Stop Means Stop

[This tale involves themes of mother/son incest. If such material offends you, please don't read further. All characters are eighteen years of age or older. Comments and voting are most appreciated.

Stop Means Stop

Spring, 1963

The pendulum in the clock made a crisp metallic click with each swing. It was an antique regulator that had to be tightened with a key every morning. It was hanging in our kitchen for as long as I could remember...yet, this was the first time I would recall hearing that empty, measured noise.

I sat there hunched over in my chair, trying to listen to the muffled conversation my parents and the cop were having in the living room. Just bits of words registered...the cop's monotone voice and my father's agitated verbal parries.

The clock struck eleven and the chime struck eleven times.

...doom...doom...doom...

After a few minutes the cop swung the door open, his face deeply lined and purposely grim.

"This time you get a break, mainly 'cause of your folks here," he growled. "Anything like it ever happens again and you'll be sittin' your ass in a cell....Clear?"

"Answer the officer," my father snapped as he came up behind the cop.

"Yes."

"And thank him," he went on.

"Thank..."

"I don't need no 'thank you', son," the cop cut in roughly, jabbing a finger my way for emphasis. "Just don't ever let it happen again. And keep your ass clear of the girl. I don't want you even giving her so much as a hello."

With that he turned and the door swung back and forth across the void.

I sat there and sank my face into my hands, hearing the front door close and then the police cruiser's engine starting. The cop had pulled into our driveway with the light flashing...our nosy neighbors no doubt seeing him amble up to our front door.

The door was shoved open with a crash and my father stood there glaring at me, the veins taut in his neck. He was so furious he was shaking...he lurched forward, his mouth working, working...

"What is wrong with you? Damn it, I want an answer!"

"David, not now," my mother interjected, stepping into the doorway and setting a steadying hand on her husband's shoulder.

Her voice was pure frost, her posture stonily erect as always.

"Police come to our house with the lights on telling us he's a..."

"Not now. Not tonight."

"Perverted tendencies," my father muttered. "I gotta hear that from a police officer sitting in our goddamned living room."

"David, go to bed. Have a drink first."

"I don't need a drink."

"Yes you do, and so do I. We'll address this tomorrow when we are both calmer."

My father nodded finally and with one last scathing glance at me he turned and stomped away.

"I'm sorry..."

"Shut your mouth and go to bed. And stay there," she hissed. Anger and ice...no one could pour them together quite like my mother. "Don't come out tomorrow either. Stay in there until I come and get you."

I felt her eyes following me as I stood and went up the stairs to my room. From the top tier I glanced down and saw that flinty unbending focus.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I had risen early that morning and stayed in bed as ordered. I thought of last night and draped my forearm across my eyes.

Karen Hall was no fucking beauty...that was for sure. Not even decently stacked. We'd been dating since the end of January...and I gotta admit I asked her out only because I heard she fucked. And unlike so much lewd high school gossip, she actually did. I'd fucked her for a total of seventeen times since March when she finally came across...yes, I kept an exact tabulation...and every time she acted like she was opening the pearly gates for me. Looking back on this through nearly five decades of experience, she was a truly one lousy lay.

But when you're a horned up eighteen year old, who'd had maybe five furtive handjobs up until then...tapping that pussy with my Trogen wrapped dick was just a few wondrous clicks from nirvana.

Then last night...Jesus, what the fuck was I thinking...

I heard my father's car backing out of the garage and got out of bed. A watched his Buick until it disappeared down the street. I felt bewildered that he hadn't come up to speak to me...and then the icy realization that my mother would be the one to rip into me snaked down my spine. My mother had never struck me, not once...but, yes I was as intimidated by her as anyone could possibly be.

The knock on my door was crisp and came just a few minutes after my father left.

"Are you up?"

"...Yeah."

"Then shower and get dressed. I'll be waiting in the den."

I heard her march down the hallway, then down the stairs.

"Christ," I muttered, for some reason seeing the ragged seam of Karen's dress flapping across her back as she bolted from my car and half-staggered up the sidewalk to her front porch. Spinning in that last second as her fucking mom opened the door, her ruined mascara ringed in horrible smudges.

I showered and got dressed. My stomach turned sourly.

I went downstairs and stood outside the den, a sunken room where our television was.

My mother snapped her fingers and pointed my ass towards the couch. I sat like a cowed dog.

"Mother, I'm..."

"Please keep your mouth closed. Not a word."

My mother...Mother, never Mom, not once...was, as always, perfectly coifed. Her dress was an old one she'd wear around the house, perfectly ironed with thin bluish stripes. The hem came just below her knees. Her greying hair was braided tautly, her makeup minimal and perfectly done. The soft beige loafers she wore were her house shoes...she never set foot outside except in heels.

"Your father and I decided that I should handle this situation," she said after a moment. Which meant that she had "told" my father that this was how it was going to be handled. She stepped to the window and looked outside as she went on.

"First, I want to know if you understand the potential peril you've put yourself in, to say nothing of the embarrassment you've caused our family."

"I know it was..."

"Do you realize that you could go to jail...to prison."

"I didn't do anything."

"No, you just went crazy and tried to rip your girlfriends dress off and rape her." Her phrasing was clipped...a rapid fire staccato indictment.

"That's not what happened."

"Was her dress torn?"

I didn't answer.

"Was her dress torn?" she repeated, stretching out each syllable. I saw my mother's shoulders rippling beneath the dress. She straightened herself even more.

"...Yes."

"I would say that that's a prelude to rape. Your father is an attorney, shall I phone him to confirm that?"

"...No."

"Giving you the benefit of the doubt, I would speculate that you and this girl were doing something

arousing

, and at some point she balked as to going further and you...

She turned and met my eyes.

"Did she ask you to stop?...Did she make the word 'stop' come out of her mealy mouth?"

Karen franticly twisting away from me, tugging her dress back down...stop....stop....stop....

I nodded.

"It surprises me to some extent, as my read on this girl was that she was rather common. Someone for a young man to..." she turned back to the window pane, and let the acid drip like venom "...to amuse himself with. To

practice

on, as it were."

"Don't talk about her like that," I blurted, regretting it immediately.

"The police officer, whom luckily your father knows, referenced "perverse behavior." Intercourse does not equate with perversion usually, at least not to a hardened law enforcement officer...should I guess as to what perversion you were trying to initiate with this little tramp?"

I sank deeper into the couch and shook my head.

"I'm glad of that. The issue here is you have to learn that when a woman says stop, you must stop."

"I know that."

"Oddly, you don't. And if this tramp's..."

"Don't call her that."

"If this little tramp's parents had deigned to press charges in this matter, you would be looking at a criminal arrest. Does that fact penetrate into your thick skull?"

"It does."

"You will not contact this girl again."

I nodded.

"Say it!"

"I won't contact her again."

"I told your father I would make sure this will never reoccur."

"It won't."

"Except when your hormones are rife and the word "stop" doesn't register in the reptilian recesses of your brain."

"Look I know..."

She left the window and stood before me, as stern and forbidding as I'd ever seen her.

"You are going to learn to hear the word 'stop'."

She gracefully eased onto the couch alongside me, carefully straightening the pleats of her dress.

"Move over to me," she said coldly, a hand on the cushion beside her.

"Why?"

"I'll explain it as you're obviously slower today than is usual," she said, tilting her head to screw her gaze into my own. "You are going to kiss me...make-out with me if that's easier for your oily teenage male mind to comprehend."

"Wha..."

"When I say stop, you will stop. Immediately!"

"What..."

"Do not say 'what' again."

As edgy a silence as I've ever experienced hung in the air. My mind was...what fucking shit was...

"I'm not doin' that!" I'd bolted up off the couch without realizing I'd done it. "Are you fucking nuts?"

"Do not curse in this house."

"Fuck that...you are nuts..."

"Then you are grounded and you will stay grounded."

"Great, ground me. I'll stay locked up 'til the fall when I go to college and am done with this house. Kiss you...make out with you?...You say I got perverse tendencies?"

My mother's face ticked, her breath seemed to catch. Then a thin rictus smile creased her mouth.

"Oh, I wouldn't count on going off to college in September."

I jerked still.

"You don't have a scholarship offer do you? Were you keeping it a secret? A surprise for my birthday...look mother, I have the good grades and smarts to get a full academic scholarship. You and father won't have to pay a dime. Is that it? I'd hope so if I were you, since if I don't feel confident in your ability to act civilized towards females, we won't be sending any checks to the bursar. "

I still hadn't budged,

"Are you wondering what a bursar is, son?"

"I know what..."

"Now," she cut in, pointing her manicured index finger to the empty spot on the couch.

"This isn't right that you want me..."

"I am not exactly enthused about the idea of this either. But you will do it, and you will do it now. With your pervert leanings, I'm frankly surprised you're this hesitant....Now sit!"

She waited...waited longer.

Fucking bitch...

I shook my head and finally sat next to her.

"Okay, kiss me," she ordered, leaning in just a bit. I didn't move...it's weird to say how viscerally repulsed I was at that moment.

"Oh, Jesus," she rasped, and lurched forward, her mouth glancing off mine as I shrank away.

My mother grabbed ahold of my face, digging in with her fingers as she squared my mouth to hers. I felt her lips on my own, her eyes opened and almost predatory in their focus. I again tried to yank back but she dug in all the harder and mashed her mouth to mine, grinding so hard I could feel my teeth gouging into my flesh.

Her tongue suddenly slithered on my clenched lips...

"Open your mouth," she snapped.

Again that tongue, my lips still unyielding...she pressed into me harder. I registered an almost maniacal anger rising in her eyes. "...Open it!"

I ceded without any conscious thought and immediately felt the onslaught of her coarse tongue probing wetly against my own.

Then she softened, her kiss becoming softer...her tongue swirling sensuously now. I felt my heart hammer of its own volition. Her left hand glided up the interior of my thigh...

Her right palm was a caress then, silky on my ear. I heard my breathing become shallow as I leaned into her...I did it without thinking...my tongue slipped into her mouth. She pulled away and then came to me again. My mother sucked my tongue, the damp deliciousness of the act...I leaned in harder...her left hand glided over my crotch...she made a discovery.

"Ohhh..." she whispered.

Her fingernails traced out the contours of my erection... I slipped my hand around her waist...

"Stop!"

"Huh..."

"Stop," she commanded, slapping her hand hard against my chest.

I pulled away, my head spinning.

My mother stood smoothly, mantling me like a hawk.

"Well, you didn't rape me," she said contemptuously. "Congratulations."

"I..."

"So now you see how this'll be."

"I'm...I..."

"You are grounded for the month. Tomorrow morning we will do this again." She bent down and smoothed her dress. "And please don't abuse yourself on the sofa. Go to the bathroom in the basement if you have to."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Abuse myself...

Bitch...

I jerked off in the dingy basement bathroom standing...came hard in the sink. I sank onto the floor...the most ferocious orgasm I'd even fucking had. It took me five minutes to get my legs back...I left the sink streaked with thick, drying rivulets of semen. Let her clean that!

That day and at dinner that night, my mother was impossibly cool for a woman who'd just felt her son's hardened cock...who had fairly raped his mouth with her tongue. She had polite chit-chat with my father...he was notably cool to me, clearly still pissed about the cops and everything. How I would have liked dropping the goods on my mother to him right then and there.

That night I jerked off again, trying to imagine my own mother actually grabbing my bare shaft. I came in less than a minute, just as hard as the first time.

"Sit," my mother said at exactly ten the next morning. She was dressed in a simple but elegant yellow dress, her braided grayish hair laid perfectly.

"I have my card club today and then lunch," she was saying absently. "I just hope none of the girls heard about your dustup."

"I'm sorry if..."

"If they did, they did," she went on with a shrug, taking a coat hanger off the corner chair. She came over to me and offered her back. "They all have their own incidents too....Unzip me."

She looked over her shoulder impatiently. "Come on. I don't want the dress wrinkled."

I hesitated. My mother had asked me a few times over the years to "zip me up" in the most matter-of-fact ways. While I'd never thought of my mother in any kind of sexual terms...at least not until she sucked on my tongue...the titillation of drawing up a zipper on her dress was very real. She glanced back again and made an impatient lip click...I reached up and tremulously pulled the zipper

down

her spine. My mother went to the door and shrugged the dress down her slip clad body. Carefully she fixed it on the hanger and hung it from the door.

I don't know why, but I quickly averted my eyes from her.

"You can look. It's okay," she spoke up

My mother was forty-six that year, her auburn hair having gone a rich steel gray in her early forties. The affect, when combined with her flawless alabaster complexion, lent her an almost regal air. Her posture was erect, spine squared atop her hips.

Without meaning to I trailed my gaze up her long silk clad legs...she was tall, five foot ten she'd say, but I always felt she was taller. The slip cut mid-thigh, white and lace edged. My mother had stayed slim, a svelteness that didn't lend itself to many curves. The spaghetti straps on the slip askew with the thicker straps of her hidden brassiere.

"Let's get started," she said she said, smoothly slipping onto the couch next to me.

I stared at the bare shoulders, the contours of her smallish breasts.

"Come on," she went on and leaned in to kiss me...again, for some reason, I shrank back. She gave me an exasperated glare and once more dug in ferociously on me.

Again that wonderfully probing tongue of hers, hands on my chest, roaming now.

"Here," she muttered and drew my palm to her stockinged thigh...my breathing melted.

"You like that?" she purred. I did and my hand slid along her firm leg...I slid it higher, on her hip, beneath the slip.

"Be careful of the stocking, I don't want a runner."

"Okay..."

She was kissing her way up my neck, her tongue wetly delving into my ear.

"You can touch me wherever," she whispered breathlessly, my hand by then clasped onto her hip, fingers edging to the curving horizon of her of ass.

"Here," she fairly cooed, pulling back a bit and putting my other palm on her right breast. I felt the firmness of it, leaned in and instinctively mashed as rabid a kiss as I'd ever given on her mouth...

"Stop!"

"Huh I..."

"Stop! Get your dirty hands off me." My mother roughly disentangled herself from my grasp, bouncing to her shoeless feet like a ballerina.

"I..."

"When I say stop, you don't take a second to think. You stop. I want you pulling off me like I gave you an electric shock."

She swept across and plucked the dress down from its hanger.

"And if you soil that sink again, you clean it up. If you don't...I'll ground you for another week."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

To say I was roiled...a nice word there

...roiled

...would be an understatement. I sat on the couch and stared blankly at the door she'd just slammed shut.

"Fuckin' bitch," I wheezed...my breathing was a ragged tumult. I stood after a moment and unceremoniously dropped my pants. I jerked off right there...it didn't take long, a minute tops, my ejaculate splaying across the shag carpet. I stood there stunned by the level of arousal and anger coursing through my veins. I rubbed the semen into the rug with my foot.

"She wants to fucking play..."

The words trailed away. I felt dangerous standing there. Tomorrow I'd start playing too.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That morning I was up early, showered. I ate breakfast with my parents. I said goodbye to my father...his anger from the deal with Karen and the cops seeming to have mollified.

Then I went into the den and waited. My mother came in a few minutes later. I glanced at my watch. She was dressed plainly, an old polka dot dress that buttoned up the front...one of the "house" dresses she'd wear while cleaning. I have to mention that my mother always wore a dress or skirt...I'd never seen her in a pair of slacks or shorts even once.

"Ready?"

"I'm waiting," I answered evenly.

My mother stared at me for a long pull, evidently taking a read off me.

"Dress on or off," she asked, touching the top button.

Cool and even went right out the window. "...Off..." I stammered.

"Okay," she said flatly, and with blah, mechanical flutter quickly undid the buttons and shrugged it off. She folded it across the back an armchair.

Just a slip today, an old one that was yellowed with wear...her legs were bare.

"So..."she mouthed as she took her usual seat next to me.

I leaned in and kissed her...she tugged back a bit, eyes widened. Then she caught herself and kissed me back. Our mouths ground together; I waited her out and soon she snaked her tongue with mine. I glided my hand up her thigh...smooth pale skin...I pressed in harder. She seemed to panic a bit, a frantic squirming in my grasp. My gaze caught on the top of her slip...bare flesh as I looked down the billowed silk. She hadn't put on a brassiere today. I saw the creamy curves of her breasts...a shift in position...her right nipple, pink and peaked.

I clasped the breast through the sheer fabric...her neck muscles tightened, I bent and put my lips to the shrouded nipple.

"...stop...Stop..."

But I was already off her as the words still hung in the air. I held palms out...look mom, no hands...and I grinned. I stood first...yes, I was hard as a rock. Yes, I did nothing to hide my evident bulge.

"Is that it for today, Mother?"

She frankly glared at me...then nodded coldly.