A Boy's Best Friend

My name is Laura. I’m a 32 year old single mother with one son.

Shawn was accidentally conceived when I was in high school. His father ran off and I was stuck with the little brat. He quickly took over my life and I spent every hour of my life getting him to stop crying.

Not much changed over the next seventeen years

If there was ever a candidate for a real-life Norman Bates, it was my son. Words like “clingy” and “mama’s boy” don’t even begin to describe him. Outside of work, we were hardly ever in separate rooms. We even slept in the same bed, something most boys stop doing before they get hair on their crotches.

 I was his shoulder to cry on and BOY did he cry! Every night he whined about teachers, girls, homework, and bullies. Especially bullies. The worst was a boy named Tom Harper, a sophomore. My son was a senior being bullied by a sophomore!

As you can probably tell, raising such a child is incredibly stressful. I habitually took sleeping pills before climbing into bed with my son.

Then I missed my period.

All the classic signs were there. Hunger. Morning sickness. I took a test. I went to the doctor. My worst fears were confirmed.

I was pregnant. Again.

But who could possibly be the father? I hadn’t had time to date in years. Shawn was the only man in my life.

Realization hit me, followed by denial. Sure, Shawn was a little unusual but surely he couldn’t do something like this, right? There was only one way to find out.

That night, I went to bed without taking my sleeping pills. I lay on my back, my eyes shut. I heard my son slowly, quietly sit up.

“Mom?” he whispered. “You awake?” I didn’t answer but my heart was pounding. I dreaded what was coming next.

He carefully caressed my breasts through my flimsy nightdress. I gagged in disgust, but managed to conceal it from him. He molested me for a few minutes before he decided he wanted more. He lightly lifted the hem of my nightdress and, inch by careful inch, pulled down my panties. I heard him pull off the boxer shorts he wore to bed and climb on top of me. I fought not to scream as he pushed his cock inside.

There was no denying it. My son was the baby’s father.

I’d spent so many years in servitude to my son that I could only lay in my bed, shocked, as Shawn raped me. Our bedroom was dark and silent, except for the light creaking of the bedsprings and Shawn’s even breathing.

My first thoughts were natural to a woman caught in the slavery called motherhood. More long years of caring for yet another little parasite. Giving up my time, my money, my life for someone else. I’d almost resigned myself to this future when another thought popped into my mind.

Abortion.

To my surprise, pleasure flickered to life in my body at the thought. The child growing inside me was mine. I could actually choose whether it lived or died and at that moment I chose to have it shredded and sucked out of me. I had never felt so in control of anything in my life! Motherhood was rearing its ugly head again but this time I could say “No.”

I imagined that my son’s cock, quickly but quietly pushing in and out, was the abortionist’s tool, reaching in and tearing out chunks of my son’s incestuous child. A sigh escaped my lips, though I doubt my son noticed. I squirmed beneath my son’s body as I had my first orgasm in years. My cunt squeezed his cock and he released spurts of fertile cum into my already filled womb.

As his own orgasm subsided, he pulled out of me, letting his seed leak out. He placed his face to my breast and sucked my left nipple through the thin cloth of my dress, like the infant he was at heart. I opened my eyes and looked down at him, his face buried in my chest. This was the first time I’d seen him like this, on top of my body, violating me as I slept. Hatred, once suppressed, now flowed freely through me, which only enhanced the thrill of knowing that soon, I would terminate the helpless child he had forced upon me.

The next morning, I confronted him. “I’m pregnant.”

The brilliant smile that flashed across his face only sickened me.

“And I know you’re the father. I know what you do to me while I sleep.”

I expected him to be frightened at being exposed. But the smile on his face didn’t fade one bit.

“Mommy, this is wonderful.” He embraced me. Out of habit, I almost hugged him back.

“Wonderful?” I echoed in disbelief.

“We’re bonded together in a way most mothers and sons aren’t. We’ve created something truly special, Mommy.”

“You raped me, you sick fuck!”

If my words hurt him, he showed no sign of it. “I know you’re shocked and you’re worried about what other might think. But don’t worry. All that matters is our love for each other. I have to go to school now. Bye!” He kissed me on the cheek and left.

I couldn’t believe what had just happened. Had I let him take over my life so completely that he thought he could rape me without any consequences? Right after he left, I called an abortion clinic and made an appointment. Their only available appointments were a couple months away. Fine. Let the little bastard inside me grow. Let him feel pain when I tell the abortionist to enter his mommy’s womb and rip him to pieces.

As the weeks went by, my pregnant belly swelled and my breasts filled with milk. This only aroused my son’s disgusting Oedipal lust even further. Shawn no longer tried to conceal what he did to me in bed. He groped my breasts openly, causing their milk to leak out and soak my nightdress. He thrust into me harder than before, not that it mattered much with his undersized cock. I found it wickedly amusing. He thought I’d submitted to him. He thought that he could chain me to him forever with this baby. I let him think this. It would make it all the more shocking and painful for him when I snuffed out his offspring.

In the meantime, I became obsessed with my new fantasy. I would masturbate with pens, hairbrushes, spoons, anything I could find and pretend they were the abortionist’s tools reaching in to tear out the inbred freak infesting my body. But my favorite part was pretending that the fetus knew what was in store for him. I imagined every kick I felt inside me was the child struggling in fear, pleading for mercy from a mother that didn’t love him. I’d caress my swollen belly and whisper, “I’m gonna have you crushed, cut up, and sucked out of me. Just like I should have done to your father all those years ago.” I looked up those pictures of aborted fetuses that pro-lifers like to show off and imagined that he could see them too. In my fantasies, I included every physical and psychological torture I could imagine.

Finally, the big day came. After Shawn left for school, I eagerly got into my car and drove off to the clinic. In my mind, Shawn Jr. was screaming and crying in my womb for the whole car ride.

“You are my mother!” Shawn Jr. would shout. “You’re supposed to feed and serve me!” And I just drove on, enjoying his complete inability to prevent the terrible fate that awaited him.

Finally, I was lying on the operating table, enjoying my unborn child’s final moments. It struggled more wildly than ever. Its fear was like an aphrodisiac to me. As the doctor took a sonogram, I said, “Could you let me see the screen?”

The doctor hesitated.

“I’m not going to change my mind,” I assured him. “I just want to see it.” The doctor turned the screen towards me.

The moment I saw the fetus on the monitor, it was like I was sent back in time. I was no longer a thirty-two year old mother. I was a sixteen year old high-school student and it was Shawn himself on the monitor. It was like I was getting a second chance to make the choice I should have made so long ago.

“Do it!” I snapped. The doctor, surprised by my eagerness, grabbed his tools and began.

The moment the doctor’s cold steel touched my cunt, I felt a sick sexual thrill pulse through my loins. I had my first climax when I watched the doctor’s tool tear away one of my child’s legs, then another. It was Shawn being torn apart, piece by piece, in the womb of the mother he loved so much. I came again and again, unable to conceal my pleasurable moans. Finally, I watched as the child’s head crushed by the doctor’s tool and sucked out, disappearing into darkness.

I went home with my womb empty, purified. The incestuous filth had been purged from my body. The only thing left to do was to purge it from the rest of my life.

I anxiously awaited my son’s return home, standing right inside the front door. My heart pounded in my chest. Minutes felt like hours.

My heart skipped when I finally heard his key in the lock. My son walked inside and paused, instantly noticing that my swollen belly was smaller than before.

“That’s right, son,” I said with the biggest, evilest grin I’d ever worn. “I had an abortion!” I threw the clinic receipt in his face.

Shawn stared in disbelief at my betrayal. Finally, he managed to gasp out some coherent words.

“Mom, why? I…I love you.”

“And I hate you!” I snapped back at him, finally saying what I’d wanted for so long. “I hate you and everything about you, including the baby you raped into my womb! You’re nothing but a smothering little bitch. You don’t deserve any woman, especially your mother!”

“No…NO!” Shawn snapped. He undid his fly and freed his cock. I almost laughed when I realized that, in his panic, he was trying to put another child inside me. He tried to grab me.

I kicked him in the balls.

“AUUUGH!” My son screamed and collapsed, holding his bruised testicles.

“Get out,” I said. “You don’t deserve to be my son.”

His cock still hanging out, my son ran out of the house. He still screamed wildly, but not because of pain. He’d lost his mind and it was all because of me! I slammed the door after him.

Police would later arrest him on the streets for indecent exposure. I accused him of rape, which was proven in court due to DNA tests of my aborted child. Since he was clearly crazy, he was sent to a mental hospital. Though he was a minor, I didn’t have to pay a cent because he had raped me.

I visited him only once. I rubbed my swollen belly, pregnant with another man’s baby, with my brand new wedding ring. But what really set him off was when I told him who the father was: Tom Harper, his high school bully! Shawn threw a temper tantrum and had to be restrained and sedated.

I gave birth to twins, one boy and one girl. I live with Tom and the kids and we couldn’t be happier. My new family is so much better. My kids love me without enslaving me and Shawn rarely ever enters my thoughts any more.

But sometimes, late at night, I’ll fantasize about visiting my son, letting him impregnate me again, and visiting the abortion clinic once more.