S.M.O.M.S: IngridChapter 9 free porn video

When I told Claire the news, she yelled. “How could you?”

I heard myself yell back, “It was you!” I blinked with disbelief. “What sort of sick human being are you?” A swirl of memories coalesced in my head. Andrew had been dating Claire!

“There was nothing indelicate about our relationship.”

“He’s seventeen. You’re twenty eight! How can you even feel love for a child that young?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“He’s my son, Claire. Now I’m twice glad my mother is taking care of him.”

“Why? Because you couldn’t?”

She got to me. Instead of exploding, I gave a peace offering. “Let’s calm down before we say shit like that.”

“Damn you!” She left the library without signing out. Questions came to me. Why were they meeting at the university? Did it really matter where? I told myself, it was to throw Garrick and I off the scent. That evening, I employed his nose.

Dinner had become a rote meal for us. Without Andrew, the family felt as broken as it was. If Garrick learned the nature of my crimes, it would fall entirely apart. My heart was as broken and divided as my family. I missed him terribly, and I was relieved to be away from him. This is how family abuse victims feel.

“Garrick, I know why Andrew spent a lot of time at the university.”

“Why?”

“He was dating an older woman.”

“How old?”

“She’s twenty eight.”

“Boy, he’s off by a dozen years.”

“It’s Claire.”

“Oh!”

“I may have to fire her.”

“You know your job.” He looked down at his salisbury steak. This was his classic conflict avoidance behavior. No matter how I challenged or asked him, he would defer to me.

“She’s a top notch librarian.”

“She’ll find work elsewhere.” He told his fork.

“They never engaged in sex.” In their case what did sex even mean? Had they kissed? Petted? Licked each other’s asses? What was Claire’s definition of “indelicate?”

“Andrew’s a smart boy.”

“ ... except when I had sex with them and two goats.”

Garrick looked up and shook his head. He smirked unhappily at my jibe.

“He’s your son.” I prompted.

“She’s your employee.”

“Andrew is more important.”

“He’s safe with your mother.”

“I only wish I knew how deep their relationship went.” ... meaning Andrew’s and Claire’s. I looked at my food.

“Ask her, but don’t threaten her.” Garrick finally took a stand. “If they pursued each other fairly and responsibly,...” He sighed, “I don’t know. I’ve always suspected Andrew had a wild streak. Claire may not be the predator, no matter what the law says. She may be trying to protect him, if not herself.”

“I was too quick to judge her. It came out of me unexpectedly.”

“You’re not at fault. I know you won’t fire her until you’ve explored all possibilities.”

“Yes.” I left it at that. I emailed Clair that night, promising not to put her on the rack.

She emailed back. “Sorry. See you tomorrow.”

I left early for work, the next day. I had to be there before Claire arrived. She had the same idea. I saw her getting out her car as I walked from the bus stop.

“Are you ready for the rack?”

“Which one? We have so many. I prefer historical fiction.” She caught up to me at the front doors.

“I prefer legal help books.” I unlocked them and opened one for her.

“No you don’t.” She opened an inner door for me. “You like dusty bodice rippers.”

I led her straight to the couch in the office. I sat down and patted the other half’s cushion. She sat, unrepentant.

“I’m sorry. Yesterday, I overreacted.”

“You’re concerned for your son. I got hotheaded and stormed out. I’m glad we didn’t try to settle this yesterday.”

“Everything will be just fine, between us, if you let me slip that letter opener between your ribs, a few times.”

“Don’t reach for that. I brought a full bottle of sleeping pills in my purse.”

“You care for him. I get that, Claire. I believe you, about abstaining from sex with him. But do you honestly love him?”

“I’ve been in love a couple times, Ingrid. This is something different, strange even, if that wasn’t obvious. But there’s something about him I don’t get from the men I’ve been dating.”

“Constant threat of incarceration?”

“Pooh. He’s very adult, Ingrid. You’ve done an amazing job. I don’t mean adult for a seventeen year old. He puts my manly, never quite a fiancé, to shame. Andrew has a calmness and strength, as if he’s already the master of his destiny.”

Yeah. That would be my doing, however against my will. “You should see my mother bring out the little boy in him.”

Her head waved the notion away. “Remember that time when I saw you and him with a BDSM collar. That shocked me twice. First, What The FUCK! Second, he bought that to spice up his parent’s sex life? What kind of young man does that? I’ll tell you, I got a little boner when you explained it, and that’s rare for me.”

I nearly groaned from guilt. She had seen what might have incarcerated me. A tiny part of me was happy she’d seen the new collar and not the one I had tried to cut off of my neck. “Did you reach out to my son, first?”

“Actually, that was a teensy bit of fate. I was taking classes to boost my web based research skills. My car wouldn’t start, and I checked everything I knew. I was about to call a tow truck, when I remembered cheaper options from the gig economy. I’d just heard a lecture about the battle between corporatized and independent services. Centralizing the availability of gig workers are more efficient-”

“Spare me.” I held up a hand. “Andrew?”

“I signed up for Angie’s List, posted an immediate call for help, and Andrew came to fix my car.”

“Gods damn the fucking internet.”

“Um...”

“Sorry, shouldn’t have said that aloud.”

“It’s not like we fell into each other’s arms. It turned out a ROM chip in my engine had fried. It was a dead car, but Andrew said the fix was cheap and simple, but he’d have to hunt down a copy of the ROM’s data and find a maker space to burn an EPROM.”

“You like throwing out buzz words you only half know.”

“Absolutely. Seriously, Andrew said it as if he was reciting poetry.”

“That would be your ears, not my son’s voice.” I heard him recite that crap far too often when he was briefly interested in computer electronics.

“I told him, I’d like to see how such a weird thing gets fixed. He invited me to tag along.”

Please, gods, don’t turn this into a freaking romantic comedy.

“Turns out, my car was fucked. The manufacturer had anti-piracy measures in the ROM, to keep such a cheap repair out the hands of mechanics not affiliated with their brand. Andrew apologized, refused to charge me, and took me home. I let a twenty dollar bill slip out of my purse when he came around to open the car door for me.”

Sleeping pills, give me your fucking bottle of sleeping pills! I smiled appreciatively. My chivalrous, mother ass fucking boy, I thought.

“I told him I’d pay for a tow and get it fixed at the dealership. He raged about how I was buying into a unjust plutocracy. He didn’t rage at me but at the system. He said he would drive me where ever I wanted, until he fixed my car. It took him two weeks to find a burnable image of the ROM.”

Claire noticed my plastic smile. She heaved a breath. “Yes. I could have stopped it there. I certainly should have told you what happened, back then. I don’t know how apologize. I was lonely, and Andrew is a responsible, caring man. He was what I needed most.”

“How do you feel about him now?”

“I want to have ten kids with him.”

“I want to fire you.”

“Please, don’t.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

I needed a moment in the bathroom for a good cry. It took longer than a moment.

“You aren’t cutting your wrists in there, are you?” She called through the door, after five minutes.

“No, just sharpening the letter opener. When I cut you, don’t spurt any blood on the tile grout. It’ll be impossible to get the stains out.”

“Don’t worry. The stains already between the tiles will hide them.”

I exited the women’s bathroom with a red but dry face. I returned to her in my office.

“I want to hear about physical contact.”

“Ingrid, I swear, we haven’t even made out. We talked, played board games, computer games, saw art movies. A university is a great place for a platonic couple in love. I dropped my classes after a month of his company. I swore him to absolute celibacy. He accepted that I am asexual. At the worst, we held hands and hugged. If he hadn’t behaved, I would have broke it off. Your son is the greatest gentleman I’ve ever known.”

I burst into tears! “Get out! Get to work. Go to hell. I don’t care!” I ran out of my office, grabbing my satchel, and scurried down the sidewalk. I walked all the way home. I knew then, like it was etched in my bones. I had been Andrew’s sexual outlet during his affair with Claire. He wasn’t saving my pussy for Garrick. He was saving his cock for hers!

I called him, halfway home. He had just clocked into Mother’s shop. “Go somewhere private, Andrew, NOW.”

“Mom? Are you mad?”

“FURIOUS!”

“I may hang up.”

“I may drive down there and cut off your descendants.”

“Well, if you put it that way.”

“Claire told me, Andrew. I figured out the rest. You piece of human shit!”

“You’re turning me on, you realize.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry. I thought that might happen. If you hadn’t left Grandma’s so quickly, I would have told you about it before she could.”

“Don’t call my mother that.” I fumed.

“Look, Mom, I can’t go far from work, to talk with you right now. I’ll call you tonight.”

Fucker hung up before I could. My long walk home didn’t help my mood.

“Make yourself dinner tonight, Garrick. I’m on strike.”

“How many x’s should I make on the calendar?”

“All the fucking x’s.”

“Things went badly with Claire?”

“Thank you for asking. No. She’s the most responsible, lonely, adult woman I’ve ever known.”

“So you are going to fire her - the library being a government institution and all.”

“I wish.” I ran to my husband’s arms. He was everything I needed. Our sex that night consisted of kissing and holding each other on our bed, still dressed for work. We skipped dinner and clumsily made our way to our room for the night.

I woke and fixed supper for his breakfast. He went to work. I called the library office and left a message for Claire. “I’m not going to fire you today.” Then I noticed, Andrew had called during the night. He hadn’t left a voice mail. I cleaned house until five, his time. Then I called him.

“I’m in traffic, Mom.”

“Good, then I have your attention. Don’t you dare talk while you’re driving.”

“I shouldn’t have answered.”

“If you get hit by a truck, I’ll thank the stars for letting it be my fault.”

“Talk, then.”

“I hate what you did to me. When Claire swore you and she weren’t having physical relations, I hated you more. I don’t want you coming home, ever. Graduate. Get a job, Marry Claire, for all I care. Don’t ask me to your wedding. I’ll kill myself if you do. I’ll kill you if you don’t invite Garrick. He’s so proud of you, I want to kill him.”

“That’s a lot of potential death, Mom. Everyone I knew in high school would swoon over that much death.”

Fucking teenagers. “I’ve said my piece. Good luck with that truck.”

“One second, Mom. I’ve pulled over to the curb.”

I almost punched the end call button. I wish I had.

“I get it, Mom. I used you. But don’t forget, I was using you before Claire and I became a thing. I really do lust for you. Keeping my promise to her made me take it up a notch, I admit, but I swear, you liked what I was doing-”

I hung up.

He texted me not long before Garrick returned from work. “There’s something taped under the bottom of my desk’s middle drawer. You don’t want Dad to see it. Call me when you find it.”

I hesitated long enough to be saved by my husband. We ate frozen dinners and made love on the couch. I woke up in the middle of the night. My mind churned over what Andrew had hidden under his desk drawer. How could he have planned anything before Mother trapped him? We didn’t know that would happen.

It couldn’t be important. Maybe he just wanted to clean house, in case I throw out all his things. I decided to let him stew and went back to sleep.

For days, every time I thought of my son’s secret stash, I grinned, hoping my silence about it would annoy the fuck out of him. I had my own grindstone tearing at me. My respect and friendship with Claire remained absolute, but working with her, day after day, reminded me of how I had suffered for her righteousness. And she was the rare type who never craved sex. Lucky cunt!

I knew it wasn’t her fault. Maybe it was somewhat mine, but it took a lot of willpower to turn my thoughts away from guilt and anger. I scheduled less hours overlapping our shifts. She didn’t comment. Days passed, and I felt more in control of my feelings about her and my son. Then I started blaming her for something she had absolutely no involvement with.

Andrew’s missing presence affected Garrick and my sex life as one might expect. We didn’t want sex for the first week after I returned without our son. Our sex the second week was perfunctory and mechanical. By the third, we’d put more life into the act. Andrew called often and Mother reported good behavior and competent work. Mother used ‘competent’ when others used ‘genius’.

Sex turned good, and necessary as I struggled against my anger for Claire’s ‘deceit’. But after relying on Garrick for distracting orgasms, I failed to give as much as I took. He happily gave until he was unhappily pretending to give happily. Our sex life died like an old light bulb, sputtering.

“I’m sorry, Garrick. I used you, when I should be celebrating how much you love me!” I wailed.

“Don’t think that, Ingrid. I’m just off my game.” Yes, that was code for not getting it up.

“I want to make it up to you.”

“We’ve had our troubles before.” He reminded me, sweetly. He meant when I couldn’t show him my ass was stuffed with a three pound butt plug. He thought I had simply needed emotional space. He was asking for emotional space.

“I remember.” My pussy twitched at the memory of my anal obedience training. I wanted Garrick more, then. He needed time to refresh his giving nature. “Let’s just snuggle, until you decide you want all of me again.” That did make him happy. I liked it for the first few days. But I had burned him out with weeks of sexual demand. By the fourth day, I was crawling the walls. I masturbated every chance I got. Claire reminded me the city was saving water and to stop flushing the toilet every two hours.

After ten days of no sex, I fished out the huge plug hidden behind four towels and installed it as slowly and with as many orgasms as I could, easing it into my ass.

I hadn’t been so sated in two weeks, including the sputtering end of sex with my husband. Of course, that night, Garrick invited me to have sex with him. I panicked. I’d told him about my ‘fetish’ for the plug, but for some reason, I couldn’t admit I’d started using it again. I declined, but promised the next day would be better. The next day, he didn’t ask. I nearly asked him. Instead, I made love with my black ass blaster, after he went to sleep. I felt so stupid! But it gave delicious orgasms. Garrick made love with me the third night, and it was good.

We abstained the fourth night. Two forces drove me away from initiating sex with Garrick. I had used him selfishly and didn’t want to burn him ever again. My orgasms with the plug, honestly, were stronger. I guessed that wouldn’t last. Like Eric and his mother, everything new becomes old. I became a fifties bride, ready to be there when my husband wanted. I hated myself.

To compensate, I gave Claire a break from my vindictive feelings. I’d been careful about not using work to punish her. I resumed talking with her, about simple things. I liked her. She was an amazing woman. One good thing about getting bored over new things was, the story of her and Andrew had gotten old. I cared less about it. Nothing could happen anyway. Mother kept an eagle eye on my son.

I sought to rebuild my bond with Claire, rather than tear at it slowly with sullen silence. She responded gratefully.

“That woman was here again, with her son. You know the one on an invisible leash.” She gossiped.

OMGs, I’d forgotten about Tess Elgin. Two months had passed since we last talked. I felt for her all over again, but I had nothing to share. Compared to her life and Lila’s, I was a free bird who would never hunger. I forced myself to ask casually, “Did she leave another message?”

“No. She returned a book. Then her son dragged her out of the library. She seemed very unhappy about it. I assumed she gave him the what-for after leaving our sanctum.”

More likely, she gave him oral sex rather than oral admonishment. “Huh.” I said, sidling over to the records counter. I sent Claire to the far stacks, while I searched for Tess Elgin’s name in the check out database. “50 Shades of Gray, volume 17.” Her son had no imagination. I found the book on the stocking rack. Inside was a slip of paper.

“Not the same tree, but one just like it down the street. Thursday morning.”

She had to mean next morning. I arrived ten minutes early to figure out which tree. First I looked at the trees where we talked. I wasn’t alone, but I ignored the park’s other patrons. The drug dealers were dependable. They worked their territory like dedicated sales folk. Then I walked down each street from the intersection closest to her and my meeting place. I found the tree she meant, on my second try. It was an old but beautiful Japanese maple. She met me there, promptly at 9am.

After a hug, she got right to business.

“My name is Tess-”

“Sorry, Tess. I need to tell you. My son went away for the near future, possibly as long as two years. I want to hear your story, but I don’t know if I’m worthy to listen.”

Tears formed in her eyes. She struggled to keep her face neutral She failed and burst out, “I hate you!”

I expected her to run, but she stamped her foot and shook her fist at me. “Why you? You weren’t even that troubled! You don’t deserve to be here.”

“I’ll leave.”

“NOO!” She wailed. “I don’t have anyone else.”

“I’ll listen.”

“I hate you.”

“What should I do?”

“Stabbing yourself in the legs or arms works for me.”

She wore a full length skirt and long sleeves. I blanched at the idea of it.

Then, I noticed the possible real issue. “You’re not pregnant.”

She burst. “I didn’t want the child, but when I miscarried, I felt terrible!”

I hugged her. She struck me with her fist, twice. I didn’t care. She melted in my arms. “I’m so sorry, Tess!” I was grateful I could soak up her tears with my dress suit.

Her story spilled out over the rest of me. I soaked it up too. “Henry says I have to get back on the pregnancy horse as soon as possible. No matter how I relieve his balls, he makes me spit it into my hand and push it into my vagina, or let it drip from ass into a cup, which he pours into me. I get terrible infections, but Henry says it’s because my body needs a new baby. I’ve had to go on antibiotics three times since I miscarried. I beg him to just fuck me, but he says diversity will make a stronger baby.” I know what’s true, but when he says it, there is no other truth. He’s going to kill me with tainted cum.”

I could only keep hugging her. At least she couldn’t see me crying.

“Thank you.” She sniffed and disentangled herself from my arms. “Don’t come again, unless your boy controls you.” She turned and walked away, miserable.

On the way to work, that day, I chose a new mission for myself. I must find another submissive mom, to help Tess. I had no clue how to go about such a thing. So I used my imagination. Where could I find mothers who couldn’t help but succumb to their sons’ sexual desires? Searching for that on the internet wasn’t worth attempting. I’d just get porn. Fuck, searching for Hello Kitty returns porn as often than cute, stuffed cartoon animals.

I did search for missing mothers, specifically, how to find them. Apparently, they weren’t all that different from finding anyone else missing. Look in locations that would feel familiar to them.

What kind of place did mothers have in common that would feel significant to them? I considered lots of places, OBGYN centers, big box baby stores, parks. When I thought of yarn stores, I felt that was a good first place to try. There weren’t many of them, and for the last twenty years, knitting had become a persistent fad among millennials. I searched for the closest yarn store.

I took to my new mission with a patriot’s fervor. Afternoons, between the end of my shift and my husband’s return home, I hunted for submissive mothers. Yarn stores proved to be an abject failure. The women were too young to have post pubescent children, for the most part, and I realized, once under their control, the boys would decide where their mothers could be found.

Next, I hung out, like a sore thumb, at malls and mini-golf / arcades. I saw hundreds of boys and their mothers. The reminded, how rare my situation was. I felt a strange joy that mine wasn’t anybody else’s nightmare, except a few incredibly unlucky mothers. Seeing boisterous children and caring moms refilled a long forgotten corner of my misery with hope.

Once, a security guard confronted me. “Ma-am, I recognized you from previous visits. You’re not buying anything, and you seem generally suspicious. I have to ask you to leave and not come back.

I nodded and left. Mentally, I applauded the brown skinned protector. If my son still liked skee-ball and classic arcade video games, I’d give the guard’s establishment all of my business. I recommended them to mothers bringing children to the library.

After many weeks, I hadn’t found anyone to share their troubles with Tess. My sex life with Garrick had grown hot and cold. It was like we couldn’t sync up our desires. Surely, that had to pass. We’d figure it out. We weren’t shy talking about it, and we loved each other as much as ever. Privately, I blamed the heavy silicone filling my rectum. I couldn’t not stop myself from using it to give me powerful orgasms. I was expecting its potency to wane any day, but it had become a true fetish. I craved the pleasure it provided, possibly to my husband’s disappointment.

I grew more desperate in my search. Occasionally, I would visit sex shops, to see if mothers were being coerced to buy toys for their sons to use against them. It was a silly thought. Then I tried more culturally acceptable, erotic venues, like specialty underwear stores. I have to say, I didn’t observe as much as I shopped for myself and Garrick. I was just exiting the changing booth with a naughty open crotch pair of purple panties and its matching, open nipple bra. The woman waiting for the booth had two boys with her. They snickered and exchanged silly expressions. They noticed me and saw what I had just tried on. Their jaws dropped. After I passed, I parsed their intense whisper. “Mom, you have to get that for us.”

I nearly dropped the hangers in my hand. I shuffled away faster. From then on, I stalked them. Their mother did, in fact go to where I had found the purple, ‘open’ set. She looked around fretfully. I ducked behind stinking lotions and and lubes. She’d told the boys to wait by the checkout counter. My hopes sank when they obeyed.

I didn’t follow her back to the changing booth, but I found a spot to watch it. I realized, I had no idea how to approach and invite this woman, or even be certain if she was truly under her sons’ control. If I didn’t think of a way, quick. I’d miss my one, if slim, chance to help Tess.

Worse, the boys must never, ever suspect their mother sought emotional support against their abuses.

Desperate, certainly foolish, I pulled a business card from my purse and wrote on the back. “We can help, if you can’t talk about what your sons make you do.” I sneaked over the the changing booth. I cleared my throat before softly telling her. “Ma-am, did you drop this?” I pushed my card through the crack between the door’s hinges. “I think this is for you, even if you didn’t.”

A sharp intake of breath assaulted my bravery. Then the woman said, “Oh.” The card was taken through the crack, from my fingers. I made a hasty retreat. I fled the mall, sorry only that I hadn’t bought the naughty, ‘open’ set, for Garrick. He and I synced up perfectly that night. The sex was even better than with my ass lover. I looked forward to putting it back in the linen closet. I blamed my success at finding my first potential recruit. There was something subtly erotic about searching for women with dominating sons.

When I masturbated, I had to steel my mind harder against remembering the things Andrew would make me do. That was a pit, I dared never fall back into.

The woman didn’t call. She didn’t email. She didn’t show up at the library. I told myself that was a good thing. I shouldn’t wish for other women with abusive sons.

I spent another five days searching without success. Garrick and I found a decent rhythm. Sex was pretty good, half the time. The other half, I crept out of my bed and masturbated in the hall bathroom. I had returned to harboring the mighty plug, 24-7, with time out for bathroom breaks. I didn’t hide this from Garrick. He encouraged me, but it sounded hollow. At best, I unconsciously pressured him for sex less often.

Six days after giving my card to the woman in the changing booth, she drove up to the bus stop next to my library. I was waiting to go home. The passenger window of her grey, Ford sedan, rolled down and she called to me. “Are you the lady I can talk to about my boys fucking me?”

I understood spiritually, the phrase, “Knock me down with a feather.”

“You look like a librarian.”

Say something, Ingrid! “Uh, Ma-am...”

“No?”

“No!, I mean, YES, You can talk to me! There are others-”

“Well, I don’t like it! My husband thinks it’s cute, but he don’t like sex. He likes trains.”

“Um, would you rather talk somewhere private?” I interjected.

“Oh, yeah, maybe we should do that.” She stretched to open the door before me. “Where are you going?”

“Um, it’s not far. Would like to park somewhere away from people? I know a side street just down the block.

“Okay.” She revved the engine and the car bolted. I had to navigate quick. This woman was in a hurry.” The tires screeched to a halt on a street that was more like an alley. Only trash collection vehicles frequented here.

“Now can I tell you?”

“Uh, you can, but can I ask your name? I’m Ingrid Mulderhoek.” I offered my hand.

She shook it, but was clearly worried. “Do I need to show you my ID?”

“No. You can even tell me a fake name. I won’t disrespect you for that.”

“I got no use for respect. My sons fuck me.”

“Yes, you told me.”

“What else should I tell you?”

“I’m sorry, do you mind if I explain a little about how this works?

“Okay.” She seemed agreeable to anything. “But isn’t that what I asked?”

“Hmm, it is.” Her vapid speech must be some sort of coping mechanism, I told myself.

From the moment I handed her my card, I constructed an elaborate description of our help group, guaranteed to help any woman trust us enough to participated. I pared it down for this woman, considerably.

“You’re not alone. I was like you, and I know a few other women who can’t stop their sons from doing what they will with them. We understand how hard and emotionally trying it can be. Our individual experiences are wildly different, but our pain is often too similar. By helping each other to express their troubles, we help ourselves by sharing the pain, and letting it out.”

“Huh, lots of women are getting fucked by their boys?”

“No, it’s really rare. That’s why it’s so important to help each other, when we discover others like us.”

“You mean, I’m special.”

I didn’t know what I meant anymore. My canned description was failing at it’s purpose, to ease women’s worries. This woman didn’t seem at all afraid. “Excuse me, but what can I call you?”

“Yeah, you’re Ingrid, and I’m Janice. Sorry. Is this a club? Are there dues?” She reached for her purse.

“Janice, we don’t need money. We try to get together often enough to prevent our anguish from building up. Time is the main thing we spend. I imagine it must be difficult to have made time today to reach out to me.

“I guess, but today is the day William and Burke go swimming all day. It’s like a club. The dues are twenty five dollars for all day, but that’s for both of them. I have until 5pm. I was going to park and find you in the library, but I saw you at the bus stop, first. Was that okay?”

The woman had confidence issues, as well as a brain the size of- Stop it, Ingrid. “That was very okay.”