Chapter 4

After that night I pretty much knew when I could ask to wear her clothes. About once a week seemed to satisfy her. It drove me to near madness. I jerked off constantly, filling every scrap of cloth with cum, desperately alert for her next moment of naked availability.

About once a week, mother would strip in front of me and dress me in her clothes. Then she would proceed to act like a little girl who desperately needed love and attention from her mommy.

My own role in these games were so anti-altruistic, they were killing me. I lost no end of sleep frantic to put my hands on her in less than a loving way. It's fair to say I wracked my adolescent brains to discover a way past her innocent sweetness. At the same time, I was gradually responding to her overt show of affection during these events. I had begun to love my mommy/daughter, and sometimes I wondered if I were the little girl playing for attention from my nakedly erotic mother. I doubt the clothes had much effect on my untested masculinity, but our scenarios would have ambiguated Hercules. When my mother acted like a little girl, I knew the feelings of a protective father. When she looked into my eyes and called me mommy, I had to look twice to make sure I hadn't grown breasts overnight.

During her off times, when she was very much my mother, she never mentioned our debaucheries, but it became plain that she considered them bouts of evil she needed to purge from her soul. She worked harder than ever to make me an upright, god fearing boy. I wasn't allowed to bring friends home, as only she was good enough company for me to find examples. I worked like a dog at the house, with my mother working twice as hard beside me.

It was when emotional and physical exhaustion set in her bones, did she slip from one personality to the next. On the days she stripped her body bare of her station and placed it loosely upon me, those were her days of rest. Naturally, they occurred more and more frequently on a Saturday. Sunday just wouldn't have worked out.

One Saturday, while we were drawing with crayons at the kitchen table, my cock was about to burst. For two hours I had watched mother pour over her drawing, naked tits brushing occasionally against the tablecloth. I felt like chewing on a book cover to keep my teeth from grinding. My own picture was filled with rape scenes of stick people. One particular figure was screwed again and again, always between her circles for tits. I drew crazily, but I had to be careful I didn't draw over my dangling black sleeves. My illustration was a rare pastime I could use to offload my growing sexual frustration. It wasn't enough.

"Look mommy, I drew a horsey!" Mother exclaimed and she held up her previously, carefully guarded paper.

Mother's horse picture was as fabulous as her piano playing. She had gotten really good, and her music was actually able to tame my wild beast. Her carefully colored and shadowed and lit figure of a lithe, paint horse gliding over a meadow could have won a prize for best crayon art of the year, out of the nation's professional crayoners.

"It's beautiful," I told her, trying to keep lust from eroding my voice.

When she hugged me, I lost all control. Her warm arms around my loose clothing, her plump tits pressed into my chest, her gleeful mewling in my ear unleashed the monster caged within me. My hand pulled up the skirt and fished cock from out of my pants. I jacked on my iron hard prick about a dozen times for every two seconds and kissed my mother on her bare neck as she held me. My free hand crossed between us and snapped at her closest titty.

Immediately, she released me and recoiled my frantic grab, adultly aghast at my action. She instantly composed herself for a blast of holier than thou, but not before my dick erupted with long jets of high pressure cum. White ropes shot between us and doused her girdle. She jumped away, scream piercing the air, and two more blasts arced over the table and sprayed her drawing.

"What in heaven's name are you doing?" She hollered most un-little-girl-like. "Get out of here right now! I'll see you in ten minutes, young man!" She drew herself high and mighty, indignation masking her awareness of her own nakedness. I watched her tits change from pleasant pillows to amazon armor.

I couldn't even respond until I had jerked the last of my cum load onto the kitchen's tile floor. Only then did I jump. I didn't look back. I raced for my room to ready myself for armageddon.

When the hammer came down, I was still praying for a way to escape of this mess. Mother entered the room, totally concealed in a thick bathrobe.

"I have to have a good talk with you young man. How could you have betrayed your mother like this? You defiled the last thing that was good between us. I should abandon you to the state and join a Christian woman's retreat."

Her plea for sympathy fell on deaf ears. I wish I could have responded with a few blasts of my own, but I was just an eleven year old kid about to turn twelve. I curled up in a fetal ball on my bed. Mother's widow dress splayed across it like a death shroud.

I kept purposefully silent, pouting. Honestly, I believed everything she said. I felt I deserved everything she threatened. I just couldn't admit it to her, because deep down I knew she was just as responsible as I. Unfortunately kids rarely get the chance to examine their root motives.

Perhaps that is why, mother gave me another chance, or at least she said she would. "Calvin, honey. I know this must be very strange to you. You can't imagine how mixed up I feel about our little secret, but I'm as helpless to stop myself, as I imagine you are to ignore the devil that lives inside you. Never-the-less, you must fight against it. That is our only path to salvation, eternal vigilance and continual askance for forgiveness."

She worked ourselves harder than ever for the next six days. She even excused me from school to give me even more time to pay penance for our crimes. On the seventh day, she fell harder than ever from her lofty goal.

Mother woke me up from a desperately needed, deep, dreamless sleep. On my way to the surface, I began to dream of being suffocated, and I awoke gasping for breath. A thick pile of dark cloth buried my face. I scrambled around in bed and flung the offending threads off of me. Mother stood in my room, naked to her girdle. She wasn't even wearing her thick but slightly transparent stockings. The girdle was her last hold out. Of course the dark veils that had smothered me awake were her clothes. When I came to my full senses, I realized they smelled freshly washed, with only a hint of my mother's odor on them. She must have put them on in her room and immediately stripped them in mine.

"Wake up, mommy. Wake up! I need you so bad!" She cried like the little girl I had grown perversely familiar with. She rushed to my side to assist me in donning her mantle. My dick may have already have been hard in preparation for the morning, but now it was like steel. We had long realized that I was eternally erect while she played her escape role. We had psychically agreed not to recognized it.