Gonna request this fic now so I don’t forget. A bully, Grant, is humiliated by his victim James. Grant decides the best way to get revenge is to possess James’ mom and dominate him
@@@
Most of the time, he’d flinch. He would shrink back, and his eyes would give this flutter. He had grown to hold back the tears, but that flinch? It had never went away. I fucking loved that about him. Charles Chastner-or as pretty much everyone called him, chunky Chuck.
I started that nickname, by the way. Not the most original, I know. But it had stuck. That’s what mattered.
Jumpy James, with his endless gaming shirts. All about fucking Fortnite or Mario. Always with sweat stains at the pits. You could smell him regardless of where you sat in the room. It was the most perculiar scent, too. Like flat soda and curdled milk. If you didn’t smell him though, you would sure as shit hear him coming down the hall. He wore these horrible fucking goth parachute pants. Baggy and black, with some neon primary color for piping. All kinds of studs, chains and bangles and patches all over. It was like hearing loose change in a pillow case. A massive one, mind you.
I can’t say what had made me start fucking with him. Maybe it was the flinch, maybe the pants. Either way, he just made it too damned easy. Jumpy James was the sacrificial lamb every high school had. You know the type. They’re invisible until you need them a punching bag, or they shoot up the place. Everyone knows them-and nobody helps them. James had been ours at Larson High-and until this moment, he had suffered the role well enough. He was too damn big to shove in a locker. Too fucking gross to wedgie. So you had to finesse him with words. With actual jabs. Every single time, James just let it happen. He would flinch and take his licking, no matter what.
But today he hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t stuttered, hadn’t fluttered. He sat and stared at me with a stone face, not a single emotion firing. So I said my line again.
“Choke your fucking chicken with all those rolls, James?”
James sat there, his lunch tray before him. His fork was in his hand, still poised and ready to stab into some pie. It didn’t so much as shake as he watched me, his eyes calm as they met mine. The few laughs I’d heard behind me had gone away. The crowd around us, they were silent as shit. It was like someone had hit mute on the whole cafeteria. Then Chuck stabbed a fork into his pie, and brought it to his mouth. His eyes didn’t budge from me as he talked through a mouth of apple crumble.
“I know how you lost your eye Grant,”
Well now.
Hadn’t expected that little bit from his lips. Maybe a come back, each word broken by emotion. James seizing his moment, all that.
But those words, well.
I felt something then I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Absolute and certain boiling rage.
I’d never laid a hand on James. You really couldn’t, with the way school was for seniors. Legally speaking, juvie wasn’t an option any more. But even before, striking at his ass seemed so weak. Besides-bruises healed, right? But that didn’t stop my fingers as they curled into fists. Every muscle found it’s place as my jaw went firm. It wasn’t like people hadn’t heard the story. Most were just smart enough not to bring it up.
Those that did, well.
I’d not been suspended yet. Damn near came close, but dodged it every time.
“The hell did you say you fat fuck? The fuck did you just say to me?” I said. I’d tried to hold it in, but the warmth in my face got the best of me.
James just shoveled in another bite. In the glass of the doors behind him, I saw someone pull out a camera phone.
He watched me as he chewed, his eyes dull. He swallowed, his second chin bouncing as he did. He rolled his tongue over his lips, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I said, I know how you lost your eye. Can barely tell where your daddy cut it out. I wonder though-did you scream as he did it?”
If I grit my jaw any tighter, I would have chipped a tooth. I took a step forward as my hands shook. A voice in the back of my head told me to back off. That he wasn’t worth it, that graduation wasn’t worth risking. But that voice wasn’t at the wheel anymore. I got close, close enough that his rank-ass stench was overpowering. I splayed a hand against the lunch table, and pointed the other right at him.
“You’ve got a chance, James. A chance to shut the fuck up right now. Because if you don’t, you’re gonna enjoy summer break from a fucking wheel chair. Do you hear me?”
Jumpy James. This fucking dork I’d torn apart since middle school, he just laughed. Laughed and snorted so loud it echoed in the cafeteria. In the glass of the door behind him, a flash went off. Then James shook his head, and pulled off his fedora. He wiped the sweat on his forhead away, and pushed his greasy hair to the side. He looked right up at me as he shrugged, and said “Well, at least I won’t have to dust off the fucking marble in my skull every night,”
I wish I could say I remember what happened. I really do-because it would beat any fucking jerk off fantasy I’d ever had. Seeing my fist meet his fat face, the way his jowel would ripple as I pummeled him. All that would have been worth it. But I don’t. I don’t remember the fight at all. I blinked, and I was atop him as the cafeteria broke into a howl. Our resource officer, Mister Brick, he had his gnarled hands under my arms. He was wrenching me off Chuck, and saying “Get the damned principle! Stop punching him, you idiot! Stop punching him!”
I roared and tried to pull myself off Brick. But the old marine held on true enough, and James-with his nose akimbo and blood all over him-he just kept on laughing. Laughing right up until Brick hauled me up to the principle’s office.
Summer break came early for me that day.
But graduation never would.
@@@
It wasn’t a great house, but it was home.
I tended the yard when I could. I painted the boards, played handyman when I had to. But I was eighteen and unemployed. Mom’s disability checks only went so far. If I had to choose between food in the fridge or fixing things, food always won. Mom-when she was lucid and away from her loom-would call the place a “fixer upper”. I’d grown to hate that euphenism. I hated the way she’d say it when something broke, like it was going to fix everything. Not just the house. Looking at the place now, my glass eye just ached in the socket.
I thought about dad. Just for a second, gone quick as it came. I sniffed, and wiped the snot from my hand. My suspension notice was still in my grip. I gave it a glance, then balled it up. I tossed it over my shoulder, and made my way towards the door. As I approached the porch, I gave a look towards the living room window. It was dark, with the curtains drawn. Mom was at her loom again. No telling how long she had been there. I inhaled slow through my nose, the porch creaking beneath each step. The screen door squalled on it’s hinges as I pulled it back, and fumbled for my keys. They slid into the lock sure enough. I twisted the handle, and stepped inside.
Not a sound met my ears save for the clock in the living room. It was an old thing, something from before my folks got married. It was a good litmus test for mom.
If I walked in, and I just heard the clock, she had taken her meds. She was upstairs asleep, or reading a book.
If I walked in, heard the clock and the scuttle, mom was at her loom. She hadn’t moved in a few hours.
She wouldn’t be well.
I stood there in the door way, ears cocked against my head. The constant tick of the clock almost brought a sigh of relief.
But then I heard it. That other sound.
I sat my backpack down in the entryway as gently as I could muster. Then I took another breath as I tip-toed past the living room.
Mom’s sewing room wasn’t large. It didn’t need to be. Not once in my entire life did the tapestries she weaved leave there. I didn’t have the faintest fucking idea where they went. She wasn’t selling them, and she couldn’t give them away either. She barely left the house, save for her dime store novels or wool. Yet still the slender paneled door at the end of the hall gave me pause. I’d viewed in the room many times, but I never once had entered.
Not since dad left.
Not since he took my eye.
The door was cracked open, and a sliver of light spilled into the hall. I stepped so lightly a cat couldn’t match me. As I drew near, my ears perked. I tried so hard to listen, but all that came was the movements of the loom. I looked inside, and saw a slice of my mother hunched over. Her hands moved with a practiced motion, smooth and deft. I pressed my finger tips to the door, and pushed. She didn’t move, didn’t stir even a single inch. I stood at the doorway, and watched as she worked.
I swallowed, and said “Mom, I’m home. Have you ate today?”
My mother didn’t answer, though. She kept busy, her work before her all consuming. And she worked quick. For at her right side, rolled in a crumpled heap, lay yards of woolen fabric. I watched her another moment, then turned around on my heel. I made my way back down the hall, towards our kitchen. The clock ticked on, loud and full as the loom whispered.
I ignored both as I made a turkey sandwhich.
@@@
The cigarette was almost nothing but ash. I watched it for a second, the orange growing closer to her fingers before I spoke.
“Mom, tap that,” I said.
My mother’s head tilted towards me, the glow of the TV throwing her features in stark relief. Her eyes drifted towards the cigarette, and widened. She lifted it carefully, and tapped it against the green glass ashtray at her side. She lifted the smoldered nub to her lips, and took a drag. Gray whisps curled from her nose as she stamped it out. Then, eyes glazed and wide, she turned back to the screen.
I’d gone and fetched her after I ate. I’d heard the loom come to a halt, and figured it was time. She had given me the same look she gave her cigarette when I called to her. She turned in her chair, her face pale as her eyes fell upon me.
Like I wasn’t who she thought.
Like she had seen a ghost.
Foot by foot, she made her way to the door. She looped an arm in mind, and clutched me as we went down the hall. I lead her to the couch, and eased her into her seat. I went to the kitchen, and grabbed her cigarettes. She had burned through two before she spoke.
“A pauper,” she said. The words escaped her throat in a dry rasp. “A pauper and a queen Grant,”
I didn’t say anything. Not for a long beat. Then I told her to tap her cigarette as Alex Trebec clucked his tongue at someone. She repeated herself, and I grabbed the remote. Over rising volume, she said “they were there, honey. All those little threads brought together. Tight as promises-all with my eye,”
I tightened my jaw, and got off the couch. I walked over to her, and pressed my lips to her head. She didn’t move, didn’t do much more than breathe. I watched her for a moment, then took a deep breath.
“Mom? Did you take your meds today?
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. I turned and walked towards the kitchen. I made my way over to the microwave, and opened a cupboard above it. No matter how many times I looked in there, the amber plastic always rattled me. I reached in, and pulled out one of the bigger ones. They had wrote her the script to help with her “delusions”. Mom took them, but all they did was put her to sleep.
I unscrewed the cap, and dropped two into my hand. I put the bottle back, and went back to mom. Her eyes fluttered as she saw me, and her hand shook as she scooped the pills up. She popped them into her mouth, wincing as she took them dry. Fifteen minutes later, she was out. So it goes.
I turned, and made my way back into the hall. I went up the stairs, and ran a hand through my hair. I’d have to shave it all off again. Fucking Brick had made a grab for it today, not that he’d admit to it. Standing at the top of the flight, I thought about going to my room. Just walk in, close the door. Crank up some Sabbath and beat my dick. But as I turned, my eye fell on my dad’s study.
My socket ached just looking at it.
The door had been shut since he left. Mom and I, that’s how we described it. He “left”. It rolled off the tongue easier than the truth. The one Chuck so smugly felt privy to. What he thought he had though, it wasn’t the whole story. Nobody had that but me.
My eye socket throbbed as I stepped towards it. My chest tightened, every inhalation strained as I reached up for the knob.
I didn’t tell mom I went in here. Not like it would help her or hurt her, so why bother?
The knob turned, and the door opened silent on it’s hinges. Like always. The dark beyond the doorway was black as pitch. All encompassing as I stepped inside, and shut the door. I reached to the left, and felt along the wall. I flipped the switch I found there, and a single bulb sputtered illumination. The room was just as it always had been. Wall to wall shelves, books of every age crammed until the shelves bent. Candles sagged at a table, their wax pooled so long at their bases dust had collected. I nudged the door closed with my foot, and closed my eyes.
My socket radiated with pain-then warmth. Every second it spread across my face. Every second brought back the night dad had plucked it out.
Will I ever understand these books, dad?
You will, boy-but understanding comes at a price.
What kind of price?
I opened my eyes again, the yellow glow of the overhead bulb burning bright. I walked towards the table, my hands shaking as I wiped the dust from the table top. I wiped my fingers on my jeans, and gave a cough as dust filled my nose.
That’s when I spotted it.
I knew it was there-I couldn’t forget it, but it had blended in with the table. It had sat there since that night, open to the same page dad had been reading. I leaned forward, and let my eye glance over the page.
I can’t say why. I can’t say how.
Maybe I’d always understood, or maybe that night dad had been right.
It only hurts for a second, boy. And the result, well.
It could make your mother well.
It could make you strong.
And what is an eye to you, for that much?
These symbols, these looping runes and pictures, they weren’t just that. They formed words, steps. Actions that begat questions, a need to turn the pages before me. My fingers were already a the velum before I could stop myself. The bulb sputtered overhead, but I paid it no mind.
I’d came in this room so many times. Always asking why, but never getting an answer. I didn’t know why dad disappeared. I didn’t know why mom saw things in her weaving, things that always seemed to come true.
I didn’t know what, if anything, James knew of me. But he knew enough. Enough to made me have raised a fist, to have broke his fat fucking nose. Thinking of him then, my left hand began to curl. It didn’t stop until my nails sunk well into my palm, a single crimson drop escaping.
Right onto the page before me. I glanced at it, eyes wide at what I’d done. I muttered a curse, and tried to brush it off. But the blood just smeared wider, the velum soaking it in. It’s tendrils spread from the spot over the page, all the way up to the words. I glanced at them, my one good eye widening as I began to read.
As every word became clear before me, I started to smile.
Finding out what James knew was possible. It was so damned easy, too. All I had to do was pay a price. Just a small one. And if I wanted more than that, well.
Was another eye really so much?
@@@
I’d expected my other eye socket to hurt.
A throbbing pain, something. The tacky feel of blood cooling on my hand. The slick roll of my eye in my palm. I could have sworn I screamed-it was the last thing I’d heard. It had been loud enough to pull mom from her stupor, too. And the smell.
You never forget the smell of your own blood. No matter how hard you try, it’s always there. Right at the edge of your memory, taunting you with your mortality. Even as you go blind and Iwailing into the dark. But as my eyelids lifted on their own, I realized two things.
The first was that I could see. Both eyes. I checked.
The second was I didn’t have any pain at all. Not the dull throb in my socket, not even where my nails had dug in. Nothing. I sat there for a long while, staring at a popcorn cieling that wasn’t my own. Opening one eye, then the other. Flexing my fingers on a comforter that felt softer than anything we had. I watched as dawn broke across the cieling, bright and gold as it stretched towards the wall. Then I almost shit myself as an alarm clock went off.
I bolted upright, the room a blur as I turned towards the noise. Over on the nightstand, a phone sat plugged up. It was playing something that sounded really damned familiar. I reached towards it-only to pause as I caught sight of my hands. What had once been wide and callused was now slender. Pale, with pink manicured nails. I felt a chill run along my spine, the hand suspended over the phone. I stared at it-this slender thing, so alien to all I knew.
Then I told the fingers to move, and they did. I almost screamed as my mind recoiled with memory.
Dad’s room.
The book, with that damned page.
The phone’s alarm kept blaring, and I just sat there. Staring at it’s pink rubber case, watching it jump with every vibration.
It was the Super Mario theme. Holy fucking shit.
It had worked.
It had actually fucking worked.
I reached for the phone, my fingers shaking as I did. I picked it up, and pulled the chord from it. I thumbed the alarm off, every synapse in my brain firing as I tapped the screen.
The wallpaper came up, and I felt my breath fall short in my throat.
Staring back at me, round as ever and in costume was James. Jumpy James, smiling just as wide as he could. A felt mustache on his face, with a red hat and overalls to match. Standing behind him, with felt horns and a black dress was an older woman. Someone who-judging by her looks-had zero part in James birth. But there she was all the same, her arm around him. Smiling just as wide.
His mom.
With her nails just as pink as mine were now.
I unlocked the phone, and checked her messages. I checked her pictures, her socials. It wasn’t as scandelous as I had expected. No nudes (not that I needed them), no saucey messages. Her search history was nothing but recipes and nerdy cupcake designs. All of her texts were automated bill notices, and James. Her pics were all of them in costume together, alwas at convention floors. Always smiling and happy. I was about halfway through her photo roll when it hit me.
There wasn’t a single dude in any of these pictures. None aside from James himself. I paused when I realized that, and felt myself lower against the pillows. I expanded into a gallery view, and scrolled faster.
Nothing.
No boyfriend. No male friends. No women either. No older dude with a big round gut, looking twitchy.
Just James and her.
My arm dropped to the comforter, the phone still in my grip.
Well hell. Finally something we have in common.
I pushed the thought aside, and sat up. I pulled my legs to the side, surprised that my knees weren’t killing me for once. I reached for the comforter (covered with pictures of Princess Peach) and pulled it away. I paused at the sight of pale, hairless thighs. My brain rolled for a minute-and then I remembered. I wasn’t me, not right now at least. I didn’t know if I could even be me again. I thought of my mom for a moment. Asleep in the living room, all those bottles of pills. Alex Trebec’s disappointed face came to mind, and my feet met the floor. The floor was wood paneling, cool compared to the threadbare carpet of home. I wriggle my pink-lacquered toes, and rose from the bed.
I almost fell immeadiately over. I’d put too much effort into rising, so used to the heft of my own body. This one was so unlike it-light and toned, painted instead of filthy. I shot a hand out to steady myself, and caught glance of a mirror. The woman looking back at me stood there, arms outstretched. Her eyes were wide and manic as her face screamed of new sensations. I watched as she brought her hands down to her sides. Her perfect fingertips came to rest just past the edge of her shirt. My eyes followed-and it was then I realized I wasn’t wearing panties.
Or a bra.
I’d teased James endlessly about his mom. How I railed the fuck out of her, how worn out her pussy was. How it smelled, how her labia flapped around like vampire bats.
Standing there, staring at it?
I would have taken every single bit of it back.
My fingertips lifted from my side, moving on their own. They met her lips, parting them to reveal a pink even brighter than her nails. I felt my heart racing as I watched. Blood pounded in my ears as I lifted my finger right to her-
The pounding at the door made me jump. I grabbed the edge of my shirt, and pulled it all the way down. Cowering there, I stared at the door as it shook beneath a fist.
“Mooooom, come on! It’s time,” came a nasely voice from the other side. The door shuddered as it was pounded upon again. My tongue rolled dumb against the roof of my mouth, words scrambling atop one another for first place.
“U-uh, just a minute!” I cried in a high voice, one that sounded far too feminine to be my own. “I-I uh, I gotta get dressed okay?”
“Alright mom! Remember-the outfit in your closet, far left!”
I swallowed, my eyes steady on the door as the pulse of my blood slowed. “O-okay honey, I’ll get it,”
I stood there, listening to the pounding footfalls of James in the hall. I rose up, and turned my head towards the closet. I walked towards it, my feet freezing on the wood paneling. Goosebumps broke out along my thighs as I reached up, and slid the doors tot he side. My eyes went wide, and rolled slowly to the left.
The entire closet, right to left, was nothing but cosplay outfits. All the stuff I’d seen in her phone with a few normal clothes peppered in. But it what I saw to the far left, with it’s studded and spiked back, that made me pause. It was the same outfit from the wallpaper. The one she had looked so happy to be wearing.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” came her voice-mine-from my lips.
@@@
I knew James was a gamer. It was an unavoidable fact of his existence. From his greasy-mopped head to his shoes, he’d absorbed his hobbies into his skin. Almost every single day of every year I’d seen him in a Mario shirt. Or Halo, or Destiny. Whatever the fuck was popular at the moment, it was on him. It was all the fuck he talked about to what few friends he had. They’d sit at their table, and walking past them was like stepping in verbal pop-culture vomit.
“Well I tapped my mana, and in response-“
“Fucking spawn camping fuck-sticks-“
“But Genji mains are so-“
And the memes. Christ, the memes this guy used. Jumpy James was the sort of dude that unironically wore a trollface shirt to school. He’d cry “You mad, bro?” to no one in particular walking down the hall. If it was on twitter, or tumblr, or whatever?
James made sure you knew he knew, that he was in on the joke. With a wink and cheeto-dusted nudge. Especially if it dealt with videogames.
I knew about the Bowsette thing. I mean, how the hell could you not? Even if you weren’t into gaming, it was all over twitter. It made news on any site that had uttered the word “Mario” in a decade. Randos on twitter would roll into your mentions with a Bowsette avvie. James had been like that. His twitter account called her his waifu and all kinds of shit. But looking into that closet and seeing a bowsette costume?
Something in my brain broke. I tried to wrap my head around it. Why his mom would have it-or any of the costumes really? Sure, they went to conventions together. Sure, she obviously supported him.
But there weren’t any straps to this thing. It was a black top, and a green skirt with slits up the side. There were fishnet panty hose on the hanger as well, and a spikey backpack. Complete with the crown, the whole thing looked like something out of a fetish video.
Not something someone’s mom would have in her closet. But I grabbed it all the same. I turned towards the mirror and held it over my-her-body. I slid my hand over the material and fought back a shiver.
If I put it on, it would fit perfect. I could just tell.
One thought trailed into another standing there. Each in a sequence, hitching itself to the next. At the front of it all was yesterday. In the lunchroom, the friday before summer break. James’ fat, smirking face as Brick pulled me off of him. I threw the dress to the bed as my chest grew tight. My hands spasmed, twisting with boiling anger I hadn’t felt since I got home. Then, in a ray of clarity from the shock of all that happened, I had an idea.
I started to laugh. A low chuckle at first, one that rose from the back of my throat into a crescendo. By the time I was cackling, I already had the skirt on. I pulled the top over my breasts, and jostled those melons into place. I grabbed the crown and horns-just a headband-and looked at the mirror.
If James wanted a bad bitch, he was going to get one. I smiled, parting my feet enough for the legs to peek from the slits. I rolled my hips a few times, my hands sinking into my motherly flesh.
Oh, oh we were going to have a tremendous amount of fun, he and I. So much fucking fun.
I turned towards the door, and walked forward. As I drew close, I noticed the final piece to the whole thing. A pair of black stiletto heels so carefully placed next to the nightstand. I grabbed them, and strapped in. Then, remembering the key to the whole thing, I grabbed the phone. I made double sure the camera was ready to go. Then I got up, and walked towards the door. It opened towards me, into a spartan hallway. Coated in white primer, I glanced left and right.
Down the hall, I could see two large openings. One to the kitchen, the other to what I thought was a living room. To the right was a door coated in posters (all gaming related), firmly within it’s frame. I smiled, my heels clacking as I turned right. Every step, I was sure to sway my hips. Just a little at first, but more as that pounding returned to my ears. I gripped the phone tighter as I wrapped against the door. The muffled sound of a bed squeaking barely covered the garbled chiptune from speakers.
“Who is it?” came a nasally drag.
“You know who it is, you stinking plumber!” I cried back, trying my damndest to throw bass into my voice. I had no fucking way of knowing if this was a normal thing. For all the hell I knew, things could turn sideways in a-
There was a laugh-his fucking laugh-as the door opened.
I tried not to bust a gut. Had I done so, the dress probably would have ripped. Because there was James alright-in a red shirt and blue overalls. A felt hat on his head, and a smile on his face. There was a bandage over his nose, but not a huge one. Maybe I hadn’t broke it after all.
I could have laughed-but the urge passed as I realized James was looking me over. Glancing at my costume.
Checking out every inch of his mom.
His eyes snapped back up, and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“Ready to play some Mario Party? I already have the Switch set up!” he said.
There was a happiness in his voice, a tone I hadn’t heard before. It was weird hearing that. It sounded so comfortable, so confident. So damned cocky.
I grinned even wider, and nodded. James turned, and walked back into the room. I followed him, and kicked the door closed with my foot.
I probably should have had at least an idea what his place would look like. After all these years, I could have had a ballpark figure. But the place surprised me by how clean it was. On one wall was a massive television with every modern console. It was all tucked away in an entertainment system. On the wall beside it were two bookshelves-one for games, onefor comics. There were a few posters pinned up-all Mario related, done in avant garde art styles. In the center of the room was a single bed-with a Bowsette poster on the ceiling. James sat at the end with a tiny controller in his hand. He patted the space beside him, still smiling.
“Come on-have a seat, mom!”
I walked over, and sat down on the floor. A controller popped into my sight, courtesy of James’ grubby fucking hands. I went to take it, and he pulled it away. I looked up at him, my eyebrow arching as he wagged his finger.
“Nuh-uh, you know the rules,” he said.
I gave a nervous laugh, and said “Oh yeah? And what rules are those, sweety?”
James giggle-snorted, and tapped his cheek. “You’ve got to give me a kiss, remember?”
I must have failed to contain my disgust. His smile dropped for a second, and his eyes widened. “I uh-I mean we don’t have to do that. I know this is probably all abit much, but I thought you-I thought it was fun for you,”
His tone had dropped it’s confidence. Just a degree. But enough to sound like he did in school most of the time. Jumpy, jilted. The old james I’d grown so used to making miserable. So I giggled, and shook my head.
“Oh honey, never. You know how much I enjoy kissing my boy,” I said. I tried not to gag on the words, and turned towards him. I raised a finger, and forced the words to crawl up from the back of my throat.
“Because I do want to play. Promise. So be a good boy, and close your eyes for me okay?”
James giggle-snorted again. He closed his eyes, and I watched as his cheeks tinged pink. I raised the phone, and thumbed the video recorder on. I smiled at my reflection-his mom’s supple lips rolling up-as I leaned forward. I gripped his chin, and pressed my lips right against his. I had expected him to buck. To kick away, open his eyes. Anything. But what he did instead was moan, deep and gutteral from the back of his throat. I pulled back, my stomach rolling as I pulled the phone down. James opened his eyes, and tipped his hat at me.
“Well now, I wasn’t expecting a prize this early,”
He leaned forward, closing his eyes as he pursed his lips. I sat there, every step of my plan coming to a crashing halt.
Then, as I glanced down at the phone, rising to a super nova of fresh realization. I stood up, and turned the video recorder back on. I tossed a leg onto the bed, and jerked away his hat. James opened an eye-but only had a second to look. I gripped the back of his head, and pulled my skirt back. I watched as his eyes widened, as his cheeks grew even more red. With my nails digging into his scalp and the video rolling, I shoved his head between my thighs.
“Welcome to the Koopa Kingdom Bitch,” I snarled. I clamped his face between my thighs, his cheeks slick with sweat. I laughed, and pressed my cunt right into his mouth. James gave a muffled reply-but it was too little, too late.
“You want some air you fuck? Fucking earn it. Eat me-and maybe I’ll let you come back up. Do you fucking understand me?” I shouted. There was another muffled reply. I jerked his head back, and smirked as he gasped for air. His face was already slick with juice, his eyes glazed as his tongue lulled. I let go of his head, and gripped his chin.
“What the hell did you say to me? Something smarmy about pipes, you little shit?”
“I-I said yes mommy,” James said breathlessly. He nodded, his jowels jiggling against my hand. “I said yes, I swear. I know the rules,”
Oh fuck.
This was even better than I thought.
I gripped the back of his head, and shoved him back in. I writhed as his tongue rolled against my clit, flicking and swirling around it. I tried to hold the camera steady as he lapped against the slit, but every caress made the focus shake. I inhaled sharply as his licking found purchase inside-until I noticed where his hands were. They gripped between his fat thights, rolling and kneading his miniscule cock. I puleld my hand away, and kneed him back onto the bed. The tenting over his overalls was readily apparent. I could see the curve of the head as it strained against the denim. James eyed it for a second, then looked at me.
So I smacked it. I smacked my hand right across his dick, and listened as he yelped. He howeled and curled into a ball, his eyes pleading with me as he looked up.
“What the hell is that? Are you hard? Are you actually hard right now, you weird little shit?” I said, holding the phone up. James looked at it, then me. His lips curled into a twitching smile as he nodded.
“I-I always get hard for my princess! She’s the only one that gets my mushroom!” he stammered.
If I hadn’t been so angry? If I hadn’t been so damned focused on it all, I would have hit him again. But as I grit my jaw, I reached forward.
I gripped the zipper of his pants, and tugged all the way down. His cock sprang free, the head purple and swollen. I snickered, and gave the tip a flick.
“Someone’s backed up. I guess you think you’ve earned it, huh? The right to fucking cum?”
“N-no mommy! I know I haven’t. I-” James said as his hips rolled towards my hand, “-I was going to beat you, though. I-in the game, just like always,”
I reached down, and tugged at the skirt. I almost tore it off as I stepped up to the bed. Standing over him like this, it was the most I’d ever seen the boy sweat.
But also the most I’d ever seen him plead with his eyes.
So I took a finger, and pressed it right between my thighs. Just the one. The sensation made every part of me roll into a warmth I’d never felt. I pulled my finger back, and pressed in another. My wrist rolled and bucked against my cunt, splattering James beneath me. He watched, and tried to reach for his cock. I smacked it away, my hand slick and sticky.
“No-no, don’t you fucking dare. You’re going to watch, and you’re going to sit there. That’s all you’re going to do. Hear me?”
“Y-yes Mommy,” he sputtered. I leaned down, and flicked the head of his girth again. James yelped, and shook his head.
“I-I mean princess! Yes princess bowsette!”
I smiled, and shoved my fingers right back. In between gasps, I looked back down at him. He was breathing heavy now, so damned heavy. A fat pearl had beaded at the tip of his shaft. His fat, full shaft.
It hadn’t been a part of the plan. It seemed so damned gross at the time. But I figured what the hell. An eye for an eye. Be it literal, or metaphorical.
I reached down, gripping his cock as I plunged it within me.
@@@
It had been harder to get back.
I had to steal away time to get back to my house. I’d been thankful I remembered the key beneath the rock. I had opened the door, and paused to listen. Alex Trebec was still asking contestants questions. I stepped inside, and glanced towards the living room. Mom had taken her meds alright-her head was tipped back against the recliner, eyes closed. I tip-toed up the stairs, and towards my dad’s room. All I was going to need was the book.
But I hadn’t been ready to see the blood. Or my body, curled into a fetal position. Bloody sockets wide open and staring at the door. I stepped over me, and lifted the book from the table. I left the room, sure to lock the door behind me. As I made my way back down, I paused. I looked over my shoulder and down the hall. Right toward’s mom’s loom room. I glanced at the living room one more time, and walked down the hall.
I’d lived in this house all my life. I’d grown used to questions being unanswered, being haunted by “why”.
But lifting mom’s weave from the day before, I still felt surprise. Shock even.
Mom didn’t have social media. Much less ever access the internet. But there was Bowsette-or me dressed as her-standing over James. Crown in one hand, a sword in the other. I dropped the tapestry down, and ran from the house.
It hadn’t been easy, taking control of her body. But it had been damned easy to send that video of her and James to every single person we went to school with. It was the last thing I saw with her eyes, a grin etched onto my face as I read from the book.
Coming back, being blind-it was hard at first.
But what was an eye to having held that kind of power?