Reeducating Rita

Mom was always pretty to me, though it was easy to see why other people might not think so. She wore dumpy clothes and was so quiet and shy that most people just tended to overlook her. She didn’t really take care of her figure, either. Not that she had the time. It was just her and me. My dad had run off more than ten years ago.

I didn’t even remember him any more. I was only nine at the time. Mom had worked hard to get me through school. Sometimes, when times were tough, she’d had to work two jobs. She didn’t have much education or skills. She was a young girl when Dad had married her. Finding and keeping a good job was hard at first.

But, Mom was an even harder worker. Without training she had somehow found herself a position as first a bookkeeper and then a comptroller for a small firm. She was efficient, loyal, and smart to boot. It was just what she wanted, a steady, nine-to-five job.

And I was working now, too. I’d taken a job in construction as soon as I graduated high school, starting as a carpenter’s helper. Since then, I’d been steadily moving up from job to job. I also was going back to school at night, one class at a time. That still left a lot free time though, since I wasn’t very good with girls. Never had been.

Which might explain at least some of how it happened.

My old battered truck had broke down at the jobsite. Joe, my foreman, had given me a lift home. I had taken a shower to clean up. Washing myself remained me how my body had filled in with the hard work of the last year. At 6’2” and 190 lbs., I was no longer the skinny redheaded kid that had graduated high school.

The shower had also made me horny. I could have tossed off in the bathroom, letting my cum feed the hungry mouth of the drain as it had so many times over the years. It had been a hot day though and I was feeling a bit sapped. The shower had helped revive me, and a nice long stroke would perk me right up even more.

Having lots of practice over the last five years or so, I had the fine art of masturbation down to a science. Even as I lay back on my bed, my cock was already hard and throbbing. I have a stash of stories and magazines like every young man my age. Today, I didn’t even feel like bothering with those.

Lying back with my eyes closed, my heavy prick in my fist, I first tried to conjure up the image of that pretty Latino girl that checks me out sometimes at the Mini-Mart. But I hadn’t seen her in two weeks.

Or Joe’s skinny blonde daughter that sometimes visits him at the site when she needs money. He’d kill me if he knew I beat off with her in mind. But it had been so long since I saw her; she was like a distant memory.

The only woman I saw often was Mom. Just the thought of her brought back all my repressed feelings.

I’d stroked off so many times to thoughts of Mom I didn’t feel guilty about them any more. Maybe a part of me thought I should. At least at one time. Now it was just who I was. I was nineteen and I loved her as my mother. But with all my heart I wanted to screw her as though she wasn’t my mother at all.

In my mind, I knew what she needed. A strong hand and a hard cock. Mom needed a tough man with the balls to stand up to her, but she’d never give herself to a man like that again. Not since Dad had walked out.

It wasn’t that she did so bad herself. She paid the bills. She held a job. She had raised a kid well on her own. But Mom was unhappy. She’d never dated since. She never went out and had fun. She never spent anything on herself, even though now we had some money. It was like she didn’t think she deserved it. Like she was punishing herself.

I’d seen her secret stash of pictures once. She’d left it out one time when I was fifteen. Pictures of Mom, blindfolded and sucking cock. Pictures of Mom, embarrassed and forced to expose herself in public. Pictures of Mom, her bottom high in the air, being spanked.

I had only seen them one afternoon while she was out for several hours. They had disappeared again the next time I was able to look in her room. Ever since then, no matter how hard I had searched, I couldn’t find them.

But I’d gotten a glimpse into my mother’s past. One she apparently hadn’t wanted any else to see. Not ever again.

And it had turned me on.

One of the pictures had showed Mom on her hands and knees. Her large breasts swung under her. They were wrapped tight in cords of rope. I’d never seen anything like that before or ever since. But I thought about it sometimes now, when I masturbated.

One of them had shown her with a woman, licking a redhead between her legs. I thought about that a lot. Mom was a mousy brunette who kept her hair cut short and unattractive now. In the pictures, she had long, beautiful black hair.

One of the pictures had shown Mom with some wet stuff running down the insides of her thighs. I remember not even really understanding what that was at the time. One day, years latter, I finally figured out it was Dad’s semen. Or maybe someone else’s.

That’s why I had always thought of Mom as pretty. I knew why she made herself look so unattractive. She was hiding out. She used to be good looking and sexy.

Best of all, deep in the bottom of the box, I saw the ones that Mom probably didn’t look at any more. They were the ones that showed her smiling and laughing as these things happened to her. The ones that showed how much she liked it.

I’ve thought about those pictures a lot. I think Mom kept the box of pictures around to remind herself what life had once been like. She’d look at the ones on top and remember all the bad stuff that happened.

As I lay on my bed, and stroked my staff, I remembered the pictures on the bottom. The one that showed Mom smiling back at the camera, her face covered in semen. The one that showed Mom kissing the paddle before Dad spanked her, her eyes bright with excitement. The one that showed Mom in the passenger seat of our old Buick, flashing her tits at a truck driver in the other lane; a large grin on her face and her hands busy between her legs.

I thought about that grin and those tits as I stroked my meat hard. I thought about Mom’s face, covered in my jizz. Finally, I thought about Mom’s ass, high up in the air, waiting eagerly for my hand to spank her.

And I came! Hot gouts of semen spurted from my long cock. With my eyes closed, I could imagine them hitting the ceiling, even when I felt them splatter inertly on my chest. To me, I was shooting off on Mom’s ass, her cheeks red and rosy from her spanking. After I came, I’d lovingly rub my jizz into her sore ass.

I heard a gasp and look up to see Mom in the doorway of my bedroom, a load of my clothes in her arms. She looked shocked and appalled. Even when I started to cover myself, she didn’t move. No telling how long she had been there, frozen in astonishment.

Wordlessly, Mom backed out and closed the door behind her.

Well, it was bound to happen sometime, I figured. We lived in a small house together. That’s how we had first afforded it, back when it was just Mom making the payments. Now we were two adults sharing the payments and bills equally. I figured Mom masturbated on occasion. I still did at least once a day. To me, it was no big deal.

But after I got dressed and went downstairs, Mom apparently had different feelings. I found her sitting at the kitchen table, fuming.

“I want you out by tomorrow,” she said brusquely before I could say a word.

Mom fidgeted in her seat, pulling her short black hair behind her ear and pushing back her glasses on her nose by rote habit without thinking. I sat down in the chair on the same side of the table as she was on, though she hardly seemed to notice.

“Why would you want me to leave, mother?” I asked her calmly.

“I thought you were different, Robert. I thought I could trust you. Now I know, your just like your father!” she said in accusation.

I didn’t understand that at all. Was I like him just because I masturbated? Mom wasn’t making any sense.

“Mom, I’m nothing like Dad. Have I ever done anything to hurt you?” I asked her softly.

“I don’t have to justify myself to you, Robert,” she said angrily. “I want you out of here. Out of here, I tell you!”

Mom started attacking me, flailing her arms in an attempt to strike me about the head. It was no use, though. Even in her rage, Mom was a small woman and I had grown into being a pretty big guy. I easily restrained her wrists, eventually getting both of them into one of my hands. Still she tried to attack me with her feet. Finally, to keep her from hurting herself, I had to put her over my lap and lean against her.

Even over my lap, Mom became more agitated. She squirmed and wailed, even hitting her head against the side of the table. It didn’t seem to phase her though; she even tried to bite me through my denim jeans.

That kinda got me mad! Maybe she had some strange reason to be mad at me, but biting was childish and uncalled for.

It might have been because it was what I had just been thinking about in bed. Or maybe it was her vulnerable position and her defiance. For whatever reason, without consciously thinking about it, I pulled back my hand and then brought my palm sharply across my mother’s squirming butt.

“Oh, no! Oh, no!” she wailed. With every sound I smacked her ass again.

“Please, Robbie! Please, Robbie!” I heard her plead, using her old childhood name for me. To no avail! Now that I had my dander up, I was going to take it out on her hide.

She wore a thick wool skirt and her butt had ample natural padding. Even striking her as hard as I could manage, I had little doubt that I was doing no real damage. But her fighting spirit was being broken. The more I spanked her and the harder I spanked her, the less she squirmed and yelled. Eventually, she quite squirming altogether and took my licks with muffled, low grunts each time my hand came down sharply.

I guess I had a temper just like Mom’s. I’m not sure how long I spanked her. It was a while. I’m used to physical labor. I can swing a hammer all day when I have to. I didn’t stop wailing on Mom’s fanny until my arm was tired, however long that was.

By the time I stopped, we were both breathing hard. Mom lay across my lap for the longest time, silently whimpering. It was then I noticed. Her ass was still wiggling around without her conscious control, as though I was still spanking her.

And the leg Mom was draped across was soaking wet.

“Lay across that table, woman,” came a voice out of nowhere. It startled me so; I almost looked around to see who was in the room with us. The voice had come from me, though, and it was so forceful that Mom was scurrying to obey.

Mother lay across the table on her belly. Without my asking, she flipped her skirt up and bared her pantied bottom. Even through her white, unattractive cotton drawers I could see that Mom’s bottom was rosy red. A musky smell pervaded the room.

“Don’t do this, Robert,” Mother pleaded with me.

At first, I didn’t even know what she was asking me not to do. Then my hand reached forward and grabbed her between her legs. Mother flinched and came up on her toes, starting to cry again as she did.

“Not again. Please, not again,” she chanted.

Her panties were sodden. She had soaked them through and through. I felt around underneath, fascinated by what I discovered.

As my hand felt up the front panel of her saturated panties, I heard Mom say sharply to herself, “Oh shit!”

She tighten up and came up on her toes, her buttocks clenched a bit. It started me. I’d never heard my mother say a curse word before.

Later, I was to realize she did so every time she climaxed!

But I didn’t know that then. I just remembered when I was very small Mother whipping me every time I ever said a four-letter word. So it was a natural reaction. With my other hand, I gave mother’s ass another firm swat.

“Oh shit!” she muttered between clench teeth.

Another swat, harder this time.

“Oh dammit!” she moaned, pressing her body deep into the wood of the table.

I slapped her white covered ass over and over, smacking first one cheek and then another. I kept my other hand pressed against the wet front panel of her drawers, feeling the moisture soak into them even more. Finally, my arm was getting tired again, so I ended in a flourish.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

“Motherfuckin’dammitshit!” she wailed, then slumped lifeless over the old wood table.

Stepping back, I looked over the beautiful expanse of Mom’s pantied ass. Realizing my cock was hard and throbbing, I knew that this afternoon’s work had changed our whole relationship. There was no going back. We could only go ahead from this spot now.

Reaching forward, I stripped the saturated panties off of mother’s battered ass. She said nothing, except to moan as I ran my hands up and down her scarlet flanks. Unzipping my pants, I let them fall to the floor and then I stepped out of them.

Like a zombie, without conscious consideration, I stepped up behind mother’s unmoving body. Her vagina, wet and unprotected, was flowered open in invitation. She grunted as the head of my prick kissed those rich pink lips. She grunted more as I fed him in. Then even more when I had to struggle to slide in the last two or three inches.

Finally, as I shoved in balls deep, she grunted, “Oh fuck!” and her pussy got incredibly much tighter.

That’s when I realized the secret to my mother’s cursing. I felt her soak my balls and I felt her ass clamp down. She ground her clitoris into the table’s edge. I dug in deep as I felt her quake from within, up and down my hard meat.

When she was done, I pulled back slow and then pumped in slow. About five strokes in, she murmured, “Oh shit!” and I felt another little cum. In three strokes she was done with that and in another ten she yelled out, “Oh damn!” This one was longer and harder than the last. She shook, not just on the inside, but the outside as well. I fucked her deep and hard through that one and knew I couldn’t last much more.

I plowed her unresisting cunt fast and furious. Over and over we grunted together, often cursing at one another in harmony. Until at last I sank in deeper than ever and my balls opened up, flooding the inside of Mom’s womb with hot, boiling cum. Wave after wave of hot semen filled her. Spurt after potent spurt of swimming seed painted her insides white.

“Oh, fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!” Mom chanted, cumming over and over as she felt me splash inside her.

I stood there, buried up inside my mother for the longest while. My cock softened, but continued to plug her. She didn’t seem interested in moving either. Perhaps she had somehow become a part of the wood of the table. I’d certainly fucked her hard enough into it.

Our only movement was my hand, slowly and softly caressing mother’s bruised bottom. I remember thinking briefly that I wish I had ejaculated on her ass. It would be nice to be rubbing my jizz into her right now. There would be other times for that though. I felt sure of it. Very confident.

Eventually my cock slipped out of her. Our accumulated and combined fluids gushed weakly out of her vagina, adding to the trail of wetness down her thighs. It hardly seemed to matter. We were both a mess.

I set down hard on the old kitchen chair. I had no idea if it would hold us, rickety as it was, but I pulled Mother down into my lap anyway. She sat down gingerly. Then wiggled, squirming in.

“I’m so sorry,” Mom murmured into my collarbone.

“Sorry for what, dear?” I asked. There were so many things to choose from though; one thing hardly seemed to matter more than any of the rest.

“Sorry that your mother’s a whore,” she sobbed, beginning to cry uncontrollably again.

How had she survived all these years on her own? Not just survived, but thrived after a fashion. She had a good job, had been a good mother, and had gotten by when most women might have folded. Still, she thought of herself this way.

My father must have been quite an asshole!

“No, you’re not,” I told her gently, rocking Mom in my lap. “That’s what he told you, isn’t it?”

“Him and my daddy, too. Every man I’ve ever been with. You will too, eventually,” she said resignedly.

“No, Mother,” I told her, just as sure of my conclusion. “I don’t think I will. You have needs. Unusually needs I guess, but real ones nonetheless. We’ll work through them together. Find out which ones are healthy. Help you get over the rest. I’ll be in charge from now on, of course. You don’t mind that, do you dear?”

“No, of course not,” she muttered, wiping away her tears. “Don’t leave me, Robert. I couldn’t bear it if you left me too. I’ll do anything to keep you. Anything at all.”

“We’ll sleep together from now on, Mother. In fact, I’ll be calling you Rita from here on out. Doesn’t seem right to call you Mom after whipping you so hard.”

“OK, dear. Anything you say.”

“If you step out of line, or give me sass, I’ll have to spank you again, of course. But somehow I don’t think you’ll mind that too much,” I told her.

“Not after a day or two I won’t,” she giggled. She wiggled her sore bottom against my lap and groaned. Then she giggled again. I didn’t know Mom could be so playful. So girlish.

“Should we stay here where people know us, or move away as man and wife?” I considered aloud.

“We have time, darling. You don’t have to decide before dinner. But if you’ll allow me to bathe, I’ll fix your favorite meal tonight.”

“Maybe,” I told her noncommittally. “I kinda like you just like this, naked and vulnerable and in my arms. Do you mind, Rita?”

“Of course not, Robert. I’ll do anything you say, dear.”

We sat like that for a good long bit; each lost in their own thoughts.

I had so much to learn about keeping a woman like Mom satisfied and happy. Rita’s position was even worse. She had much to UN-learn. It would take a long while before I was done with reeducating Rita.

Author’s note: Let me know what you think through feedback. Be sure to specify which story. If you have story ideas for Rita’s reeducation, I’d love to hear them. Take a moment to vote, if you will. ~~Red