Mother's Web

He didn't return to his room immediately. He went directly to the kitchen for the money she'd placed on the kitchen table. Sure enough it was $10,000. Good thing he knew Amelia's games so well. He'd asked for twice what he needed.

Still, he'd been weak. She had controlled and made him weak for her easily. When he went back to his room, he locked both the connecting door to her bedroom and the door to the corridor—and he did so for the next two nights as she continued to wheedle at him and he fought hard not to give in.

He really should have left then, but he was greedy. He reasoned that he never wanted to do this again. Maybe he'd need more than the $10,000. If he stayed around long enough to get the other $10,000 without giving in to her again, maybe that's what he should do.

Or maybe he was kidding himself; maybe he just wanted to blame her for breaching his defenses and screwing him again.

They didn't do much for the next three days going into New Year's Eve, other than play a game of hide and seek around the mansion and going out to the clothiers because he needed a shirt that was broader in the chest than Amelia had bought and a pair of trousers slimmer in the waist.

Amelia smiled at that and complimented him on how much more toned up he'd become since he'd moved to the Eastern Shore. He had scowled and left the room at her follow-up suggestion that he let her feel him up in the nude to check and appreciate the difference.

He wasn't far enough out of the room not to hear her say, "I do believe your cock is the same size, baby. But it always was big enough for Mommy."

* * * *

Amelia looked good enough to fuck on New Year's Eve as they set off for the Ritz-Carlton. That, presumably, was her plan. Her slinky white sheath, covered in sparkly sequins, fit her curvy body like a glove and the neckline just missed revealing the tops of her nipples.

Most of the men (and a few of the women) watched her, jaws dropped to the floor, glide across the Grand Ballroom floor to their table. The rest were watching Boyd and speculating how Amelia had managed to snag a boy toy with the same strawberry-blond hair she had—and one with such a marvelous physique. Both, of course, were movie star handsome of face.

Amelia was well known in Philadelphia society and was away from their table frequently to play kissy face with one acquaintance or another. This gave Boyd plenty of time to notice that a woman looking strikingly a lot like his mother—the hair perhaps a bit more auburn—had passed the table frequently and given him a smile.

As the time went longer and Boyd increasingly felt like a forgotten lampshade by his mother, he got up and walked around the ballroom. His mind went to resentment of Amelia—for so many things. His attention kept going back to the woman who looked like her—enough like Amelia for Boyd to feel it in his cock. The woman seemed to be making sure that she always was in his scope and always was seen to be having the best of times.

He was at the bar, trying to decide what he wanted to drink, when the woman showed up at his side and asked for a white wine before he could make his choice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, have I cut in on your order?" she said sweetly, batting her long eyelashes at Boyd.

"Quite all right," he answered. "I hadn't decided what to have yet."

"You probably could have just about anyone here, if you wanted," she said, but continued before Boyd could come up with a response to that. "You're Boyd Jacobs, Amelia's son, aren't you?"

God she looked good to him—no, great. Similar dress to Amelia's. Looking down at her this close up, he actually could see the tops of her nipples.

"Yes, ma'am, I am."

"You don't have to ma'am me. I'm Pamela, one of Amelia's good friends—one of Amelia's best friends. She confides everything to me. Has done so for years." She gave him a look pregnant with meaning. "Everything," she repeated.

"Well, I doubt that she talked about—" Was it really, really hot in here?

"I wouldn't mind some of what Amelia is getting from you, Boyd. She tells me you have a cock to die for. I'm bored. Aren't you? The service area of this old hotel is like an ants' nest. I know of nooks and crannies where no one ever goes."

In one such nook, off a dimly lit, deserted corridor, Boyd was standing behind Pamela, pressing her ample breasts into the cinderblock wall, her bodice having fallen to her waist and Boyd already having squeezed her tits and worked the nipples, until she begged him to fuck her. She had her arms raised and pressed into the wall as well. The skirting of her sheath dress was bunched up around her waist.

God, she was so much like Amelia. He had sucked in air when he found she wasn't wearing any undergarments.

His cock was already standing up proud from his open fly when it hit him he hadn't brought a condom. "Sorry, but I, um . . ."

"Quite all right, honey. I like it in the ass just as much."

He had a hand on her belly, pulling her pelvis away from the wall, and another one buried in her red hair and arching her head back toward him, his cock pumping up her ass when Amelia found them, drawn by the cries of passionate egging on that she recognized as those of her nymphomaniac friend, Pamela.

Amelia's barked command was enough to spur Boyd back into Amelia's Cadillac sedan and into a silent funk all the way back to Bryn Mawr East.

He was mad at himself. What had he allowed his mother web spinning to turn him into. This is why he had escaped to the Eastern Shore. This was why he never should have left the Eastern Shore.

Amelia stood in the doorway to his bedroom, watching him toss clothes into his suitcase.

"You aren't going to leave me. I forbid it," she was screaming. "And you won't go back to your sister. I won't have you fucking your sister. I won't give you the other half of the money until you agree to stop living with Brenda and fucking her. It's just not right for a son to be fucking his sister."

"But it is right for a mother to be fucking her son, is it?" he flung back at her.

She stood, stung. But obviously contemplating her next move too.

"I don't need the other $10,000, Mother. $10,000 was all I needed to begin with. And I don't need you anymore."

From the top of the stairs, she cried out to him. "You'll be back. You'll always come back to Mommy."

He stormed out of the house, jumped in the Mustang, and roared out of the driveway. He stopped half-way down the block. Thoughts of Amelia and her voluptuous body floated into his brain. How did she do this, he wondered. Her web had insinuated itself in his brain. It's this fuckin' Mustang, he thought. Amelia was controlling him in so many ways. This Mustang that Brenda wanted him to get rid of was just one of the ways. He drove only as far as the airport, abandoned the Mustang, and rented a car to take him back to the Eastern Shore.

Onancock. That's where he belonged. There's no way he'd leave Brenda, his sister, for Amelia, his mother. Brenda was so young and had trusted him with her all. And Brenda was pregnant with his child.

The ties with a woman were solidified when they shared a child—even if the woman was his sister. And they overcame whatever a mother could command.

Didn't they? Well, didn't they?