Come Love Me

This is my first submission. I've lurked on this site for a long time and I've found my favourite stories are the ones that are short, "novel-esque" and graphic. So hopefully this story succeeds at incorporating all three.

All characters are over 18.

*****

It had been late in the morning when his Mother began to kiss him with an open-mouth, making desperate contact against his skin anywhere she could. Caught off-guard his body had reacted reflexively and their mouths engaged each other with no care for etiquette. When he began to withdraw her left hand seized the collar of his shirt and fastened their embrace while her right paled against the stubbornness of his jeans. His resolve swung like a pendulum and he had just as soon taken her back into his mouth; forgetting his retreat his hand crept up her back and took a violent hold the hair of her nape, he jerked her head backward and kissed her neck.

He heard his Mother make sounds of primal ecstasy, she did not coo submissively as women sometimes would, instead she made crude and guttural sounds from deep within her throat that drove him mad. He tore her shirt from her body and exposed her left breast; he made immediate motion to her chest, ready to take her into his mouth. But as he came close he felt a hand take a hold of his conscience, before he fell face first into the pool of incest he felt his heart harden and he listened to the voice of principle in his head that begged him to stop. He thrust his Mother forward and he watched without guilt as she collided against the kitchen counter and fell to her knees, clutching her ribs in dire need of breath. He distanced himself from her while breathing heavily himself, there was a haze to his vision and felt like he truly had been pulled from a pool or some other place that was not reality.

She remained on her hands and knees in front of him in her pyjamas, her sleeveless night shirt was torn directly down the middle and her breasts remained exposed. Her black hair was in a mess and she made eye contact with him through her fallen fringe, she smiled at him and somehow her commitment to depravity even in defeat caused his erection to swell.

"You don't have to be afraid of loving your own Mother, you're twenty-six year old man." She told him. "It's what we both want."

He knew he was responsible for her outburst; he was well aware of who his Mother was, he knew no one else whose immorality rivalled her own. But his fear of being alone was greater than any kind of sensible judgement he possessed and when faced with what he could only imagine as a life of endless isolation, he had returned to his old home and sought comfort in this sick woman.

"You're the one who's afraid - you're a twisted thing and I don't love you."

"But you do."

She pulled herself up with the ledge of the counter and ran a hand through her hair so that he could see her face clearly. She was a beautiful woman, her features were sharp but she was not hawk-like, age had softened the edges of her face but their remnants gave her a youthful demeanour that still lasted. Her nightwear had always clung to her body - petite and almost-plump, but firm - and its effect on him had never waned. Now she stood in front of him, exposed and beautiful and ready to give him herself, he thought at first that he had firmly said 'no,' that his rejection of her was final, but now he weakened and knew that at any moment he could change his mind and that a single no would not be enough.

"I don't," he said weakly "it has never been love. I have been a slave to you! I have been driven to you by necessity, always too terrified of life to live it, a fear that you encouraged. You've never wanted or needed love, it's been admiration and dependence that you've always sought and you twisted my life from the beginning, making sure that I would become your ace in the hole."

"And will it be so bad to become my trump card? We'll lead a life of lust and love and neither of us will ever be alone. We've lived both our lives, they're over and the people from them are dead to us. What do you stand to gain by rejecting me?"

"A life of my own."

"You had a life of your own. I've never once stopped you from a life of your own, you blame me for your being a coward but you're the one who came back. You knew what it meant when you did. You say that I am more afraid than you, but I was prepared for solitude."

The truth was painful and in a sudden rage he stormed from the kitchen, striking the chair he had pushed from under the dining table and toppling it to the floor. He made for the front door and as he walked she hurried after him and snatched his wrist, she held it firmly and pulled her to him with the same authority he recognized from when he was a child.

"When you arrived here a month ago you were broken, told me that without the love of another you couldn't go on, that to you it was as essential as oxygen or water. You keep drawing life from women who have no responsibility to nourish you and so they'll inevitably abandon you and they have every right. But I am your mother, you were born from me and I have nourished you since you were born and have never grown tired. It's your Mother that you need, so stay. Come love me."

He almost did.

"You're a twisted thing and you've twisted me so that the only fit I'll ever find in life is you. At least in my misery you will have failed."

He struck her wrist with his free hand hard and she gave no indication that she had felt it. She smiled at him and he left.

*

He drove dangerously with his foot heavy on the pedal and his attention spread thinly through-out his mind. He had not decided where he was going, figured that he would come to a hotel somewhere in town; he had found the courage to leave her, but could not bring himself to truly escape. He worked his phone while he drove and his body drove the car as he found it would often do when his thoughts were elsewhere than the road. In his contacts he found Julie and too afraid to call her, he scripted a text message:

'Julie, I still love you.

You're my one and only hope and if I can't have you now, I'm utterly finished.

Please take me back.'

As he had predicted, he found himself passing a motor inn. He parked in the space reserved for new arrivals and he went inside, renting a room for a single night. As he exited the office he heard his phone ring once and made haste to his car, ready to read the message in his driver's seat. The message had not come from Julie's number, it was an automated message that informed him his number had been blocked from Julie's and that further contact would not reach her device. He closed his eyes and in his chest he felt his heart surge as though he had dreamt he had fallen.

In his room and on his bed he could not think of anything else but his Mother, he thought of her when he was young; she could be cruel at any moment but was so often endearing to him as long as he did as he was told. Even then he remembered knowing what she was, but at the time he had felt a kind of loyalty to her. He could remember her sitting at their dining table surrounded by the women she called her friends, they would talk for hours and yet she would never tire of being the centre of attention. She didn't sit at the head of the table, she sat in the middle of it and the group shaped themselves around her like an ancient auditorium and he was proud of how they watched his Mother. Whenever they had the chance they would steal disgusted glances at each other, always sure to affirm with that it was all just a lark, none of them really cared what she thought. He could see clearly that his Mother was well aware of their jealousy and admired her for not caring; he felt as if he was sworn to her and that it was his job to stand at her side, the only one to ever truly know her. He thought heavily of the morning too, lewd imagery appeared in his mind over and over. He tried to banish these thoughts but found he could not. He masturbated and hoped that might work but it did nothing.

The afternoon and night that came was long. It occurred to him unfortunately early in the night that his failure to leave town meant his failure to reject his Mother.

"If not now, then when? If not this afternoon, after I struck her then will I ever?"

These thoughts plagued him as the night drew on and his return to his Mother began to appear to him as an inevitability, relief came as a thrush through his chest. The relief terrified him, he knew what it was, it was the piece of his Mother she had placed inside his head absolving him of responsibility. Deferring to his own judgement was hell to him, letting his Mother comfort him through what felt like some psychic bond quieted his mind like he could never have done on his own. But it was not enough to live on the whim of some altered memory of his Mother, the decision remained to him as clear as ever: his own life or a life at his Mother's side and he immediately knew which one he wanted but some stubborn compulsion in his heart stopped him from saying the words. He thought that it might be the very last shred of independence that he possessed and knew that if nurtured he could grow to become a man liberated of fear as he always wished he could be, but sick desire imprisoned him and in his prison her could hear her voice:

"It's your Mother that you need, so stay. Come love me."

*

When he returned to the house it was not long past the time it had been yesterday morning. His mother leaned against the end of the table in a nightdress that ran to her mid-thigh. She looked at him with her left arm across her stomach and her right against her face, holding her cigarette in her lips.

"Are you going to kill me?"

He didn't answer, he marched across the living room to his Mother and consumed by hatred he gripped her neck and stared her in the eyes. They did not betray her and he could see nothing behind them.

"If I could kill you, I would."

"But you can't."

"I could never."

"So love me instead."

He pushed her by the throat so that she lay on her back upon the table, she hit the wood hard. She grasped at his crotch from her position but he pushed her hands away. He hooked his left arm under both of her legs and leveraged them to her chest from behind her knees. She wore no underwear and her sex lay completely bare to him, it was red and swollen and her pubic hair ran thinly along its sides. He leaned in closely and applied his tongue to the bottom of her cunt, he ran it along her length and the taste of pure smut set his loins on fire. When he had found her clitoris he let his tongue circle and distance the rest of her labia so that when he sucked he drew in only her clit. He ran his tongue from side to side, feeling her clitoris follow his motion but bounce back like an elastic band after he had gone too far. In his mind's eye he could see them both from above, him bent over and madly giving into his desire and her on her back with her legs pulled to her chest, her cunt spread to her son and entirely in his possession. Her arms were thrown behind her head and she moaned loudly as she had the day before, her eyes closed with no thoughts amid the satisfaction of their sex and the satisfaction of her victory.

"Eat me!" she screamed, it was a crude thing to have said, but it was this same depravity that had hardened him when she lie at his feet in the kitchen still wanting him.

He left her clitoris and spread her full lips with the fore-finger and thumb of his right hand. He took her into his mouth, letting her labia and his tongue slide against each other, both giving pleasure to the other. He could feel his Mother's legs forcing his left-arm down and it gave him great pleasure to know that his Mother's body had finally betrayed her and for once he did not wonder at his Mother's honesty.

He climbed onto the table himself and did not remove his left arm until he was upon his knees, so that her legs fell just a few centimetres before they came to rest hanging over his shoulders. He placed both hands at her sides and he could see that like the day before, her left breast had fallen from her dress.

"This should have happened yesterday." He said.

"I know, my love. But it's okay. Come now. Come love me."

He thrust forward and his sex found hers at the perfect angle. He slid deep inside of her cunt and he weighed his body onto hers, letting her legs support him. In his ear he heard his Mother grunt; it was a savage sound of pure abandon. He fucked her. The length of his cock ran into her and he could feel her sex grasping at him, pulling him forward and holding him within her. With each thrust he found the wall inside of her, the sides of her pussy was saturated with desire, each time he moved within her it gushed from her and ran onto the table.

"This is it!" She managed, despite desperate breath and uncontrollable moans. "Cum inside of me and finish the deed!"

He forced himself forward and felt his Mother's legs bend further back than she was capable of, but in their frenzy neither cared. They met at the mouth and let their tongues envelop each other, when he came he moaned into her mouth and she into his both of them still kissing passionately. He could feel his testes emptying; he felt every rope of his seed pass through his shaft the ache in his loins came immediately after.

They lay there on the table and he let her legs spread to the side of his shoulders and around his body so that they may lay together, him still inside of her. They said nothing while the caught their breath.

"You looked so hateful when you came home. I thought that you might really kill me." She confessed to him.

"Hate was all I felt, but it was myself that I hated. Hated that I could not hate you, that I couldn't stay away. But when I was inside of you, when I finally I had you, your body could not lie to me and you spoke to me more frankly than you ever have. I don't have to be afraid of loving my own Mother, it's what we both want."

"Yes." She told him, stroking his hair. "It's what we both want."