Tamed by My Son

'My name is Megan, I am a 38 year old single mother to Rick who is 18 years old. I am a successful, forceful, demanding woman who gets what she wants, oh and I am also a bitch.

As a quick resume of how we arrived at this point is all that is needed, then that's all I will give.

Rick's father left when he was only 3 years old. He left me to bring up the child on my own. I struggled to manage for years, until I got my break and acquired a job at a national insurance company as a call centre operative. In a male working environment, I realised that to get anywhere then I would have to be twice as hard, ruthless and ambitious as anyone else, especially men.

So at work I became the ball buster. I did not suffer fools gladly and I rose within the company to be a sales executive.

During these years of struggle, my son was becoming a handful like his father and I had to rule with a rod of iron to keep him on the straight and narrow.

Recently he was going through a bad stage of 'moody youth' and was becoming disrespectful and sullen like all teenage boys seem to be.

Because of the stress of my daily work, when I got home I didn't need his shit and I steadfastly refused to take it. I controlled his usual smart-ass by dominating him and beating him down.

This story really starts the day 'the bitch' pushed him too far.

If I had to be painfully honest, I would have to admit to treating my son badly (and much to my shame, like shit at times.) He was a chip off the old block that had deserted me. I had become both professionally and emotionally a bit of a man hater due to my experiences and took it out on my son. He was the symbol of all the men that I held in contempt.

This came to a head, when I returned home after a particularly stressful day in which I had received criticism for my performance. This was incredibly annoying, as it was a useless man that had fucked up in a deal, yet I took the blame because it was my department that he worked in.

Fucking useless men!

When I entered the house, the first thing that hit me was the mess. I didn't ask much of Rick (Oh yes I did) and the least that he could do was tidy up after himself.

"Hi Mum," he said very nonchalantly and devil-may-care.

I lost it.

"Hi Mum....? Hi Mum....? is that all you can say? Look at the state of this place, it's a shithole."

There was then a passage of abuse where, 'I tore him a new one' as the modern phrase seems to be. I don't know where it all came from, obviously I was subconsciously storing all the frustration up inside me and to my shame as a mother I let it all pour out. I pretty much abused him verbally.

It was a step too far for me to take. I was a complete bitch in general and a complete bitch specifically to Rick now.

When Rick first grabbed me, it was so unexpected my mind didn't register what was happening at first. Before I knew it, Rick had dragged me to a chair and as he sat he pulled me down with him and I suddenly found myself across his knee.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" I screamed, the audacious little sod was daring to manhandle me.

"Get off me you little bastard," I shrieked amongst other expletives, driven by my high and mighty indignation.

As I was abusing him, I felt the first sting of what would change my life.

'Whack'

Again my incredulous brain wouldn't process the unthinkable at first but when his hand rose and fell across my tight skirt, the stinging in my ass brought me to my senses.

As he spanked me and I abused him, it seemed for a while that I would prevail. In this position with me bucking wildly, Rick couldn't get enough purchase to really hurt me and he knew it.

As he pushed me off him and stood, I was triumphant as I thought I had won.

Rick grabbed my arm and dragged me, first to the foot of the stairs and then up them. He dragged me into my own bedroom and across to the bed. He locked the door so I couldn't get out quickly, (not that I tried to, I was supremely confidant that I would win.) and when Rick took two pillows from the bed and lay them across the foot of the bed, I merely sneered at him.

I had reckoned without my son's superior physical advantage and I suddenly felt myself being bent over the bed and the pillows and being held down by his hand in the small of my back, my ass in the air.

Rick smacked my ass a few times more, again I sneered at him and his inability to hurt me, or to tame me into submission. It was then that the unthinkable happened, he pulled up my skirt.

After the spanking of my ass through my panties I was beginning to feel the first real stings of pain. I was not going to show him he was getting through to me and kept up my act of furious defiance. I was still so full of aggression that I hardly felt his grip on my panties. If I did it mustn't have registered in my brain, until the unmistakable sound of his hand on bare skin reverberated around the room. Rick was now spanking my bare ass.

On and on went the harsh spanking, the sound of skin against skin and the building pain. I refused to give in to him no matter what and eventually I had my moment of triumph.

Rick stopped beating me and stood silently behind me.

I had won! The little shit had given in.

As I was being spanked on my bare ass, I was so full of fury and indignation that I had not considered my real position. My entire focus and incensed outrage, had left me so consumed by what my son was doing to me that one huge factor didn't occur to me in the slightest.

As Rick stood quietly behind me I expected him to move away. It wasn't until I felt his hands return to my poor abused ass, that my head began to clear of the anger that was clouding my judgement. This time his hands felt different, this time things WERE different and as Rick caressed my red buttocks the fog cleared in my head.

After all the spanking, I suddenly realised what everyone reading this must have realised right at the very start of my punishment.

My vagina must be on show!

I know it sounds incredulous that such a thought had not occurred to me before this point but I swear, I was more preoccupied with winning against my son, that the small matter of my vagina being exposed to him was completely lost on me.

The full realisation of my position hit home when I felt the big, blunt, bulbous head of 'something' touch my exposed labia.

My brain suddenly cleared of the red mist and the sudden clarity hit me like a runaway train.

My son was about to rape me.

I fought like a demon, I kicked and screamed and writhed around like a dervish trying to stop him entering me.

Raped by my own son?

"No, no, please God no," I screamed.

I fought and fought against his superior strength as his hands held me down in the small of my back. After a while of me bucking and twisting to get my vagina out of line with his penis, Rick stopped.

Again I thought that I had won. In the silence I heard a sound that I couldn't place (his belt sliding from his jean loops.)

It was then that I felt the almighty whack across my already abused buttocks as he brought the belt down on me. The sound was incredible and the noise shook me as much as the pain. What shook me most however was the sudden knowledge that I couldn't fight on indefinitely against this power and strength

Rick did not need to hit me twice, the fight just went out of me. I did not submit openly but the stiffness and rigidity of my body left me, as my body softened and sank over the pillows and the bed.

Giving in to the inevitable, I felt Rick reposition himself behind me. Again I felt his large cock head touch my lips and just pausing (I assume to savour the moment and to watch his cock defile me) for a moment Rick pushed his hips forward.

My son raped me.

I felt his big length slide effortlessly all the way into my vagina in one easy thrust.

"Please God no," I quietly moaned into the sheets as my son slowly and deliberately used my pussy. I felt him filling me and felt myself stretching around him. It wasn't until I heard the unmistakable squelching sound of sexual intercourse that something dawned on me.

I was wet and the sudden shock of realising that my son had slid effortlessly inside me, meant that I must have been wet all along.

As Rick continued his inexperienced ravaging of my body, I tried my best not to respond. A vagina can only take so much stimulation from whatever source, no matter how unwanted that source may be, before it responds.

I had only just recognized the horror that my vagina was beginning to respond and the pleasure was starting to rise, when my son completed the act of rape.

He came inside my vagina.

I could feel the movement inside me, as his cock swelled, hardened and twitched deep within me, spilling copious amounts of his young, strong, fertile semen deep inside my vagina and splattering my defenceless cervix with jet after jet of his cum.

After he had raped me, Rick pulled from me. Wordlessly he moved around the side of the bed and sat down. Averting his gaze I slowly and stiffly stood, my back aching from what had just happened to me. I stood straight, put my hand between my legs to catch the huge deposit of cum that I could feel beginning to run from my violated vagina and scuttled into the en-suite bathroom.

As I sat and let the foul symbol of my rape run from me I was helpless for a few minutes. I tried to recover my composure and put my logical business head in charge. I needed to assess the situation and work out the best possible outcome for the problem.

The first thing the old Megan considered was my own lack of responsibility for what had happened. I consoled myself with the idea that it was not my fault. I had only lost control because someone else had power over me. Rick raping me had stripped me of my power.

The responsibility for what happened was not mine, someone else had sole responsibility for their actions. I could not possibly be held accountable (was that my only concern? that at least it wasn't my fault?)

As I absolved myself of any guilt, I sat on the toilet and considered how we could possibly carry on our lives. What should I do? Life was in the balance. If I reported Rick our lives would be over. He would spend a considerable time in prison as a sex offender and would forever carry through his life the fact that he had raped his own mother.

If I reported him, it would soon become common knowledge that I had been raped by my own son and that would destroy any chance of keeping my work life in any order.

Should I throw him out and never have contact with my only child ever again?

As I stood I let the ruined skirt fall to the floor. I returned to the bedroom silently and looked at my son. Rick looked more frightened than I have ever seen a person look in my entire life. He looked nervous and scared and you could see, What have I done? written all over his face. He looked incredibly young and vulnerable at that moment.

Rick began to blabber, he tried desperately to apologise for what he had done. He was in abject fear as he knew full well what the implications for the future were. As I looked into his eyes I could see the terror, not just of the moment but I knew he could see himself in prison for years to come.

My mind was racing, trying to conjure up some words, some idea, some lucid thought on how to proceed. Even though I had been a total bitch to my son, as I looked into his youthful frightened face, I loved him and I knew that I somehow had to make this go away.

I lay on the bed and looked at the ceiling.

"Oh God Mum, I am so, so sorry. I don't know what came over me, I never wanted to hurt you." Rick continued to blubber.

I tried to console him (Yes I consoled HIM!) and we lay together for an age letting our thoughts race around our heads.

I lay and tried to rationalise the situation. Rick had hurt me but the physical effects of a sound spanking could be forgotten in time. We had had incestuous sex, yet somehow I thought that even that could be dealt with in time. I realised that the problem was with the rape and for both our futures both individually and together, we needed that incident to be somehow taken from the equation.

"How the hell do I do that?" I thought, although I already knew the answer.

I had the sudden shock of realising that I was still bottomless before my son. He had taken my panties off and I had discarded the ruined skirt.

I realised that there was only one way in the entire range of options that I could think of, that would at least take the rape out of the issue. We still would have to somehow deal with what had happened when he had spanked me and physically beaten me and there was till the small matter of him having sex with me but that could be done in time. For now there was only one action that would erase the previous one.

As I lay flat on the bed, I opened my legs a few inches. I did not totally spread them but made just enough of a movement to make the hugely symbolic and suggestive gesture. I did not behave like the Whore of Babylon but I left no doubt either.

"Rick!"

"Yes Mum."

"Please take me again."

I moved my legs a few inches further apart.

I truly saw this as the only way to erase the non consensual act - to replace it with a consensual one.

As I said before the actual rape was the significant issue here and the beast needed to be slain.

This together with the fact that my son had left me in the worst position of all - he had left me wanting. If Rick had made me orgasm when I responded to him (however traumatic the incident was) or had he cum inside me quickly before I could react to the invasion, it would have been terrible. Yet by making my vagina respond, without it having the subsequent sexual release, he had left me high and dry. It was the worst possible scenario.

The trauma and subsequent turmoil in my mind from what had happened to me, combined with the strange sense of power loss I had experienced, had created an intense confusion in my head. This together with an unwanted, yet unmistakable sexual frustration, created by the first man to enter me in an age, had left me in a vulnerable and chaotic mess.

When I asked my son to have sex with me again, his face was a picture of insecurity and incredulity. As the realisation of what I was asking of him dawned on him and disbelief crossed his face, I watched his big cock, swell thicken and lengthen with every beat of his heart. As the blood rushed into his manhood making it hard and menacing, I knew that the insanity coursing through my brain would not stop until I had let his wonderful length have me again.

The second time my son used my body his sexual performance was incredibly poor. The way he thrust erratically into me and his amateur jabbing and lunging was very juvenile and was borne of youthful inexperience. This time however I was way, way ahead of him in the race to orgasm. Even as he entered me, I knew that this time I was to get sexual release, I knew instantly that I would orgasm underneath my own son.

When my orgasm came it was incredibly embarrassing. I lay beneath my son as he rutted into me and found myself wanting to keep my climax secret. When the irresistible orgasm shook my woefully neglected and criminally underused vagina (responding to the cock inside me, the first for years) I remained as quiet as I could, yet the moans and gasps that escaped my lips left him in no doubt that he had fucked his mum to orgasm.

Rick followed me almost immediately, his gasps, grunts and groans, testament to the fact he was filling my vagina for the second time, with young powerful semen.

After our sexual coupling Rick and I lay silent beside each other.

What words were there to say?

I can't explain the incredible atmosphere but I am sure you can imagine what it must have been like. We both lay with a strange sense of shame and humiliation, we were not suddenly lovers, we were not partners in a relationship, we were mother and son who had each initiated sex with the other.

My experience told me that if we were to part at this point, then that feeling would stay with us throughout the rest of our lives. However we parted would set the standard for the future. I couldn't bear the thought that my relationship with my son would be estranged and spoiled, so I determined to not let Rick leave my side until we somehow came to terms with what we had done. In that vain I insisted that Rick sleep with me, there was to be no more sex but we still couldn't leave whilst the atmosphere was one of guilt.

The following morning when we awoke I immediately sensed a slight difference in the atmosphere and with ourselves. It was as though we were both determined to deal with this and to not let it destroy us. After avoiding the moment of truth for a while, we eventually turned to face each other.

"Good morning Darling," I said, absolutely crawling inside with shame and embarrassment.

"Er... oh... hi Mum." was all the poor boy could manage.

The subsequent minutes of sheer awkwardness had passed when I made the decision.

For work as part of my 'power dressing' I always wore stockings when I needed to feel good and sharp. This was nothing sexual, or in no way designed to attract men. I was a man hater but I felt the heels and the stockings and garter belt underneath my skirt, gave me a feeling of power somehow. It validated me as a woman, with the right to dress for herself and no one else. Dressing in stockings and suspenders gave me the freedom and indulgence to be my own person, it empowered me, so I dressed the same today.

I dressed like this and I dressed in front of him, in a desperate attempt to deflect the wrong we had done and to somehow act as though everything was perfectly normal.

Rick watched like a rabbit in the headlights as I put on my garter belt then rolled my black stockings sensually up my legs, before twisting to fasten the strap in place. I gave him a show, for the simple reason that I believed that it somehow trivialised our predicament and made light of the fact we had just slept with each other.

I hoped that the embarrassment of being naked, or dressed in lingerie before his gaze, would somehow replace the embarrassment of what we had done.

All day long at work I was completely distracted, which let's face it, is quite understandable. I was really inefficient as I tried to deal with daily problems but I was lucky that it turned out to be a quiet day, therefore my distraction was not highlighted more than a couple of colleagues mentioning a mistake or two that I had made.

I couldn't focus on the job at hand, as I devoted all my time and efforts into trying to come up with a solution to the traumatic situation I now found myself in.

As I had decided that I could neither report my son, nor throw him out, that meant that my solution would have to be one of a conciliatory nature.

Throughout the day I began to think of all the books I had read about successful people. I had read many autobiographies written by powerful, successful and famous men. One recurring theme that a lot of these books recounted, was the need for these successful men to leave work on the doorstep when they got home. Most powerful men wanted their wives to make all the important decisions regarding the home and in fact wanted them to run the home. They all made great emphasis of making the wife the boss around the house, therefore allowing them to relax and make no further decisions in their hectic life.

I decided that this was a strategy that I could employ.

If Rick thought me a bitch for trying to run the house totally to my rules, then in order to relieve myself of the tremendous pressure I had at work, now compounded by the incident of the day before, then I was going to give the power of our home life over to him.