Mom's Road to Recovery

Hi everyone - checking in from my most recent foray into the darker areas of my imagination. I debated whether to post this story for sometime, but in the end, despite it's terribly dark nature, I think it's a good story. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts about it - please keep those comments and emails coming!

As always, all characters are products of my imagination and bear no relationship to anyone in real life. Enjoy!

*

I was sweeping out the garage bay of the mechanic's shop where I worked a summer job when I felt my cell phone buzzing in my coveralls. I pulled it out and a voice said, "Is this John Hunter? This is Ms. McCloud down at the Stay-Eez Inn. I was to let you know if..." she paused as if a bit uncomfortable."

I sighed softly and then said, "Yes, ma'am. What room is she in?" I said this as I headed towards the office, already shrugging my way out of my oil stained coveralls.

There was a slight hesitation before the woman said, "Room 118."

I replied, "Thanks," and hung up the phone without waiting for a response. Stepping into the office, my boss, Tony Giatano looked up and when I said, "Gotta go -- it's Mom," he got a sad look on his face and just nodded. I was in my pickup truck and gone in a rush, trying to beat red lights as I rushed across town.

I pulled into the Stay-Eez Inn with a heavy heart. Every town has a motel like this one -- built back in the day -- long and flat and one story high -- the old classic motor inn where the cars park right in front of their rooms. Sometimes there's a pool -- more often than not empty or with green algae floating on top due to neglect. Some places rent their rooms by the hour while others try to turn them into pseudo apartments and rent them by the week or the month. The Stay-Eez worked all those options.

I cruised down the line of doors counting them off until I came to Room 118. A minivan and a beat up looking Camero were parked outside and I pulled up next to the minivan, again heaving a great big sigh. As I climbed out, three guys emerged from 118, laughing and elbowing each other. Each looked sweaty -- two of them in dirty T-shirts and greasy jeans, the other, as big as the other two put together, had on an old, stained dress shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off flabby muscles that once upon a time might have been impressive.

As they saw me making directly for the door -- the big guy laughed and said, "You're late to the party, kid!"

The other guys thought this was funny and one of the skinnier fellows followed up with, "Don't be worried, though -- if'n you don't mind sloppy seconds and thirds, she'll be more than willing! Hell, we'd still be at it if we ain't had to get back to work!" I gave them a dirty look over my shoulder as I opened the door, my face turning red as they kept laughing as the climbed into the Camero. "Motherfuckers," I muttered under my breath as I opened the door and steeled myself for what I might find.

Mom was lying face down on the bed, her peppery-gray hair, tangled and sweaty, spread out on the pillows, obscuring her face. She was naked and a quick glance around revealed a short skirt and a sweater blouse nearby -- black nylons nestled around a pair of stiletto high heels in one corner next to a sagging overstuffed chair.

As I approached, Mom moaned out, "Mmmmm -- ready for more -- give me some stiff dick!" as she wiggled her ass cheeks and spread her legs, shapely even though they were full, revealing her shaved pussy, labia spread wide open, with semen slowly oozing from between her lips as well as from between her fleshy asscheeks.

I felt a swell of conflicting emotions ripple through me -- my heart breaking as I said softly under my breath, "Oh, Mom -- not again," even as I tried to ignore the shameful twinges growing between my legs as my cock responded to the sight of my mother's nakedness. I tore my gaze from my bare-assed mother and walked on into the bathroom -- a small affair with a tub that thankfully looked relatively clean and a shower nozzle overhead. I began running a hot bath, finding a tiny bottle of liquid soap to pour in.

Returning to the other room, I discovered Mom had rolled over -- now lying on her back, spread eagled -- one hand slowly fluttering over her cum filled pussy while the other played over a swollen nipple capping a large, slightly sagging breast. Her eyes were closed as she sighed out, "I need cock!" Again, I felt a turmoil of emotions as I realized that semen was smeared in her face and hair, becoming tacky as it slowly dried. I shook my head as I tried to dismiss the image of Mom eagerly taking some stranger's spunk in her face.

"You need a bath, Mom," I said softly, reaching out and taking her hand.

Mom opened her eyes and turned her head slowly. "Ohhhh, John," she sighed. She allowed herself to be pulled up to a sitting position, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her meaty breasts swaying as she moved. I tried to keep my eyes on Mom's face. She looked down at the grungy, threadbare carpet, unable or unwilling to meet my gaze. "I'm sorry, son," Mom whispered.

"Its okay, Mom," I replied as I helped her get to her feet. Mom staggered against me, her large breasts mashing against my chest -- her nickel sized nipples, still hard and swollen, scraping against the thin cotton of my T-shirt. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Mom, unsteady on her feet, leaned heavily on me, one arm wrapped tightly around my waist as I walked her into the bathroom. I could smell her, the mixed aromas of sweat, wet pussy and sperm coming off her in thick waves. I had to slip one arm under hers to keep her up, my hand inadvertently pressing into her swaying breast, my eyes wandering again and again to her shaved mound, pussy lips still spread wide.

I helped Mom slip into the steamy, soapy water, her groan of satisfaction making the hairs on my arm rise up while it made blood rush to my cock. I was relieved to see most of her nakedness disappear beneath the soap bubbles, hoping it would help quell the feelings I had surging through me. I knelt there next to the tub for a few minutes studying Mom as she relaxed, wondering what I could do to fix this insane situation. Finally, I reached up to the metal shelf over the toilet and pulled down a washcloth and soaking it in the water, began washing Mom's face.

Mom opened her brilliant blue eyes and rolled her face towards me -- her expression a mixture of shame and love. "I'm sorry, John...I, I did it again," she murmured like a repentant child.

I shrugged and said, "Let's not worry about it now. Here..." I placed the washcloth in her hand and continued, "Get washed up, Mom and we can go home."

I saw tears well up in my mother's eyes as she slowly nodded and almost robotically began to wipe herself off in the water. I should have averted my eyes as she swept one meaty breast up and washed it clean, leaving pink skin marred by bite marks, both new and old. As Mom dropped her hand into the water, her knees rising up as she ran the cloth between the middle of her legs, she shivered and said, "I just can't help it. I try not to think about it...honestly, I try and do without, but I want it so much..."

Mom's body shivered slightly as she rubbed herself more intently until I reached out and touched her on the shoulder and said as my face reddened, "Let's shower you off and get you dressed.

Mom nodded meekly and as I helped her come to her feet in the tub, her slightly overweight body slick with soapsuds that ran down her chest and stomach and legs in a way that made the blood pound in my brain. I got the shower flowing, rinsing Mom's body off as she stroked her skin, turning and facing me, her breasts swaying entrancingly as she leaned forward to allow me to rinse the sperm out of her hair and while Mom closed her eyes, I found myself helpless, unable to turn away from her mature beauty. I can feel my erection struggling for space in my khakis.

Once the shower is turned off, I helped Mom out of the tub and she stood close as I towel her off, eyes again closed and her nipples barely touching my chest as she allowed me to dry her off. I wrapped the towel around her shoulders, draping the rough cotton material over her breasts and letting her know that she needed to finish herself. Mom opened her eyes again and before I could step away, moved against me, her right arm coming up around my neck as she said almost too soft to hear, "I don't deserve you, son." Her lips came up and pressed against mine and I felt myself go rigid as she kissed me, her tongue sneaking out to brush ever so lightly against my lips before pulling away.

I beat a hasty retreat into the bedroom while Mom finished toweling off, gathering up her clothes. A few minutes later, Mom walked out of the bathroom, unashamedly naked- walking a little bowlegged. I tried to look away, but it was impossible to do. I should've been ashamed to even dare look at my mother naked, but it was if she didn't realize how hard she was making it for me...or that she didn't care. She quickly slipped on her dress and then her sweater shirt. The skirt is scandalously short, exposing her upper thighs, while the lightweight sweater molds itself around her heavy breasts, her nipples clearly outlined by the material.

"I looked around and couldn't find, um, your panties," I said to Mom, only to have her look at me -- her expression gradually changing from mild amusement to embarrassment as I slowly realized there were no panties to find. Mom slipped on her high heels and then stood before me, not so much looking like a middle-aged mother, but a wanton slut about to walk the streets. I felt helpless -- unable to turn away and even though we both know its wrong, I could not help but stare at my mother while she smiled -- pleased at my attention.

I followed Mom home, whispering, "Fuck," as I spied Dad's car already in the driveway. I walked into the house just behind her to find Dad standing in the hallway, a torrent of snarling words exploding from his lips.

"Again! I swear, Cassie -- you need to pray to God for the salvation of your soul. He has a special place reserved in Hell for sluts and whores like you!"

Mom stood her ground for a moment, but finally burst into tears, sobbing, "I'm sorry," as she ran up the stairs. A moment later, the door to the guest bedroom slammed shut and I knew it would be another long freaking night in the Hunter home.

Dad glared at me as if I had betrayed him and maybe in my heart I had, before snapping at me, "Where the hell did you find her this time?"

I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Does it matter, Dad? She needs help."

My father brushed past and into the living room, settling heavily into his old recliner. He picked up his newspaper and snapped it open with a loud pop. "Do you know who it was...or was there more than one this time?"

I closed my eyes for a moment and sighed, a sudden vision of the three lowlifes naked and in bed with my mother, fucking her hard and brutally, not caring for her, just seeing her as another cheap whore they picked up in a bar...Mom's face contorted in absolute lust as they pounded their cocks into her. I drove the image from my mind and opening my eyes, replied, "Does it matter, Dad? We need to get Mom some real help."

#

I was just short of my fifteenth birthday when Mom disappeared and by that, I mean she was kidnapped. It was just another uneventful day in the lives of the Hunter family when Mom announced she was off to the supermarket and asked me if I wanted anything special, rolling her eyes when I said jokingly, a six pack of beer. She ran her purse strap over her shoulder, smiled at me the way only a mother does and was out the door...and she didn't come back.

It was late afternoon before we knew anything was wrong and then only because a sheriff's deputy came to the house and informed us that Mom's minivan had been found deserted on a country road -- groceries still inside along with her wallet, credit card and forty-nine dollars in cash. Of Mom there was no sign and no clue as to what had happened.

Dad was stoic from the start, fearing to state the worst or the best scenarios possible. A massive search was begun -- combing fields and woods for miles around, but to no avail. It was as if Mom had vanished from the face of the earth. Days turned into weeks turned into months. The state police and the F.B.I. did all but announce she was considered dead and as the first year of her absence passed, Dad (who had been considered the most likely suspect, but who had clearly been at work at the time of her disappearance was completely exonerated), and I had the sense that Mom now dwelled in the realm of what law enforcement called the cold case files.

My father rarely showed his emotions, never crying and castigating me when he caught me crying over Mom, harshly chewing me out and saying, "Your mother would have wanted us to be brave, John." In his heart, by the first Christmas, I think he gave Mom up for dead, but I refused to ever consider that as a possibility -- the sense that Mom was alive...somewhere out there in the world, always lingered in my heart and I never gave up hope.

I often dreamed of her, especially of her on the last day I saw her -- her slender frame dressed in a long denim dress, her lovely face framed by her short black hair, cut much like that old movie actress, Aubrey Hepburn, blue eyes brilliant and glowing. I dreamed that she left and came back and that life went on as it should have, all of us living happily ever after. It hurt the most for me after those dreams. I would cry a bit in my bed and vow never to give up hope that she would return.

We were three years and a few months beyond her disappearance, me celebrating my eighteenth birthday the spring before my senior year of high school when the local chief of police showed up at our house. He had a stunned smile on his face as he gushed to my father and me that Mom was alive -- that she'd been found in a house thirty miles away. Chief Brenner gave us a siren escort to the hospital, Dad so shocked he could barely keep the car on the road.

A nurse ushered us into Mom's room and we both just stopped and stared in wonder at the woman sleeping in the hospital bed with IVs stuck in her and the frightful sounds of a monitor keeping track of her vital signs. The nurse, a young, blonde-haired woman saw our dismay and concern and quickly reassured us. "She's doing fine -- she's just badly dehydrated. All she needs are fluids and rest." She reached out and patted my shoulder. "Your mother is okay...it's like a miracle."

All I could do was nod and be amazed as I stared at the woman who was definitely my Mom, yet seemed so different. Mom's hair which she had cut in that short, pixie style my whole life was now long, hanging down around her shoulders -- the luxurious black gone peppery gray. Her face was still relatively unlined for a woman of 42 and her slender figure had filled out some, making her face fuller and less angular. A peaceful expression was on her sleeping face, making her look more beautiful than I remembered.

It was only then that I saw my father cry as he uncharacteristically hugged me to him and cried softly, "We got our girl, back, John! God be praised, I've got my Cassie back!"

We watched her sleep for a bit and then the local police showed up and gave us some details. Some teenagers had broken into a house on a lark and had found her there, handcuffed to a bed in an upstairs bedroom in what had been otherwise an empty house. The officials told us this a bit awkwardly and their uncomfortable glances informed me that they were leaving things out, apparently for my sake.

In the end, between the newspapers and news shows and what little Dad shared with me, I learned most of it. Mom had been kidnapped by a man who had called himself Darren Jones, a fiftyish white and nondescript male who had kept Mom locked up in a small bedroom with steel plates over the windows and a reinforced steel door, and who had used her for sex -- raping her times beyond counting. The local police and the federal guys were all highly complimentary to Mom -- claiming that it was her strength of character that allowed her to survive the ordeal.

All evidence pointed to Jones having simply packed up and moved on, leaving Mom handcuffed to the bed to die of thirst. It was pure dumb luck that a couple of juvenile delinquents had broken into the house and found Mom before she died. They called 911 and never surfaced to claim any reward. As for Jones, he disappeared and the F.B.I. offered vague hints of seeing this madman's work before and that Mom was very, very lucky. To date, he's never been caught.

Dad was told more, but he shared it with no one. Maybe it was what the police told him that made him more remote, but in any case, it was an awkward reunion with Mom -- Dad holding Mom almost at arms length and Mom herself very quiet and reserved, staring at us both like we were strangers. She cried once, when I came into her arms and she held on to me for minutes, hugging me tight, pressing her body against mine like she meant to never let me go.

I had dreamed of having Mom in my arms again, but the reality was quite different as feelings of utter joy and happiness were suddenly competing with the young male instincts of having a well built woman rubbing against me with only my clothes and a hospital gown between us. There was no ignoring the fact that Mom's full breasts were mashing into my T-shirt...I could even feel her nipples -- large and thick, pressing against me, so full and hard, it was almost like there was no clothing at all between us. To my dismay, I was sporting a respectable boner in my jeans when she let me go and I quickly, albeit awkwardly, shifted to the chair beside her bed, positioning myself to obscure my erection.

Mom looked as flushed and awkward as I felt and I was suddenly cognizant of how good looking a woman my mother was -- she'd always been my pretty Mom, but now, I saw her as something else...something more -- maybe it was the long and graying hair and the new, more lush figure that made me regard her as more than simply a beautiful woman. Maybe it was those lovely blue eyes that somehow regarded me with both a familiar motherly appraisal and something that was more primal. Her gaze gave me shivers and made me throb between my legs in a way I knew wasn't right.

My uncomfortable feelings were left behind as we all sat there, soon joined by Mom's brother and his family and began catching Mom up on the family and events over the last two years. Still, once in a while, Mom would glance over at me in such a way as to make me think she knew full well what I'd been thinking.

The doctors insisted that Mom stay in the hospital for a few days to regain her strength. This also allowed the authorities access to grill her and gather any clues about her ordeal that might allow them to catch Darren Jones. The doctors also stressed that Mom's ordeal mentally was far from over -- advocating extensive counseling and therapy to help her recover from whatever traumas she had endured. Dad with his usual abrupt attitude brushed aside most of the doctors' concerns, stating over and over, "Cassie will be fine once we get her home where she belongs."

Finally, we did get to take her home. The drive was quiet and strange -- Mom's attention divided between the scenery -- the everyday things that we see and take for granted captivating her -- and the odd, long looks she would give me and Dad...looks that made me uncomfortable. Mom was also squirming, looking uncomfortable in one of her old sweatsuits that was on of the few things we thought would fit her, tugging and fussing with her bra straps. She made a few mutterings under her breath -- comments that led me to understand that while she was Jones's prisoner, she'd not worn a bra or very little else.