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Satoru loved his mother most in his dreams, naked on top of him and trying to angle her hips in the way that fit every single inch of him inside of her. He’d always thought it was sort of like a premonition, or prophecy. Always thought the only place he was ever meant to be was back inside of her.
“Satoru,” she gasped, hands braced on his chest, ass smushed against his groin. All he could do was watch, slack jawed, the way her cunt split open around his length. Wet with arousal, both his and hers, clit swollen and glistening as she leaned carefully forward so that she could rub it against his stomach, lifting off his dick as she went and then back down with a wet squelch. Again and again until he couldn’t help but jerk up to follow, hips moving on their own, not wanting to leave the warmth of her body for even a second.
He loved her so much. He loved her the most like this but he loved her all the other ways, too. Of course he did. He was her. Flesh and bone. Made from her, made in her. She’d delivered him late because he loved being inside her so much. It was his favorite place in the world.
The sheets were wet with his sweat, uncomfortably hot under his back as he fucked up into her, no longer able to accept the patient pace she offered him.
Suguru. Suguru, Suguru, Suguru.
He thumbed at her clit, sliding slippery circles over it until she jolted, clamped down on him as her breath stuttered.
“Yes,” she said, “Yes. Satoru. Make Mommy come.”
He jolted awake in an unfamiliar room, in a familiar bed, uncomfortably hot. The sun was blazing in through the window and there was drool on his pillow, across his cheek. He pushed up off the mattress and looked down at the fresh mess he’d made on the sheets.
He groaned.
Flopped back down into his own sticky shame.
They’d moved out to the middle of nowhere. A southern farming village with nothing but fields and fields and fields as far as the eye could see. A small stretch of town and not even a fraction of the population of Tokyo.
Satoru already hated it.
He couldn’t sleep anymore because there weren’t any curtains hung over the window of his new bedroom yet, so the summer morning heat had started to slow roast him. That, and his sheets were gross. His boxers, too. He rolled over so he wasn’t laying in the soiled spot anymore, and then after allowing himself a moment to relive whatever remained of his dreams, he got up and stripped the bed.
The house was only a little unpacked, but they hadn’t brought much with them anyways. Just whatever boxes fit in the car. Everything else had been sold or donated or burned. Satoru thought that might have been the wrong move, considering there was nothing in this shit hole village except for the handful of shops all clustered together at the top edge of the neighborhood, a full thirty minute walk away, and getting anything delivered would be a pain in the ass.
There was one thing he liked about it, though. About this small, empty village.
“Mom?”
The house was old and the floors creaked beneath Satoru’s steps. He reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped at the sound of voices in the entryway. His mother’s, which he could never mistake, and a man’s. The neighbor’s, he recognized, which turned something sour in Satoru’s stomach.
“Thank you, Nanami-san,” Suguru was saying. “I will put these to good use.”
“Of course. I will see you tonight then. Geto-san.”
She bid him farewell and Satoru listened as the door slid closed. He was hot on her heels as she entered the kitchen.
“Who was that?” He asked, frowning at the basket she was holding.
“Well, good morning,” she huffed, eyes flickering to him. “Sleepyhead.”
Satoru looked at the clock on the wall, the arms pointed to ten and two, and scratched idly at his stomach. Then he looked at Suguru, who was smiling this small, private smile like she just couldn’t help herself. Like she couldn’t even feel the smile on her own face. She looked flustered.
“Who was that?” He asked again.
“Oh. The neighbor. Look, he brought us fresh herbs. From his garden. We can put them in the windowsill, isn’t that nice? There’s tea as well, he makes it himself. Isn’t that neat?”
No. It wasn’t. Satoru reached into the basket and grabbed one of the canisters of loose leaf tea, labeled with a scratchy hand.
This reclusive freak was totally hitting on his mom.
“What’s it made out of? You sure he didn’t poison it? He’s kind of weird.”
“Satoru,” she scolded. He didn’t like that her voice had changed. He liked how she spoke to him in a familiar voice, her real voice, but he hated that it was nothing like that meek, flirtatious tone she’d been using a minute ago. The voice she spoke to men with. Ones that wanted to sleep with her. “That’s rude.”
“It’s not rude. He lives out here basically in the middle of nowhere. He’s probably a serial killer.”
“Satoru!”
“What!”
“What has gotten into you?” She pressed her palm to his forehead, pushing his bedhead back, her brow furrowed. “Did you have a nightmare?”
He leaned into the touch and her hand slid down to cup his cheek.
“Mom,” he pouted. “Are you going on a date with that guy?”
She pulled her hand away like it suddenly burned to touch him, color filling her cheeks in record time, and turned away to start unloading her stupid, serial killer basket. Like this guy’s stupid fucking herb garden was supposed to be impressive or something. This whole place was nothing but farm and garden and wet rice fields. His wasn’t special.
It all started when she’d made Satoru take over one of the loaves of sesame bread she’d made a few days ago. Because they were trying to come across as normal. Because Suguru wanted to be normal so, so badly. But now this bozo thought he had a chance.
“He invited me over for dinner,” she said. Like she’d hoped she wouldn’t have had to tell him. As if.
Satoru’s face twisted. “You’re going to his house?”
“Satoru.”
“I thought you wanted me to help you unpack the… the fucking family photo albums or whatever.”
“And I thought you said they were better off collecting dust in storage.”
He did say that.
“I changed my mind.”
“We can do it tomorrow, then. Hm?” She combed her fingers quickly through his hair as she slipped by to open the fridge. Started pulling out eggs and bread and milk. Her hair was a loose braid down her back, and her nipples were showing through her shirt. Satoru remembered his soiled sheets laying in crumpled pile at the top of the stairs.
“I’m just saying,” he said. “It’s kind of weird that he’s out here all by himself. Do you think… people might wonder, like. About us?”
The tension in her shoulders was slow. If he didn’t already know what he was looking for he’d miss it. Suguru kept on like she hadn’t even heard him, pulling out a frying pan and clicking on the stove. But the motions were tense, forced.
“Wonder about what, Satoru? Go wash up, baby. Will you help me plant the pumpkin seeds after breakfast?”
He watched her fuss over herself in her vanity mirror while he sulked in the doorway with his arms crossed over her chest. Did she really need to get dressed up for this guy? Did she really need to seem so… excited?
“I still think he’s a fucking prick for not inviting me too.”
“Language, Satoru.”
“Are you going to sleep with him?”
“Satoru!”
He rolled his eyes. Whatever. Not like she wouldn’t have asked him the same thing, if he was planning to go out with one of his classmates. She’d ask him a million questions. She give him that look. That worried, accusing look. Like she didn’t trust him. Like she didn’t want to let him out of her sight. So what if he felt the same way?
He knew what men wanted from her. What they saw when they looked at her. She was so nice, looked at them with her smiling, kind eyes and laughed politely at their unfunny jokes and pretended she didn’t notice their eyes flickering down to her tits. A part of Satoru thought maybe she liked it, when they did that. It’d been a long time, since his dad.
She looked at Satoru sometimes like she was seeing his dad.
Satoru hated that more than anything. Because whenever she did, she looked sad. But if he asked her about it, she only smiled and told him of course not. That she only saw herself in him; his sincerity, his kindness. His bravery. All these things she gave him. Satoru wanted to cherish those things, but he didn’t see what she saw. Whenever he caught his own reflection there was only the cold, dead eyes and the cruelty he inherited from his father. Blood on the floor, splattered across his face. Bruises on his mother’s jaw, down her arms.
Satoru didn’t stay to watch her leave. He kicked off the door frame and went to his room.
He masturbated furiously to the thought of her getting fucked by the neighbor the entire time he was waiting for her to get back. Which was probably weird, definitely weird, but he’d gotten over that ages ago. He loved her. He couldn’t help that this was the way his body wanted to show it.
When Suguru got in later that night it was dark. She didn’t notice him lying on the tatami until he sat up and said, “Hey.”
“Oh! Satoru. You didn’t have to wait for me,” she said, but he could tell that she found it endearing that he did.
He stood and stretched his arms above his head, unaware how long he’d been laying there staring bitterly into middle space waiting for her. Wondering what she and the neighbor were talking about. What lies she told him.
“How was your date?”
“It was really nice,” she told him. “He’s nice, Satoru.”
She was wearing the jeans that hugged the shape of her hips and a satin spaghetti strap tank that was the same glossy black as her hair, which she’d let down. It ran in rivulets across her shoulders, wavy still from the braid it had been in earlier. Satoru nodded.
“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be like that earlier. I just… you know?”
That was his trump card. The one thing he knew would always, always steal her attention back where it belonged. Which was on him. And now was no different. He watched as she visibly softened, looking up at him with a guilty conscience and weary shadows beneath her eyes. He knew that most of the time, she blamed herself. Which, sure. He felt bad about it, but if that’s how it needed to be, then he wasn’t going to tell her any different.
“I know,” she assured, and he let her wrap him up in her arms. It was a little awkward because he’d gotten so much taller than her. He used to be able to pillow his head right against her chest.
“I made some of that tea.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. It’s good.”
She kissed his head as he pulled away, hair mussed as he slipped out beneath her arms.
In the kitchen Satoru put the kettle back on to heat, tried not to gag as he sifted the tea through the strainer. She waited for him on the cushion he’d warmed. When he brought their cups out, steaming, he handed her hers before he sprawled back across the floor and let his head fall into her lap. He asked her innocent, easy questions. Ignored the repulsive envy that filled him with every detail she shared.
“Do you think you’ll get married again?” He asked. “Not like, to that bozo—” she flicked the side of his head, no real heat behind it, “—but just. In general?”
Suguru took a slow sip of her tea, either thinking about it or not wanting to tell him.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly, after a while. “I think, if things worked out that way I wouldn’t be against it. But I’m not in any rush to seek it out.”
“Would you ever have more kids?”
She laughed at that, combing fingers idly through his hair.
“What, you want little siblings?”
“No, I mean. You’re young enough. And sometimes I feel like… I dunno. It’d be nice if you got to start over or something.”
“Oh, honey. I don’t need to start over. I got everything right when I had you.”
“Everything?” Satoru scoffed, and her fingers gripped his hair to pull his head back playfully.
“Everything,” she leaned forward to say with emphasis, and then let him go. “My strong, brave boy. I couldn’t do better if I tried.”
He liked that she really believed that. Or that she really wanted to believe it. But they both knew there was something… off about him. And things hadn’t been the same since Dad. Worse, better. Satoru preferred things like this, either way. When it was just the two of them. His mother was the most important person in the world to him as he was to her. That was rare. It was special. It made him feel close to her, like there was an understanding between them that no one else could touch. That anyone else’s interference would ruin.
They drank their tea in silence, in mutual understanding. When his mother stared to drift, he caught the cup as it slipped from her limp hands.
They would always have each other.
She was beautiful in the moonlight, her skin washed pale, her flesh supple, everywhere. In her thighs and the pouch of her belly. Her breasts, which spilled over her chest, large and soft. Satoru touched her everywhere, basked in the softness of her skin, squeezed at her thighs and leaned down to mouth at her chest. He took one of her nipples into his mouth and moaned, suckling on the peak as if he were nursing. Her skin tasted clean, milk long since dried up, nipple pebbling beneath the wet laps of his tongue and the gentle suction of his mouth. He wanted her hands back in his hair, but she was so far down. She didn’t even twitch when he tested her flesh between his teeth.
He was hard just from that, just from her tit on his tongue, and he knew that he was going to be quick for it, at least the first time. So he moved to her other breast and sucked on that one too and his hands roamed her body greedily. He pushed her thighs apart so that he could nestle between them, shuffled closer on his knees until he could rut his clothed erection against her. Until he could feel her wetness soaking the front of his boxers.
When he pulled away from her chest the dusky brown skin of her nipple was shiny with saliva. It made Satoru dizzy with desire, determined. He pushed the band of his boxers down and tucked the fabric beneath his balls, holding himself at the base and rubbing the length of his cock against her. The dewy dampness of her folds unfurled around the shape of him, his cock tracing the lines of her lips, the head nudging against her clit at the top and then catching on her entrance when he slid back down. A moan startled from his throat when he dipped the first inch into her, and then after that it was like being pulled into the vacuum of space, impossible to escape.
He tried to be gentle, to take his time. He fed one inch at a time into her, pulling back with each before thrusting forward again until eventually he was all the way inside, and she was gripping at him, the gummy walls of her cunt warm and wet.
He came as soon as he sunk all the way in. The second he realized there was no space left between them his cock kicked and spurted and he filled her, deeply. Prematurely. It was the best fucking feeling in the world. It was the only thing he wanted for the rest of his life, to be inside of her.
“Mom,” he groaned, cock pulsing. It made her so impossibly wet. When he pulled out and slid back in again, there’s was hardly any resistance at all. Perfect fucking fit. He slammed in harder, too impatient to let it build slowly, until he was ramming into her, battering her insides with the fat cock she’d grown herself. Home grown dick stuffing her full.
“Was supposed to be just the two of us,” he panted, “But if I put a baby in you will you stop entertaining other men? Should I make my own little siblings? Would they call me Dad or Brother? Fuck—”
He was in her, he was in her.
He came again. Filled her until it was seeping out with every thrust, sticky mess bubbling at the base of his cock, sticking to his pubes. Suguru’s pussy glistened with it.
He needed to stay here forever. Right here. Now that he knew what it as like he could never fucking leave from inside of her. He pushed her knees towards her shoulders, her limp limbs molding easily to whatever shape he put her in. Semen leaked out of her, cunt gaping, missing the shape of him. Satoru thought maybe it’d been missing the shape of him ever since he left her seventeen years ago. They weren’t meant to be apart.
He slid back inside, pounding into her abused cunt, and she was so wet it was nearly frictionless. His cock was just sliding into her. Wet, sopping suction every time his hips met her ass. Every time he sank so deep into her there wasn’t even any room for air where they were connected. Satoru wanted to fuck himself back into her womb. Wanted them to be so entangled no one would ever be able to come in between them. He’d kill them if they tried. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.
“Mom. Mom, fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned. He was starting to feel the strain in his abdomen, wished he could flip them over and make her ride him the way she did in his dreams, or lift her up onto her knees and fuck her from behind how Dad used to. When Satoru would watch from the slits in their closet door with his hand down his pants and she knew. She always knew when he was watching but she never fucking let him—
Satoru had to stop and catch his breath. He looked to the ceiling with exhaustion, arms falling tiredly to his sides and Suguru’s legs falling open in a sprawl over his lap. His hips continued to rock with minute motion, because he couldn’t help himself. He felt drunk on her, on the fading scent of her perfume.
He looked down, at her serene face. Further, at her ruined cunt. The way it cradled his cock. Satoru pulled out to the tip and slammed forward. It jostled Suguru up the tatami, her expression twitching. He did it again, slick and come splattering between them as he crammed every inch of himself inside. His hands anchored onto her waist and he continued, as if in a trance. Hypnotized by the way her body responded to every forceful drive of his hips.
His entire body thrummed with something electric, ravenous. He reached between them and pinched her clit between his fingers, rushing towards something, moaning at the sordid, sloppy sounds that echoed against the walls. Rhythmic and wet. Until her body began to convulse, orgasming and clamping down on him. Milking one last load from his throbbing, spent cock.
When he finally slipped free he was quick to gather the come leaking out from between her folds and plunge it back inside where it belonged. When his heart calmed and he could feel his dick again he would give her another. When she woke confused and sore and loose he would give her another. Tomorrow, and the next day and the next.
Just them, and nothing but fields and fields and fields as far as the eye could see.