Chapters of Chastication

Exercise in Supidity
2005-03-02 00:52:56 (UTC)

Second Chapter: The Creep's Mother

“Mistress,” the Creep’s voice was little more than a whine
as he dropped to the floor on the threshold of their
basement bachelor apartment. He pressed his belly close to
the floor and kept his eyes averted with his arms extended
in supplication and his bare ass in the air. “Your slave
begs permission to enter, Mistress.”

He remained in that prone position, the dog chain that was
attached to the collar around his neck spread out on the
floor ahead of him. He frayed scraps of the carpet rub
against his chin and waited, as always, for someone to pay
attention to him.

“C’mere you stupid creep,” the whiskey slick voice of the
woman surrounded in a blue haze of smoke came at him, pure
disinterest in her tone. She was a large woman, with wide
hips and a stomach that hung below her waist as sack of
useless flesh that seemed to be dimpled when pressed
against the polyester fabric of her white-worn underwear.

She had a flaking, inconsistent doughy complexion peppered
with dark tipped pustules. Far from being soft and smooth,
her skin appeared to have the texture of burlap where it
was not cyanotic with its bluish tinge suggesting a lack of
oxygen in the blood. She had the bulging, circular dun
colored eyes of a bug that protruded over a red and
hideously enlarged nose common amongst alcoholics. Bristly,
peroxide blond hair was brushed back severely from
a high, wrinkled brow.

“Don’t dare look at me,” she hissed. The Creep immediately
cast his eyes downward but not before he saw the fur move
above her twitching lips. A shadow fell over him as he
crawled closer and he realized that she had dipped her
bullet-shaped head in his direction to signal that he could
stop. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ t’you, boy”

The Creep lifted his face and felt the full force of the
heat of her boozey-breath wash over him.

“I’m sorry, Momm—Mistress,” he corrected quickly and ducked
his head in a failed attempt to avoid the blows. He heard
the angry grind of her crooked teeth and chanced another
look at her cruel, but oh so devilicious efficient mouth.
It was a mouth that abused him verbally and physically for
as long as he could remember. His gaze first skimmed the
double chins and jowls before meeting eye contact with her
once more.

“Turn ‘round so as I can shove my toe up yer ass, boy. I’ve
got me one o’ ‘em itchin’ warts that need rubbin’. Since
yer a good fer nothin’ lazy stupid son o’ a bastard’s
bastard, you might as well be used for somethin’ else
besides for shovin’ vibrators up yer ass.”

She was a big-bodied woman of an almost bovine shape with
her overly large upper body and think limbs. She wore a
pair of underwear and a blanket over her lap to disguise
the lace-like spread of varicose veins on her legs. The
Creep was reminded of hookers with torn fishnet stockings
whenever she chanced to rise on her heeled feet and prance
around the room like queen of chub she was.

He turned his malnourished body around on the floor and
waited until she had slipped the fungus-infested foot into
the warmth of his ass. He settled back on his haunches,
fixing his eyes on the far corner of the room where he had
set his computer up on the floor. A rat scurried over the
computer mouse and the screen flashed erratically then came
into full view.

The chat room words scrolled before his eyes and for a
moment he felt the freedom he could never quite escape to
in reality. His mother twisted the toe in his ass and drew
his attention back to her. He saw at once that her
demeanor had changed, that angry had replaced her earlier
disinterest.

“He always liked you best, you know.” Hands like hams
reached for the ashtray and after sifting through the grime
with her square fingers, she slipped a curled butt into her
mouth and lit it. “Having me, then going after your pretty
little ass,” she sniffed and turned her eyes away, “and
making me watch, knowin’ it weren’t fair t’me. Jealous of
you, my own son. Should ha’ been me takin’ it in the ass.
He may have been yer father, but he was my husband first.
Always new you to be a bastard from the minute I couldn’t
get rid o’ you. Had to flirt with your old man, didn’t
you? Now he’s gone t’prison and I’m left with you.”

“Well,” she leaned towards the Creep and stabbed the
cigarette out in his anus, “let me tell you somethin’
Mister. You ain’t nearly half the man yer ol’ man was, not
by four inches yer not.”

He felt the stirrings of desire between his thighs.

“Momma,” the Creep begged. “Oh yes, momma. More. Please
god momma, more.”

His eyes flickered over the chat room scroll and he moanted
in pleasure as she took her time reminding him of just what
it meant to be a submissive momma's boy.