The Son & Other-Mother part 3

“I’m sorry to interrupt sweetheart, but your dinner is ready,” the Other-Mother says as she crosses the threshold into the master bedroom. Your bedroom, now. Since you decided to stay in this mirror-image facsimile of the Pink Palace apartments it only made sense to claim the most spacious room for your own. Your ‘parents’ here naturally went along with the suggestion, most of the time. You hit pause on your console’s controller to turn your attention to the creature that’s brought you your supper. The Beldam, as you’d learned your Other-Mother was more properly called, was still masquerading as a more buxom, shapely version of your mother. Albeit with black sewn-on buttons where her eyes should be.

“I made the curly kind french fries that you like, and a soft drink, and of course chicken cutle-- I mean, ‘chicken tendies’. And chocolate cake for dessert!” she offers forth, carrying your meal over to you on a TV tray so you didn’t have to get up from the bed. She moves hastily, not wanting to give you any reason to want to stand up to take it from her, and leans across your lap to set the dinner down before you.

Her features tense when she feels your palm grab a handful of her rounded backside. She freezes there, knowing better than to react.

“Sweetie, w-we talked about this,” she says carefully, her voice conveying only a carefully measured amount of concern. She wasn’t upset, she hadn’t lost control of the situation, this was the sort of mild annoyance a mother would show if her child left a dirty dish out or failed to pick up their toys. Having her ass felt up by her ‘son’ wasn’t any more upsetting than those examples. “If… If you want to hug your Other Mother, your hands should go on my waist, not on my--”

“You know what, ha ha, it’s my fault.” She stood up and backed a few steps away quickly. “I keep forgetting how attention getting my curves are in this outfit you chose for me.” The Beldam nervously tugged at the form-fitting edges of her short-shorts to try to hide as much of her exposed thighs as possible. “Would… would it be alright if I changed into one of my dresses? I feel kind of silly, you know, wearing this uniform for a restaurant I’ve never heard of. What even is a ‘MILF Hooters’ anyway? It just doesn’t seem dignified for a woman of my age.”

“If you miss visiting your favorite restaurant, I could try to make one for you,” she says, though with very little confidence. The bubble world the Beldam inhabits couldn’t stretch far beyond the Pink Palace and its immediate surroundings. And even that was becoming increasingly frayed at the edges the more you taxed the Other Mother’s mental reserves.

“Or… or you could visit the one in your world. _Sweetheart._” she added, her voice betraying sarcasm and venom. You quirk an eyebrow but say nothing. After a long time some of that simmering evil hidden beneath the mask was starting to slip out. “Don’t you think your family and friends there are wondering where you are? They must think you dropped off the face of the Earth!”

The Beldam stuck her hands on her wide hips and scowled at you. “And it’s not like I couldn’t use a break. Even for just a few hours! Everywhere I go in this house I’m cleaning up your messes. And preparing your meals, and washing your clothes, and… and all you do is hang around playing video games and watching those weird Japanese cartoons!”

“Why don’t you LEAVE!?!” she shrieks, stomping her high-heels against the carpet. Her disguise is crumbling quickly, her form stretching and warping into the skeletal witch that she really was. “You’ve eaten all the food I can conjure and wrecked every entertainment I offered. Why are you still living with your Other-Mother?”

“Go get a job! Go get a girlfriend! Go buy your own house to ruin!”

“Just… go!” she screams, nearly in tears. She was very nearly skeletal now, her spider-like true form slipping into reality in front of you. As she breaks down, so does the facade of the house you’ve been living in. Not all at once, but corners of the room come apart at the seams, showing a sort of spider-web that underpins the fragile reality here.

You stand and grab her by the wrist, easily overpowering the spindly sewing-needle digits.

“What now, where are you taking me?” she screeches as you drag her through half of the crumbling house. Down the stairs and through the kitchen where button-eyed facsimiles of your neighbors and school friends cower around the breakfast nook. As you cross the Pink Palace’s sagging porch you are confronted by three child-like ghosts hovering in the air.

“He’s done it, he’s defeated the evil witch at last!” one of the ghost-children cheers.

“But sir, you haven’t yet found our lost eyes,” another one pleads, “if our souls will ever be free, you’ll have to be clever and-”

“Oh, um,” the little boy ghost falls silent when you flip your middle finger in his face. “Sir, if you recall, we didn’t have that gesture in my time. I don’t rightly understand your intention.”

“But we can see you’re busy,” the ghost girl next to him interrupts, tugging her companion away into the ether. “Hush now chile, you don’t want to see what happens next.”

“Unhand me AT ONCE!” the Beldam barks, thrashing and fighting in your grip. Her skinny spider legs are unable to get much purchase, and where she does dig in her heels almost immediately breaks apart under her feet. You grimly march her over to the edge of the garden where a colorful jungle of animated flowers hang their heads in sympathetic shame.

“What do you even want from me? I made those body pillows for you, I stayed up all night sewing together girlfriends from those video games you play! I’ve got nothing more to give you!”

You shove the Beldam to the ground and push her arachnid legs apart.

“You can’t be serious?” she asks incredulously. “My disguise is in tatters, I’m not remotely human looking, never mind beautiful. Why aren’t you afraid and disgusted by me?”

You push the carapace-like covering surrounding the Beldam’s abdomen up. Whatever else she might be, one thing you are sure of is that the Other Mother is most assuredly female. The tight portal you find between her legs shines with a faint layer of moisture over smooth, porcelain-like pussy lips.

“H-hey now, S-s-_son_,” she struggles to hiss the word out. Her spindly hands grip your shoulders nervously. “What if… how would you like to play a game instead? Yes, a game, every boy loves to play games! If you win, I’ll tell you where I’ve hidden the ghost children's eyes! If you let me up, we could play, ummm, tag or, or a guessing game, or-”

You release your fly and your raging erection emerges, and the Other Mother’s button eyes wince when she sees your size again. Her needle teeth bite at her thin black lower lip to hide a squeak in her throat when your cock slaps the wet lips of her womanhood.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think we should play _that_ game again. You made me very sore last time.”

Her voice catches in her throat as your prick slides smoothly into her moist cleft. She can only take short, staccato breaths and watch as you split her womanhood open. The sensation is so new and foreign that she has no means of coping with it.

“Aaaahhhh~!” the Beldam howls, her head rolling back on her bony neck. Her spidery limbs seize and shake against the lawn. She squirms under you like a bug pinned to an entomologist’s table. Finding some small amount of strength she grabs hold of your arms to steady herself.

With teeth clenched, she pants, “This… shouldn’t feel this GOOD!” in between moans of pleasure. “Mothers’ aren’t supposed to have sex with their sons! You’re making me a bad mother! I… I want to be a GOOD mother… but I can’t say no, and no matter what I say… you just... won’t... stop making... me cum!”

Right on cue, the Other Mother’s spine seizes in bliss as she orgasms uncontrollably on the lawn of her half-crumbled house. You casually roll her over onto her front and she instinctively lifts her abdomen towards you, presenting her backside and ready pussy to be speared again. You continue to drill her for several more minutes through wails and unladylike grunting, before noticing that the other doll-eyed homunculi have gathered at the edge of the Pink Palace facsimile to witness their mistress’ debasement.

“N-no, don’t (aahh) look at me! (Ohhh! Uhhnn Nnff!) G-get back inside!” the Beldam manages to command, flailing one skeletal hand at her former servants. The assembled crowd doesn’t move though. They can see that she is powerless now, and her commands mean nothing. Perhaps some of them even relish the comeuppance their creator is receiving, but if they do they aren’t saying anything, nor do their expressions betray their loyalties. “Sssstop staring and- ahh, and- aaunnn YES!”

She falls forward face first into the grass, her fingers clawing up handfuls of soil, her mouth becoming an ‘O’ as she peaks once again. You feel her insides ripple around your swollen cock. You ride her through it, and her clenching spasms fade to an ongoing background buzzing of perpetual low-grade climax. You lean forward, looming over her, until your face is next to her cracked, inhuman face. The edges of her button eyes are watery with tears.

“Wh-why are you t-t-treating me like this?” she sobs into the dirt. “I’m sssss-ORRY for kidnapping you! I just wanted a child I could love!”

With one hand holding a fistful of the Beldam’s scraggly black hair, you place a kiss on her temple and grant her request. She shivers against your chest when she feels the flood of hot pearly seed flood her womb.

*********

It’s a full moon out, and the sky is clear. The cold white moonlight fills the halls of the Pink Palace apartments so well it’s almost better than daylight. You rise from your bed and walk down the hall, a battalion of jumping mice decorated in their finest dress uniforms to escort you on your way to the little door.

You unlock your secret getaway with the black key that you wear on a chain around your wrist. The swirling colors of the tunnel behind the door yawn wider to ease your way through. You barely even have to crouch once you’re inside. One more duck of your head and you’re on the other side, in the mirror version of your home. The better version.

The Beldam’s soft humming carries across the air as you approach. Unsurprisingly you find her in the kitchen, her favorite place to be. The air is thick with the scent of baking, of pastry dough and cinnamon and slices of apples turned golden brown. The room is gently lit by candles.

“Darling!” she greets you when you step into the room. She turns around and smiles; her hair is neatly done up, her lips are red, her cheeks plump and rosy. Her dress is a little too fancy for domestic chores but a little too homey for an evening out, the sort of thing to put on when one is expecting to entertain company. “I’m so glad you came to see me. I’ve been looking forward to spending time with you since… well, since your last visit.” She pointedly pats a hand against her heavily swollen belly.

“Surprised?” she asks. “I don’t know why you would be. That’s four for four now. I sometimes think that I could fall pregnant if you were to sneeze in my direction!”

“Can I pour you a drink?” The Beldam continued, unlocking the liquor cabinet. With noble fingers she fixes your glass just as you like it, garnish and all. “I would join you for a nightcap but, well, you know.” She doesn’t seem the least bit put off by her temperance, practically giddy at the necessity of avoiding alcohol. Once you’ve sat down in your favorite easy chair and slipped your feet into the softest pair of slippers you’ve ever known, the Beldam places a slice of pie topped with whipped cream on the table next to you.

“You know,” her velvety voice purrs into your ear, “the kids are all tucked in. We’ve got the whole night ahead of us. So...” the Beldam slips onto your lap, still agile despite the heavy baby-bump. “...is tonight the kind of night that you call me ‘mommy’, or the kind where I call you ‘daddy’?”