A Mother's Nightmare

Hello, my name is Brenda. Imagine for a second that you’re me: An adult orphan kicked out of foster care at the tender age of 18. No family. No money. No love. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from the big bad world suddenly at your feet. Forced to grow-up practically overnight or face homelessness and extreme adversity.

Fucked, in every sense of the world.

Then, imagine, you’re somehow able to beat the odds and get yourself into a good college despite all of this adversity...just to end up pregnant three years into your studies—knocked up and promptly abandoned by your professor, an (evidently) married man who for one brief moment made you feel like you were someone capable and deserving of actually being loved.

Go figure.

You end up having the child, a sweet baby boy, and once again, somehow despite all the odds...you flourish.

And then...the years fly by, as they often tend to, and the boy, who, being all you had...you’re very close with...some may even say unusually close with, gets older too...

And with those years comes sudden striking good looks, and something else too: a personality change...for the worse.

I chopped it up as a sort of...second puberty. A byproduct of him going off to college and being around a new crowd of, frankly, chauvinistic jock-type douches. Regardless, when his misogynistic behavior began to spread into our home life...I had completely had enough.

We were getting ready to go out for dinner one night just the two of us, but when I came out of my bedroom wearing the type of dress he had seen me in a thousand times before...he very bluntly told me to go back upstairs and change – that I looked “like a fucking street walker”.

I was...stunned.

Never in my life had he talked down to me, let alone in such a crude and unexpected manner. I attempted to scold him as best I could, but at only 5’2...his 6’2 frame suddenly made me feel...intimidated.

It was never, ever how I expected him of all people to make me feel. Frankly, I wanted to burst into tears. Being called basically a whore threw me right back to my foster care days with a long string of pervy foster dads.

Still, my son stood his ground, and eventually, being a natural born submissive...I gave into his demands and went back upstairs to change into something more subdued for our late dinner date despite the 80 degree heat.

Little did I know, it marked the beginning of a very tumultuous change in our relationship.

From that moment on, my son has been talking down to me, even going as far as man handling me when I get especially, in his words, “disobedient”.

I know what you’re thinking...

“Well...what the FUCK, lady? You’re his mother. What kind of no backbone having wimp are you? Tell him how it is! Discipline him! Put your foot down!”

And yet...

Somehow, he made that feel entirely impossible.

Not only had his misogynistic change in behavior rendered me frozen....it also...uncomfortably enough...made me wet beyond all belief to be consistently bossed around and talked down to by my own son.

What can I say?

I, like most damaged people, have always been a bit on the...kinkier side of things. But even for someone as open minded as me...this newfound combination of feelings for my own son proved to be too much for me to handle in the long-run.

To make a long story short, I....

Snapped.

One night, after my son came home drunk from some college party after getting into a heated argument with one of his buddy’s over something that to me seemed pretty trivial...my son took things further than he ever had before.

He...choked me out.

I have no idea what I even said or did to spark his rage. All I know is that within seconds, he had me up against the wall in a chokehold...

And just like that...I was, for lack of a better term...a faucet. Maybe it was the way his eyes burned into mine as his hand lingered on my throat, slowly working their way down to my huge tits as if considering the very same thing I was. Or, maybe it really was just blind rage. Maybe, like all my most sage friends had been saying for weeks, he really did suffer from some kind of deep seeded anger problem due to the abandonment of his Father and being raised by a single mother.

It didn’t matter the reason.

What was done was done.

As I examined the fresh bruising on my neck the next morning, I knew id be fielding off a world of (faux?) remorse from him at breakfast—just like always. Truly, he was turning into some kind of possessive boyfriend with me or something...only without any of the more...let's just say...exciting perks.

Not wanting to face him this time, I quickly dressed and left the house to hit the gym, wanting to work out a bit as a distraction from the nightmare my life had suddenly become.