Warning. Incest. Manipulation. Amputee. Mother and huge cocked son are just a few of the tags in this story. It's purely fictional. Please forgive any grammatical errors. I write for pleasure rather than accuracy. I'm considering a further part if there's enough interest. Hope you enjoy.
Claire Simpson looked at her reflection in the bedroom mirror and took a deep breath. '12 years,' she thought to herself, nervously running the brush through her long brunette hair, recognising the familiar sadness in her brown eyes. It was all she saw whenever she looked at herself. Sadness. Sadness, tinged with guilt. It was difficult to remember the last time she felt truly happy. Guilt and sorrow were the only emotions she'd felt for 12 long years........ever since the accident.
Her life had been idyllic. Her husband, Charles, had been a very successful stockbroker and they'd married when she was 23 years old, 5 years after their first date. He had been her one and only lover. They had a beautiful 5 bedroom detached home in the suburbs. The 2 acre gardens were immaculately maintained, as was the house. His income made it possible to employ a gardener and a housekeeper come chef, allowing Claire to concentrate on her one true vocation. She was a concert violinist and she was good. Very good. By the age of 30, she'd travelled the world, performing in some of the best venues and had become internationally recognised.
They hadn't planned for a child, but when their son came along, she'd doted on him as any mother would. They named him Charlie, after his father. Travelling made it difficult, so they'd employed a live in nanny, gave him everything a child could wish for and sent him to the best schools. By the time he was 8 years old it was clear Charlie was an intelligent and well adjusted child. He had a bright future ahead of him.
Then the accident happened.
It had been a warm summers day that Sunday, so the Simpsons had driven to the countryside to enjoy a family picinic. They'd had a lovely day and after they packed hamper and blankets into the Range Rover, Claire had climbed into the driver's seat. The country roads were winding, but quiet. Charlie was was listening to music on his headphones in the rear behind his father, who was reading through some reports for work. Then WHACK! Out of nowhere they were hit by a tractor on the passenger side, the Ranger Rover was toppling uncontrollably and everything went black.
When she awoke, Claire was aware of the emergency services, but kept fading in and out of consciousness. Then she was in an ambulance. Then she was in a hospital frantically asking the doctor after Charles and her son. Amazingly she had suffered barely a scratch. No broken bones. Not even whiplash. Just some mild concussion the doctor told her, before finally breaking the bad news.
Charles had suffered catastrophic injuries and died almost instantly, the doctor explained sympathetically. "He probably didn't feel a thing Mrs Simpson," he'd told her, well practiced at delivering such sad news. "Your son is undergoing surgery, but he's alive," he'd said, but his eyes were downcast. "He's in critical condition Mrs Simpson, but we're hopeful."
Claire's grief for her husband was surpassed by the worry for her son. His injuries were many and after he was finally wheeled into the critical care unit, she was updated. All 4 of his young limbs had been so badly damaged they'd needed to amputate. His legs from above the knees and his arms from the elbows. Not only that. He'd suffered a traumatic brain injury too and to give him the best chance of survival, would need to be kept in an induced coma. Nobody could tell her for how long.
Claire barely remembered the following 18 months. The funeral for Charles was arranged by his parents along with all their finances. She spent most of her time in hospital to be near Charlie until after 3 months, he was brought out of his coma. She recalled the relief, however it was just the beginning of a long road to recovery and Claire wasn't able to cope. Charlie had changed. The brain injury left him psychologically damaged and eventually, regretfully, she put him into full time care. The best she could afford.
The accident wasn't her fault, yet the guilt she felt never left her. Survivors guilt she was told. It didn't make her feel any better. She formulated a long term plan and dedicated herself to it. She never remarried or even went on dates. Charles would forever be her one and only love. There was only one thing on her mind. One person. All her hard work and diligent planning had come to this point. After 12 years of rehabilitation, therapy and care, Charlie was coming home.
She was, of course, happy. Her objectives has been realised and at 50 years of age, she could now devote herself to her son and care for him without having to worry financially. She was, however, nervous.
In spite of regular visits, Charlie was almost a stranger. The once well adjusted child had suffered immeasurably. The physical aspect was much easier to deal with than the psychological effects of his brain injury. Charlie lacked empathy. He was emotionally cold and was prone to bouts of aggression and bad temper, both physical and verbal. Alongside this, as he went puberty, he became sexually inappropriate, making unwanted foul mouthed and obscene advances to the female nurses. It was part of his condition, the consultant had explained. At the age of 16, it had become so bad that the female carers and nurses refused to deal with him, so he'd been assigned male carers. Even so, his behaviour hadn't changed much. That was until at 18, Joshua was assigned to care for him.
He was a young man of 25, but whatever it was that Joshua did, Charlie began to respond positively. His psychotherapy began to work, his temper tantrums came less often and even his sexually inappropriate behaviour seemed to be under control.........to some extent at least.
Yes, for Charlie, Joshua was a godsend. He remembered their first day together and the look on Joshua's face when he came to bathe him for the first time. Whatever physical and mental torture Charlie had been put through, God had gifted him. Gifted him with a cock the size of a horse. Like divine intervention for the loss of his limbs. When erect, it stood at 11 and a half inches long and 9 and a quarter inches in girth. He knew this because Joshua had later, lovingly measured him. His balls were equally huge and swunk heavily within the sack of his scrotum. His genitals looked absurdly large in comparison to his skinny, mutilated body. Even flaccid, his cock was only a couple of inches shorter than his legs.
For Joshua too, a young gay man, Charlie was a godsend. He was simultaneously shocked and overwhelmed by the sight of Charlie's horse cock when he first laid eyes on it. It was barely a few days later before he introduced Charlie to the delights of being masturbated. The resultant ejaculaton was of mammoth proportions and Joshua soon realised it was not a one off. Charlie was bordering on hyperspermia and regularly shot upwards of 14 or 15 long and powerful spurts of the creamy stuff. It was truly a sight to behold to watch Charlie ejaculate. Needless to say, their friendship developed at a rapid pace. Charlie was finally able to release the pent up frustrations of enforced abstinence. It went a long way to easing his psychological issues, but not fully.
Still, Joshua had no issues with the obscene verbal rhetoric spewing from Charlie's mouth. If anything it just spurred him on. Soon he was sucking on that monster cock and avocado sized balls at every opportunity. Sometimes as often as thrice daily. Charlie was extremely virile and needed release often. He never did quite manage to swallow everything that Charlie squirted, there was just too much and too powerful, but he delighted in trying. He taught Charlie that his huge cock was a rarity and something to be proud of and even though he wasn't gay, there would be plenty of women and men who be only too glad to bed him.
"Once they see that fucking horse cock," he would grin dreamily from his prone position between Charlies stumps. "They'll want it the same way I do."
He shaved Charlie. He pampered Charlie. He bathed him and made Charlie feel as if he were a God. He taught Charlie how to use the internet and soon he was able to experience the wonderful and perverted world of pornography..........and Charlie became addicted. He was enthralled with the variety, the kinks and the fetishes that played out in front of his eager eyes. Joshua was right too. He quickly realised that even the biggest porn star cocks he saw, rarely matched him for size. They definitely didn't come close to his huge ejaculations. The thing he revelled in most of all? The women. All shapes, sizes, colours and looks. They all had his massive cock hard and he longed for more than Joshua's hands and mouth. He longed for the touch of a woman and the only woman who came anywhere near him anymore, was his mother.
By the age of 20, he could get around on his prosthetic legs quite easily, but his artificial arms and hands were only good for a few things and it frustrated him. He was pretty much able to control his outbursts, but not completely. They would come and go randomly, especially when he was frustrated. He was aware that most everyone gave in when he lost his temper, choosing to give him what he wanted rather than go through the hassle of denying him. It was a lesson he never forgot and with his lack of empathy, he took advantage of often. Charlie liked to get his own way.
When his mother came to collect him, he appraised her like an object. Like the women he saw on the internet. She was petite at 5'4" tall. Slim, bordering on skinny, with small tight buttocks in her black leggings and tiny 'A" cup tits, hardly noticeable under her white T-shirt. Still, he noted, her nipples were very large. They stuck out like thumbs. He couldn't help but smirk as he thought of chewing on them. For a 50 year old woman, she looked kind of cute with big dark eyes and pert nose. Her mouth was small though. Too small.
