cup, in the silverware, in my shoe, and in my bra cups. Far from upsetting me, I grew to enjoy these sticky surprises. If I felt something squish between my toes on slipping a shoe on, I'd wear the shoe that way. I brushed my teeth with sperm, ate with a spermy fork, and drank my coffee with sperm cream. If I pulled out a pair of fresh panties with a soggy crotch, I wore them. I gladly set my breasts in wet bra cups.

I tried to never let Cain see me do these things, but one morning, I caught him zipping up after sperming my coffee cup. I pulled back, out of sight, my pussy all a-tingle. I took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen, putting on my usual, half- asleep morning face. As Cain sat before his cereal, watching me with a wicked grin, I groggily poured coffee in the cup, added a spoon of sugar, a spoon of creamer, and stirred without looking. When I brought the coffee to my lips, taking a long sip, Cain's wry grin became a wide grin. I made a pleasant face and joined him. He said, "How's your coffee this morning, Mom?"

I said, "It's very rich. I always enjoy my first cup best of all, but this morning the coffee is very good." I took another long sip, watching his reaction. He just smiled knowingly.

The following morning, I walked in on him while he was jerking off, naked in his bed. He didn't stop; he didn't even look up. My catching him triggered his orgasm, in fact. He ejaculated all over his chest, then he looked to me. I backed out, blushing profusely.

After that, Cain jacked off wherever and whenever he felt the need. He went for shock value and was quite proud of his erections. He had a right to be. For a thirteen-year-old, he had an impressive piece of meat between his legs. He had seven inches as thick as his father's with a flaring helmet as big as a plum. When erect, his adult-looking cock arched back almost to his lower belly. His father had eight inches but had difficulty reaching the perpendicular when fully erect, and the head was smaller than Cain's. Furthermore, Cain still had a lot of growing to do.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to look at my son's cock. Cliff was my first and only lover. Cliff's cock was the only adult cock I'd ever seen in person. Until Cain started bringing the porn home, Cliff's cock was the only adult cock I'd ever seen. I thought Cliff was huge. While Cain was in school, I learned differently while perusing his material. I saw cocks twice as big as Cliff's, as thick as my wrist, and with heads the size of my fist. I got weak in the knees just thinking about taking a cock that big. I got weak in the knees just thinking about taking Cain's.

Yes, in my private fantasies, I thought the unthinkable. I couldn't help it. I saw Cain's cock several times a day, in action. To make matters worse, I have always been fascinated by semen. I love the stuff. I like the taste, smell, and consistency. I love to feel the hot, slimy goo squirting deep inside me, squishing between my thighs, sliding between my pussy lips when I walk, running down my legs, and drying on my body. Cain could ejaculate eight times in one day, with his last load equaling his father's first. Cain's first could drown a cock- sucking whore. Cain gave me plenty to fantasize about.

Cliff was no help. I could have vented much of my sexual tensions on him, but he was rarely around. Cliff is a workaholic, and after fifteen years of marriage, his sexual appetite dramatically waned as mine grew. Sometimes, we went months between fucks and weeks between blow jobs. I often resorted to sucking him off while he slept, just for a taste of semen. When Cain started jerking off in front of me, I was sucking off Cliff whenever I could get him alone. Sometimes, he had to push me away. Cliff called me a sex maniac and made me take cold showers. I'm serious; he'd put me in the shower and turn on the cold water.

I knew I should have told Cliff what Cain was doing. I came close, but after a few forced cold showers, I was in no mood to curb the one outlet I had masturbating to the image of a recent display of youthful virility. Masturbating to the image of Cain's magnificent cock spewing forth a fountain of rich sperm gave me my best orgasms ever.

Also, I knew that Cain would continue to escalate his activities if I didn't tell on him. The very idea thrilled me. Speculating about what might happen next was masturbatory foreplay. For the first week, all he did was jerk off where I'd catch him in the act. When he got away with that, he began jerking off after seeking me out. If I moved, he'd follow.

I came close to telling Cliff after Cain jerked off while standing in front of me. I was seated on the sofa, pretending to read a magazine but secretly watching over the top. The first blast hit my magazine. Two more jets landed on my skirt. Several ropy strands landed on my bare legs. For appearances sake, I threw the magazine at him and stormed off to the bathroom. In the bathroom, I gathered his sperm on my fingers and sucked my fingers. His youthful ball juice was like ambrosia.

I knew I'd be courting disaster if I didn't put a halt to Cain's latest outrage. I could only imagine what his further escalations might entail. I imagined them while masturbating. After a dozen terrific orgasms, I decided not to tell. For two days, Cain thought he would catch hell. For those two days, he laid low. I did not see his cock. For those two days, I was a wreck. At first, I was sorely tempted to tell Cliff what had happened, but after two days, I was craving another encounter. After seeing his father come and go twice without any mention of the incident, Cain relaxed.

Cliff leaves the house as Cain awakens. I usually watch the morning TV news while drinking my coffee, usually wearing only a loosely-belted short robe. On that third morning, I half expected, fully hoped, that Cain would give me a parting show before leaving for school. I waited with growing nervousness. I sat with my back to the hallway and did not hear his approach. Suddenly, a slimy wet hand cupped my mouth and nose from behind, pulling my head back.

The shock startled me, but my first strained intake of breath told me I had a face full of fresh sperm. I struggled only half- heartedly and tried shouting my protests. All this did was permit Cain to get his wet fingers in my mouth. He had me by my hair with one hand, laughing wickedly while wiping his sperm- covered hand through my moving lips.

This crude and messy assault was marvelous. My mouth, inside and out, was coated in his fresh spend. I savored the feel and taste while putting up a show of resistance. I made faces while he meticulously wiped sperm from my face and stuffed coated fingers inside my mouth. I could have sealed my lips tightly to prevent this; instead, I kept up a steady flow of muffled words in mock agonized disgust. He took his time and got most in my mouth before walking away, laughing. I swallowed his load then spit saliva into the lapel of my robe. I doubled over, sputtering and gagging, putting up a good front. Cain watched from a distance, laughing.

We didn't speak as he readied himself for school, but on the way out the door, he paused to say, "I'll whip up another snack for you when I get home from school. Bye, Mommy!"

I went straight to my bedroom and attacked my hot pussy. I spent most of my day torturing my cunt, in fact. I dreamed of the repeat assault. My only concern was that I somehow maintain my show of distaste and resistance. I knew I was weakening, and the thought of turning into a babbling sex slave to my Cain sent shudders through me. Somehow, I needed to impose limitations on him. Without dragging Cliff into the problem, that seemed an impossible feat. Still, I thought I must try.

When Cain returned that afternoon, I was seated in my usual place on the sofa wearing a nice skirt and blouse combination. I'd spent a great deal of time fixing my hair and makeup. I must have looked like I was going out. In truth, I wanted to look my best for Cain. He liked what he saw and strode right over, dropping his books and standing between me and the TV show I wasn't watching.

Cain drew out his hardening cock and began pumping the arching shaft. I made a face and said, "Cain, you must stop treating me this way. Boys are not supposed to treat their mothers this way. If you must do that, please do it in private."

He merely grinned as I stared at his cock. He said, "I'm whipping you up a sperm snack. You're going to eat it all up, too. Sperm is good for you. You love my cum! You like looking at my dick, too, don't you?"

I forced my eyes up and said, "I think it's disgusting what you're doing, and I don't like looking. I can't help looking; you practically shove that thing in my face. I should tell your father what you're doing to me."

His reply was to step closer, straddling my knees, thrusting his cock out obscenely. I had to draw back to avoid the wet head as he teased, "Yeah, but you won't. He wouldn't care anyway. He'd probably make you suck it."

Cain gave me this opening to explain my reluctance in telling, and I jumped at the opportunity to seal my fate further, saying, "I know, that's why I haven't told him. Daddy's little boy can do anything he wants. Don't push your luck, though."

"Yeah, I think I'll tell him I want my own private whore. I'll bet he gives you the job. How about that, Mom? How would you like to be my whore?"

This excited him further and had my mind racing with the implications, the possibilities. He pumped harder and faster. I watched that delicious, shiny, plum bob repeatedly into view in the wrap of pumping fingers. His left hand was poised at the tip, cupped to catch his spend. Seconds later, thick jets poured into his free hand as he shuddered and groaned his release. It was all I could do not to lap at the puddle then suck that beautiful instrument into my mouth. My mouth watered for my son's cock, but I maintained my look of disgust.

When he had all the sperm cupped in his hand, he held that hand to my lips and said, "Here, lick it up."

I turned my head. He mounted the sofa, kneeling on my left side. He took my hair in his right hand and pulled my head back forcefully. When I opened wide to go, "ouch," he upended his cupped left hand into my open mouth. His sperm poured in, filling my mouth. I was in heaven. He said, "Now, swallow it all." He pulled harder on my hair. I didn't want to swallow, because I was hoping to savor the taste. He took my stalling as reluctance, but I finally did as he insisted.

He then put the wet palm to my lips and said, "Lick it all off." I licked his palm. Afterwards, he got up, grinning from ear to ear. I sat rightfully humbled and ashamed. My face was even red. I'm sure he thought I was embarrassed, certainly humiliated.

Cain was so happy with the way I took to his domination of me, my subservient behavior, that he couldn't wait to try again. The next assault happened thirty minutes later as I was leaning over the sink, peeling carrots for our evening meal. His sperm-laden hand came from behind, cupped under my lower lip. I gripped the counter top and made a groan of despair. This time, he pushed on the back of my head until my head was down, my lips in the puddle. He said, "Lap it up."

I hesitated only long enough to make my surrender believable, then dipped my tongue into the warm, white mess. He giggled and drove me on. Soon, I was lapping at the puddle like a dog. His other hand wasn't idle, either. He ran his right hand up my skirt from behind and insinuated the fingers down my panties. I clamped my legs together but he forced his way into the crotch, digging at my hole with his fingers. I lapped and groaned in feigned mortification. When he moved his wet fingers up my ass crack and stopped at my anus, I stopped licking. His index finger poked rudely inside and I cried out, "No! Please don't do that!"

He ignored me and fucked that finger in and out, saying, "Shut up and keep licking, whore." I tolerated that butt finger-fucking and went back to my licking like a good whore should. When he worked a second finger up my ass, I merely groaned. When I had his hand clean, he dropped that hand down and went in my panties from the front. He toyed with my pussy, exciting my clit and fingering the hole. The kid knew a woman's pleasure centers and was actively trying to make me cum.

I found my feet sliding outward as though my pussy was giving the orders. Before long, I stood with my feet a yard apart, head bowed, hands gripping the counter, my pelvis grinding on my son's fingers rapidly penetrating me, front and rear. I had never had my asshole touched before. I found the wicked sensation delightful once my sphincter adjusted. I came like a woman possessed with a sex demon and almost sank to the floor.

As I regained my feet, Cain drew my panties down my legs. I offered no resistance and stepped free of them. He stood, lifted my skirt to bare my ass and delivered a sharp stinging slap, saying, "You're a good whore, Mom. What's for supper?"

All I could do was bury my face in my hands to mask my arousal with a show of shame. He only laughed and walked away. He returned twice more while I prepared our dinner. Each time, he felt me up, entering both my ass and pussy for a quick fingering and parting with another sharp slap to my ass cheeks. I was properly humbled. I never said a word and would not look him in the eye.

Cliff was out of town on business for a week. Even if I wanted to tell on him, I was at Cain's mercy for the entire week. We both knew that. During dinner, I sat looking morose, still not wearing panties. He checked before I took my seat, casually lifting my skirt in front. When I sat, he opened my blouse and exposed my bare breasts. I left them exposed.

Halfway through the meal, he got up, came over, and freed his erection. He began jerking off. I sat back, quietly waiting for him to finish. He shot his load on my dinner, covering what remained with his special sauce. I was delighted, of course, but reacted with disgust, pushing my plate away, making a face.

As I expected, he moved it back and insisted I clean my plate. I pretended to gag with each fork full; but in reality, I never enjoyed potatoes and carrots more. Before the night was through, Cain had me sucking him to orgasm while I was totally naked. I don't know how many times he came, but I ended up swallowing every precious drop.

That night, he climbed into my bed with me. We were both naked. I rolled away, lying on my side. He snuggled up to me, spoon fashion, and poked his tired erection between my legs. I half expected intercourse would occur, and the actuality of the impending event had me breathing hard. It was all I could do to remain still and not lift my leg like the bitch in heat I'd become. As it turned out, lifting my leg wasn't necessary. Cain had easy access to my slimy wet hole and pressed hard. His big head pried its way through my receptive pussy lips. I almost swooned. I never felt anything so erotic.

Unfortunately, the poor kid was all orgasmed out. He'd spent his last spend and was tired. He simply entered me fully and drifted off to sleep. I was far from sleep, however. With him snoring beside me, I bravely used my fingers to excite my clit. His cock, amazingly, remained hard. His cock was not as hard as it gets, but hard enough for me to move my pelvis on to get a short stroke out of him. Together with my finger play, I managed a quiet climax. Thirty minutes later, with him still inside me, still hard, I managed another.

I was awakened the following morning to a rude, missionary screwing. Cain was on top of me, pounding away at my cunt while he chewed my right tittie. I was a little disoriented, but my pussy knew what was going on and ordered my legs wide apart. My back arched, and I used both hands to squeeze my tittie up in lewd offering. This was fucking the way I'd always dreamed fucking should be. The fact that my son was doing the fucking made no difference. Any male that could do to my body what Cain was doing to it, had themselves a whore.

In passionate surrender, I cupped my hands to his head and slobbered wet kisses all over his face, saying, "Oh, yes, Cain, fuck me! Fuck Mommy, sweetheart. Oh, yes, baby! I'm your whore, darling." The words were out before I knew what I was saying. Those words made him cum deep in my womb, deep in my fertile womb, I might add. Since Cliff had a vasectomy, we used no birth control. I wasn't thinking about that at the time, though. I was too busy cumming on that shooting cock.

Since the words were out, I had no intention of trying to take them back. When Cain collapsed on me, I cupped his tight buttocks, squeezing and stroking his soft skin. His ear was beside my mouth. I kissed his ear and whispered sexily, "That was wonderful, Cain. I meant what I said. I'll be your private whore. I'll do anything you want, anytime." I planted loving kisses while stroking his flanks, grinding my sex-starved cunt on his still buried cock. Cain simply relaxed and soaked up the lewd affection.

We languished in each others arms, alone with our own thoughts. I began thinking about all that virile sperm swimming about in my womb and began counting back the days since my last period. It was dangerously close to my fertile cycle, but too late to do anything about it if I was fertile. Oddly, the thought that I might, at that very moment, be conceiving a child by my own son gave me a wicked thrill. Still, I had enough sense to know what a disaster that would be. Getting an abortion on the sly would be difficult without Cliff's knowledge. He controls every dime, and our state requires the consent of both parties for married women.

I said, "Cain, we are going to have to get you some condoms, sweetheart. It wouldn't do for me to get pregnant. You do know that your father had an operation to make sure he couldn't make babies, don't you?"

To my utter surprise, he said, "Yeah, I know. That's why I want to get you pregnant. I'm not going to wear no rubbers, no way."

I said, "But honey, that would be a disaster. I'd have to get an abortion if that happened."

"No you wouldn't, and you'd better not try. If you do, I'll tell Dad. I'll tell him you've been fucking all kinds of men. I'll tell him you're the biggest whore in town."

I was stunned, to say the least. I backed off to get a good look at his face to see if he was serious. He got up on his straight arms, looking down on me, and said, "I'm going to knock you up, Mother. You're my whore, now, and I want you pregnant. I always get what I want. You know that, don't you?"

"But, baby, your father will divorce me if that happens."

"I know, then I'll have you all to myself, won't I?"

"But, sweetheart, we won't have any money."

"You'll earn plenty with your pussy. You're my whore, remember?"

What could I do? I wasn't about to tell Cliff after all I'd done, after willingly screwing our son. Cain had me and would continue having me whether I liked it or not. To make matters worse, his bold declaration had fired his passions. His once softening cock was again rigid and moving in my soupy twat, stirring our juices and my own passions. I drew my feet in and ground back saying, "In that case, then put some more sperm in Mommy's pussy, sweetheart. Let's do this right. Make a baby in me, Cain. Fuck more sperm into my hot pussy. Make me a pregnant whore."