Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…
Volo counted each silent footstep to himself as he made his way to his mission’s end point, his cargo dragging through the leaf litter behind him. This path through the ancient woods was well-traveled, though only ever taken by his own feet. The moonless night filtered through the trees in thin slats, softly patterning the forest floor. It wouldn’t be much longer now.
Twelve, eleven, ten, nine…
The way was dark, but Volo could have taken it with his eyes closed. He had done the same many times as a boy, learning the land around his mother’s home intimately, innately. He felt more at home here than in the claustrophobic room they shared, preferring the uncertainty of the elements to the unpredictable nature of Cogita’s whims. Volo had learned to manage the sense of dread that came with walking through this marsh of memories long ago; now he navigated it with a sense of blank resignation, knowing it was pointless to dwell on what could not be changed, turning his mind black and sinking it into the mires around him. He had grown into a man now, like a twisted tree despite the pruning mallet, perhaps because of the way it expertly shaped him into the beast he now covertly embodied. It didn’t matter what his feelings were on the matter. Fragments of her had taken up permanent residence inside him.
He was, as a long-distant voice had once said, “part of the filth.” He had no recourse; Volo knew this would be his life until his plan reached fruition, and perhaps after. Her presence was eternal, surrounding him in all conceivable ways. There had been a time when he had wished for something different, for a path out of the madness, but that was over now. Those were the wishes of a child, one that knew not the cruelty of the world and its design. Both mother and son were the only two who remained of their kind as far as he knew; they were the sole stewards of the land and of the world unseen. This was his fate. He had accepted it.
His clothes rippled in the cool night air, red and soaked with blood. He hummed softly to himself, pleased at the way they clung to his skin where the victim's blood had splattered. He had worn white for the mission, knowing it would help him savor the act, a form of consecration. He knew there was a probability that it could attract attention, so he’d taken the long way around, through the forest trails that he’d carved through the face of the hills by his own hands, many years ago. They were well worn now; even in whirling darkness Volo’s footsteps were sure, steady.
This wasn’t the first time he’d successfully completed a task like this, so sick in its violence, for his twisted mother. Even though he couldn’t—wouldn’t dare—to reflect on whether he enjoyed being given orders from her like a common housepet, he definitely gained something from the act of following through with the mission from her blessing to destroy from the release of his frustration. His arms were still hot, searing from overexertion, a feeling that only surfaced as he came closer to his only stop—to the place granted the title “Home”. He wouldn’t have to carry his cargo much longer.
Volo twirled the handle of his mothers ‘woodcutting’ axe in his grip, the leftovers of the act's climax sliding down the handle, rushing to his fingers. He stared down into the pit he had dug many moons ago, the mouth he had fed countless times, the sides of its sharp slopes damp from the season of rain. He let the axe drop to the forest floor, a loud crunch against dead leaves and thick mud. He busied himself with his burden, the useless freight that he’d dragged behind him during this hike. It was quick, no longer exciting, unceremonious as Volo threw the remaining pieces of the body up and into the pit that felt bottomless, listening as flesh cracked against branches and roots on its journey tumbling to its final resting place at the bottom.
Volo sighed cooly. The forest cocooned him, quieting into a vibrating stillness—a noise that was deafening in its own right. He picked up the discarded weapon, his favorite tool. His mission was over, but not for long. She’d need him to use it again.
He saw the familiar glow of the candles that Cogita used to light their tiny cabin, bleeding bright yellow-orange across the curtain of mist that hung at the point between night and early morning. The leaves of the trees, the blades of grass, and glossy webs of silken thread dusted in dew twinkled, welcoming Volo back from his private domain within the forest.
Volo paused along the lip of the last hill, staring down into the cabin itself. He studied the thick drapery that drew across the windows for signs of movement, for a clue to the nature of his mother’s current disposition. He slid down the slope, dragging rocks and dirt behind him with a hiss, slowing his breath and tempering his expectations. Cogita’s ivory tea set she’d left out on the garden table was still warm. She’d been waiting for him. She knew when he would be home, and he hadn’t even had to tell her.
Dread raked through him, but the stubborn, carnal seed of his arousal persisted, burgeoning into pleasure between his legs.
The heavy doorknob somehow felt just as enormous against his hand as it had when he was a child, when he could barely reach it. He wrapped his fingers around it experimentally, not yet ready to go inside. But his body was just as well-trained as his mind, and Cogita had something he desperately needed.
The smell of blood lingered in his clothes, in his loosely braided hair, the edges of his face dripping with gore. Just the thought of what he’d done—the thought that he’d get to do it again—was enough to make him weak. Years of conditioning had turned the savage and violent into something desperately erotic, ultimately ending in meticulously crossed wires from his mother’s hands, the culmination of her design. He thought about how good it felt to release all his tension, body rushing full-force into the swing of the bloodthirsty axe. How sexual and wet the sound was as the erect, metal blade tore ribbons through tender flesh. Volo clenched his fists, the memory of his mother’s sex feeling so similar, the same unleash of anger only permitted when he was given permission to thrust his way inside her, his only tool for revenge. The height of pleasure at the moment when he could delude himself into thinking that he was domesticating her was only comparable to the moment of absolute domination before his victims tearfully accepted their deaths.
His cock stiffened in his pants, and he groaned, pressing his forehead against the door.
He didn’t have to open it. The cold, metal handle spun between his fingers, Cogita’s long-lashed eyes boring into his soul through the tiny crack she’d opened in the doorframe. Her expression was vicious—one of the many traits Volo was sure they shared.
“Come inside.” She smiled in the patently false way that telegraphed her displeasure. It draped over her voice like a fog. She turned from him after he took the door from her, helping himself in. Merely seeing her, hearing that tone of voice and knowing full well what it meant, shifted Volo into a strange state of mind. He switched into her duteous son. His body moved on its own, obedient to his mother’s demands—but also starving for more, for the promise of her eventual, impossible approval.
“Your clothes are awfully dirty,” she smiled, smoothing the silver hair that framed her face as she measured him.
The message was understood. Dirtier than they should be, Volo thought. He stood in the doorway for a moment, body stiff. A small piece of him missed the woods already, but he tried to crush those thoughts down, fearing she would read them in his face. He would have time to think later, he told himself, but it would have to wait until she was gone, until he could regain control of his urges.
The other meaning of her words was not lost on him. Take them off. He held off on that much for a little longer, wanting and waiting for another specific order. He never interrupted her plans.
“It can’t be helped.” He finally said, careful not to shift on his feet. He knew he had to reply, but kept it short, knowing if he went on any further he would start to sound stupidly pathetic.
He wanted to be vague with his words, but she knew what he meant; there was no way that she couldn’t. This back and forth happened every time that Volo returned from his missions. It ended the same way—Cogita’s special, secret reward for her prodigal son.
Cogita looked him up and down as though surveying the patterns of blood for imperfections or impurities, as though mapping the sequence of his time away from her inside of her mind. Her eyebrows furrowed. She dangled a gloved hand next to her face, close to her lips as she reflected on his actions and unsightly appearance. “I’ve warned you not to wear such bright colors… yet here you wear them at night, no less. How disappointing.”
Volo’s eyes slid away from his mother’s face guiltily, unable to help himself from panning over her body. Her long, velvety dress left nothing to the imagination, especially without the usual overcoat she wore across her shoulders. Her milky skin was a sharp contrast, bright even under the sheer fabric.
“You ought to know better by now,” she tilted her head to the side, her pale eyes roaming over his body. “When you dress properly, you blend into the night. If no one can see you, we won’t have any additional… problems.”
Volo was silent. He enjoyed the methods with which he performed his duties. He wasn’t willing to compromise, but he knew better than to fight her.
Cogita ran her fingers down his chest, pressing into the fabric to determine how much blood had stained them. “You don’t want anyone making a commotion if they were to see you. If no one can hear you, no one can hear them.”
The ends of her lips subtly curled up as she cast her net over him, digging her claws into Volo’s mind. “Don’t you care for your mother?” She feigned an expression that was much more hurt than she actually was.
Volo stared at the pool forming on the floor, rust colored drops soaking into the wooden boards as they bled from his clothes, his hands, his hair. Cogita’s touch made him feel sick with pleasure.
“Of course.” It was an honest admission, but it stung. He felt his body run hotter as Cogita reached for him, pulling him by his wrists towards the middle of the room, to a lone chair she’d set out before he’d come home. It was clear she’d had planned what she was about to do, just as she always did. Volo hesitated, but Cogita sunk the pads of her fingers into the thin skin of his wrist so sharply that even in his drunkenness it burned. He took his seat, staring up at her expectantly, both anxious and eager at once.
“You’re making such a mess…” Cogita scolded him, but her voice was breathy. Volo felt his cock respond to that familiar tone as if on cue.
Cogita liked when Volo was lower than her, looking up at her with the imposed reverence that she lived for. It was clear how much she relished it, how deeply she craved his devotion. She sighed, leaning down closer to Volo, running her hand down his chest, across his waist. He was patient, unflinching, despite the way it made him roll his eyes. Her hands stopped at his thighs, dipping into the blood that ran across them in thick, messy stripes. Cogita massaged him, shamelessly watching his cock. It eagerly responded to her affection, even with Volo’s stoic control over his body.
“What a naughty boy. You’ve made such a mess here.” She closed the distance between them, too close for comfort. Volo focused on sinking his feet firmly into the floor. He hadn’t even realized that his pants were wet with his own cum until her hands brushed over his groin, pulling his pants down just enough for what she’d planned next.
“You know you’re not supposed to do this,” She lifted his cock out of his pants with her gloved hands, raising it closer to her face. It twitched in her palm. “Not without my help.”
“I didn’t.” Volo tried to sound confident, strong to convince her of the truth—he really hadn’t , but his voice was weak. Even though he’d tried to convey an aggression that said stop, his voice had betrayed him, offering a tone better suited to the word more. Volo fought to regulate himself, to master his own body, but his mother’s breath was so warm against the head of his cock. Like always, it responded to her actions exactly how she wanted and with hardly any effort. He bit his lip, looking at the wall next to her bed—their bed. “I wouldn’t.”
Cogita hummed softly, like she was contemplating something that she wouldn’t let him in on. She reached into her lacy, floral bra. It clung tightly to her breasts that nearly burst forth from behind her dress. She pulled out a soft black cloth, wrapping it over her fingers. She slipped it against the base of his cock and stroked him, wiping him down with slow, even strokes. Volo sucked in a shuddering breath, and his cock jumped in her hands.
Cogita helped her free hand to the base of his cock, running down against his balls. Volo threw his face away from her, not wanting to offer her the satisfaction. She laughed lightly at how foolish he was.
“Don’t pretend you don’t love this,” she murmured, pressing her face into his balls. Volo groaned. His mind understood it was being toyed with, but his body couldn’t cope, bowing to its master. Cogita tapped a gloved finger against the pool of precum on the head of his cock.
“My, my…” She pressed a delicate circle into the vein that ran up the length of his cock, admiring how her dear boy had grown. “Whatever would you do without me to help you like this?”
Volo shuddered. Cogita’s hot breath hit his cock in all the right ways. He needed her mouth more than anything. He could feel the memory of it on him, but it wasn’t enough. It never would be. It was one of the only things that kept him coming back for more.
Cogita pursed her lips into a knowing half-smile, relaxing into herself as she twisted the cloth around the base of Volo’s dick. She cupped his balls again, giving them a gentle squeeze, toying with him, pushing him to the edge of his will.
That was the last straw. Volo groaned against his teeth in a low roll, biting down into his tongue. His frustration fumed forth with each ragged breath he struggled to take as he watched his own mother, on her knees between his legs.
“Is there something you need, dearest?” She traced a tiny oval shape into the slit of his cock before roaming down to the edge of his foreskin, playing over it, giving it just the right amount of attention to mentally unseat him, to make him vulnerable—to make him need her. She leaned just a little closer to him, confident that he wouldn’t dare try to move his hips while he was under her control.
“Do it.” If his voice was any louder, it would have been a snarl. Fire raged behind his manic eyes, matching the intensity of the pleasure that swelled within him.
Cogita licked her lips and let them brush against his angry cock, pretending it was an accident even though they both knew better. She whispered against it, the gloss of her lipstick sticky like warm honey. She held eye contact, feigned innocence crinkling the corner of her eyes now that she knew he was all hers. “Do… what, exactly?”
Volo’s breath rushed from his nostrils like a wild animal. His hands dug into the wooden frame of the chair, his vice grip whiteknuckled with the great strain required to hold back his hips. He hated having to beg—but Cogita loved to break his spirit. Cogita placed a gentle kiss to the side of his cock, tantalizingly chaste, nowhere near the relief that Volo craved. His cock pulsed. He threw his head back in surrender, his long hair falling from his braid. He groaned when she kissed him again.
“Just—” Volo squeezed his eyes shut, trying to maintain the last of his resolve. “Just do it.”
The hand that Cogita kept resting atop his thigh jumped to the base of his cock, gloved hands squeezing it with a pressure that bordered on crushing pain—his punishment. Volo choked.
“Use your words.”
“Fuck…” Volo groaned with the ferocity of a feral animal locked behind iron bars. His hatred was on clear display, marring all his features—but somehow, all it did was make it feel even better . “Make me cum.”
“That's right.” Cogita’s approval sent shockwaves through Volo; to his disgust, it felt even more pleasurable than her sultry lips against his cock. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Before he got the chance to say anything, Cogita pressed her tongue into his foreskin, peeling it back with nothing but her mouth. Volo shuddered under her touch, biting back an embarrassing sound as her lips caressed the crown of his dick. As though fully aware of his sensitivity, she took him deeper into her throat, her gloved hands nuzzling into his balls. She whispered something impossibly dirty around his cock, but he couldn't hear it over the blood throbbing in his ears.
Cogita could always tell when Volo was getting too close, even before he could sense it. She stood up, her tall legs framing him where he sat trembling before her presence. She swayed her hips, the lines of her tight thong on full display for her captive audience. Slowly, but excited from the heat of his undivided attention, she raised her black dress up along the curves of her body, freeing the smooth skin underneath. She held the ends of her dress in both hands, curling it up along her body, letting it roll over her thighs and her wide hips, her breasts aching to be set free.
Volo couldn’t help but imagine what she might look like if he pierced into her sensitive, tender flesh with the axe and the rage he’d used just hours before. How would his mother’s flawless skin look showered in bands of ruby gashes from his thirsty blade? How would she taste, slick against his fingers as she fell apart? He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from pressing inside the new holes he’d invented, such a suitable punishment for a woman so sadistic. He wanted to fuck her like that, he thought, with her blood and cum pooling together between their thighs.
“You have such a frightening look on your face.” Cogita trailed her index finger along the thin fabric of her panties while she spoke. “Did you look at our friend like that? I wonder…”
Her black thong was wet, tight in a thin line against her pussy. There was little point to the garment in the first place but to signal her true perverted nature to the only person permitted to witness it. Her dark, silky pubic hair stood in contrast to her pale complexion, whisps curling against the edges of her panties. Cogita’s pink clit was just as excited as Volo’s cock, nudging out from between the lips of her pussy, ready to greet it. Her bra was too tight, just as it had looked from behind her dress, the dress that she now discarded on the floor far behind them. Her heavy breasts bounced with each of her movements. Cogita released her hair, only slightly longer than her son’s, a slight curl to the tips, falling down her back.
Volo felt like he would go completely insane if he had to wait any longer to feel her against him.
“Be patient…” Cogita pulled her thong to one side, letting Volo have a closer look at how wet he’d made her. “I was waiting all night for you.”
Volo didn’t object, too obsessed with his mother’s most vulnerable place.
Cogita lowered her drooling pussy against his waiting cock. She pressed down gently, letting herself slide from the base all the way up to the tip until he was pressed against the place he was forbidden to enter. She moaned in pleasure, captivated by the bliss of finally getting to use her favorite toy.
He wouldn’t last long.
“Show me how it made you feel.”
Cogita laid her hands against his cheeks, staring at him with an expression of affection and adoration that confused him, twisted in him like a hot blade. He grabbed her hips, spurred on by that look, digging into her until her soft skin bleached white. Volo rolled Cogita’s hips against him, pressed her down where he wanted her, thrusting against her to an erratic rhythm best suited to satisfy himself.
He crashed into her chest, sucking her skin into his mouth until it bloomed dark purple, driving his sharp teeth down into her with untamed violence.
He came against her with a furious growl all at once, threads of his cum melting down her pussy, across her lower abdomen, against the inside of her thighs. He hissed, catching his breath, sweat shining across his brow, carrying the blood with it as it ran down his face. He was flushed, totally spent, his usual sobriety stunning him and quickly funneling into humiliation at his lack of composure. He’d lost like he always did against Cogita’s body, but each time he caved to her it wounded him more. He couldn’t look at her.
Cogita laughed softly, stepping back from him quicker than he would have liked. She spread herself open, Volo’s cum rolling down her pussy like tears, desperate for purchase deep inside her that it would never have.
“Don’t look away.” Cogita pressed a bead of cum into her clit, letting her foot rest between Volo’s legs. “Look at what you could have had if only you had listened to your mother.”
Volo felt his head swim, still dizzy from the high of his orgasm. Every cell in his body screamed with the need to be one with her, to push inside the place she held open, showing him. It felt good. It felt right. The special kind of comfort that could be granted to him only by his mother.
“I cleaned you up,” Cogita’s breath grew heavy as she stared down at Volo. “Now it’s only fair that you help clean up Mommy too.”
Volo moved without thinking, as if hypnotized, nestling his face into her soft pussy. The blood from his face and hair painted her thighs. He’d lost, humiliated already—there was nothing more left to lose, nothing left to hold him back. He licked along the sides of her lips, swallowing his own cum in the process. He worked fast, pressing his tongue in deeper, knowing he’d have to lap up whatever happened to fall to the floor beneath them. Cogita held herself open for him wider, moaning while he worked relentlessly.
“Good boy…” Cogita sighed, finally offering Volo the smallest bit of approval, her signal that she was at the brink of falling apart. “Just like that.”
Volo pushed his tongue inside her, tasting her slick, thick on him. He was cheating, pressing up too far inside, but he needed to feel her, how she squeezed around him, how warm and comforting she felt deep inside. Cogita permitted it, lost in the feeling, her legs jolting as she came closer to climax. Volo gripped her tightly, pressing into the spot he knew she loved best and she came, thrusting into his waiting mouth as she rode it out, using him however she wanted.
She held him there for a few moments, enjoying how his tongue shivered against her, how his hot, patient breath steamed from his lips against her. Then, just as quickly as she had praised him, she disposed of him, just like she did her dress. She leaned far enough away so that Volo would have the room to get onto his knees on the floor.
“On your knees.”
Volo didn’t listen at first, glassy, vacant eyes too focused on her nude form.
Cogita grabbed him by the neck of his shirt, throwing him to the ground with no regard for how he’d land. He crashed onto his knees, where he was quickly pinned and crushed by one of her feet. She pushed his face into the mess he’d made of blood and cum on the wooden floor.
“You missed a spot.” Cogita held Volo's face against it until he was forced to accept it, frustrated—humiliated—but swallowing his own cold cum and dead blood at his mother’s command. He growled, bucking against her impressive strength once he was finally finished. She knelt down and leaned in close, a deceptive smile creasing the corners of her eyes. She stroked his hair.
“Much better.”
————— ୨୧ —————
Cogita opened the curtains and the new moon washed over their bed.
“I know you'll do the right thing this time.” She touched her hand to her jaw, admiring the new uniform she had dressed him in.
“It can't be helped,” she smiled. “A boy like you is helpless without his mother.”
Cogita cued him to turn around, touching his shoulders and nudging him to face the door. She gathered his hair into her palms and smoothed it into a glossy line before binding it together at the scalp, then twisting it into a tight bun and looping it though.
She leaned in to press her lips against the back of his exposed neck. “I think you look better like this,” she whispered. “Keep it this way from now on.”
Volo retrieved his axe from its place next to the door; it felt like an extension of his body that had finally returned.
“I’ll come back for you.”