"Timmy, please don't do that," she finally managed to say, her voice coming out in a low whisper.

"I can if I wanna," he replied.

"Timmy, don't!"

"Aw, shut up, Mom," he said, pumping his prick faster. "Don't tell me what I can do or not do." He sounded just like her father, her brother, her husband – every man who had ever dominated her.

"Do it in your room then, please," she said.

"I wanna do it right there," he said. "And I wanna see you, more."

"You want to…" Donna's body jerked.

"Show it to me, Mom!" Timmy demanded. "Lemme see what it looks like."

"See what?" she asked, fearfully, knowing what he was talking about. "Your fucking cunt!" Timmy snapped. "I wanna see your fucking cunt, Mom!"

"Please," Timmy she said, tears forming in her eyes. "You know I'm your mother."

"Show it to me!" he rasped.

Donna's body shook, and she was afraid now, but not that her son would slap her or hit her. He wouldn't do that. No one had ever beaten her. They just made her do what they wanted by words, gestures, and she obeyed. She was afraid her son was going to dominate her just as the others had, and she wouldn't be able to prevent it. She couldn't stop him, she had to do as he said – her way was to obey, just as she had all her life.

Men gave the orders, women obeyed. Men made demands, and women complied. No matter what the man wanted, women had to do it. Donna had been raised that way.

So she did as her son ordered.

She pulled her robe out of her crotch, her fingers shaking.