****** Mommy Goes to Heaven by Sally and Peter Kelsall ******
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Mommy Goes to Heaven


Let me tell you about Angela, my angel.

For the last two years, on just about every school day afternoon, I have picked
my daughter up from school. You see, I run my father's garage so I pretty much
come and go as I please. While waiting for Jodie, I like to sit on the wall
just inside the school gates and watch the moms coming to collect their kids.
Out of at least a hundred parents who gather there at the end of every
afternoon there are only ever about three or four guys, so as you can imagine,
I'm well known. Maybe I don't know all of them, but I'm on nodding terms with
at least half of them and I regularly chat to a smaller group of five or six.
You see, I've never had any problems chatting with women and I'm one of those
guys that feel at ease talking with women about their kids and their lives as I
do when I'm bullshitting with the guys at the garage.

I'd be lying if I told you that I hadn't fantasized about bedding one or two of
them (preferably at the same time!) but of all the women, there was only one
who you could classify as a serious threat to my fidelity. Her name, if you
hadn't already guessed it, was Angela; the only woman there who I thought of as
'smart'. Our daughters, Jodie and Lisa, were in the same class and so I had
known both her and her husband since they both started school. She drove a
blue, classic Aston Martin sports car, and always dressed immaculately. Angela
was about my age; mid-thirties and that afternoon she looked as good as she
ever had.

It was a warm, late spring day and she wore a thin, red sleeveless summer
dress. It reached only to her mid-thigh so as she walked towards me, with her
small breasts moving freely, I could see most of her smooth, tanned legs. There
was a half smile on her face, like she was remembering a private joke. Although
I usually chat easily with the other moms, I could never quite get it right
with Angela. Whenever I spoke to her I got tongue-tied and my attempts at humor
always seemed to come out wrong, leaving her with a smile on her face, but
silent. The most I could usually ever say with any certainty was 'Hello!'

But that day she has stopped next to me and she seemed to want to engage me in
conversation. At first it was just about the school and our daughters, but
after a while she asked if my garage would be able to fix her car. Apparently
it had been playing up recently and on that day wouldn't start at all. I told
her that I had always loved her car and would be glad to check it over myself.
Being bold, I told her I could even come over to her house and check it out at
no extra charge rather than have it towed to the garage. She seemed delighted
at the suggestion and I searched her eyes to see if any of that delight was at
the thought of seeing me alone. Needless to say, I didn't detect anything. We
chatted a little more and I agreed to come round the next day.

On the way home I alternated between hope and despair. On the one hand I felt
like my dream of being alone with Angela was about to come true, but on the
other I felt that she might be cynically exploiting her friendship with me to
get her car fixed. That evening and all through the night I was restless, I
felt like a teenager about to go on his first date. I didn't tell my wife about
my appointment; she knew Angela too and there was always the chance that her
female intuition would click in and she would be suspicious.

Morning finally came and after dropping Jodie at school I drove straight to
Angela's. She answered the door wearing the same thin red dress as the day
before.

"Where's this car then?" I asked after we had said our good mornings, and then,
with a bit of innuendo, "I've been dying to get my hands on it for years!"

Angela smiled curiously at me, as though she was somehow sizing me up. It
wasn't a sexual thing, however, more like she was eyeing me up to see if I was
fit for the job. I was a bit taken aback and added:

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of it!"

She snapped out of it and handed me the keys.

"It's in the garage. Have a look at it and I'll bring you out a coffee."

I strolled to the double garage and unlocked the door, cursing that I had
already been so crass in our brief encounter. The magnificent car sat silently
in the middle of the floor, looking like a sleeping lioness. In the dim light I
imagined Angela sitting in it, her foot on the throttle, controlling the
awesome power. I imagined that red dress riding up her thigh as she drove, her
blonde hair blowing in the wind. I loved to watch women drive and the image in
my mind brought an instant response from my cock.

I tried the ignition; to my surprise the engine turned over beautifully. The
purr was like music to my ears; I could not detect a single wrong note and yet
I'm sure Angela had told me it wouldn't even start. I lifted the hood to look
at the engine. It was clean and perfect; all 8 cylinders were firing in harmony
- there was absolutely nothing wrong with the car at all.

Angela arrived with the coffee as I lowered the hood. I switched off the engine
and took the proffered cup.

I smiled at her.

"Well, It starts alright and it runs perfectly. What exactly was the problem
yesterday?"

Angela looked at me coolly again.

"I lied", she replied, then hesitated before finishing: "Peter,
listen.........I may be wrong, but I think you wanted to see me........alone.
The car......well, the car was just an excuse to get you here. I hope you don't
mind?"

She seemed to have mustered up a lot of courage to say that and when she
finished she looked at me quizzically. My heart missed a beat. I wasn't sure
what to say. I think my mouth must have just hung open. Was she saying what I
thought she was saying?

"Look, Angela," I said, desperately trying to summon up the words, wondering
how I could put this without pissing her off, "I DID want to see you alone
because I consider you a friend. I never feel we get a chance for a real chat
at the school gates. I never asked to visit you because, well, I just thought
it wouldn't be, you know, appropriate."

Angela laughed aloud. Whether it was from relief or pity, I don't know.

"That's funny", she replied, "I never do what's 'appropriate'." She mimicked my
Southern accent when she said that last word.

I joined in her laughter; mine I can tell you, was wholly due to relief.
"That's why I like you, Angela", I said. "A lot of women are too timid to be
the way you are, I admire you."

She stopped laughing instantly when I told her I admired her. A seriousness
seemed to come over her. "Come inside Peter", she suddenly said, and obediently
I followed her back to the house.

When we were in the confines of the living room she turned to me and said,
"Peter, do you find me attractive?" She asked it in a very abstract way, in a
way that made me we want to ask: 'Is this a trick question?'

Instead I blurted: "Christ yes, Angela, of all the women at school you're the
best looker by a mile".

She grimaced, as though these words gave her little satisfaction. "And do you
want to make love to me?" she continued, still talking as though this was just
a hypothetical question.

Once again she had totally overwhelmed me and I fought to answer her.

"Uhm......Angela, you know that I'm married and well, if I wasn't married and
you weren't married either and we'd just met, then yes I think I'd definitely
think that I would possibly maybe think about...."

"I meant here, now." Her answer cut through my blathering.

"Yes, God yes", I breathed and my whole body started to tremble.

"Do you mean that?" she asked.

The blood drained from my head to my cock and I answered: "Angela I would steal
and kill for you, whatever you asked me to do I would."

"I'm glad you feel that way Peter", she said, "because I want you to make love
to me and I don't want you to be gentle."

I was about to faint with lust and the desire to touch her, but the last part
of her sentence confused me. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"Just what I said, I want you to treat me roughly." Just saying those words
seemed to send her into to her own personal world of lust, her eyes seemed to
lose focus and her voice became more distant. "No, more than roughly, I want
you to hurt me. When we make love I want to feel pain."

"I, I don't know if I can." I stammered. Now I was shaking more than ever. I
loved her, I had no desire to hurt her, I had never hurt a woman in my entire
life. I loved women. "Peter", she said, seeming to return to reality. "You said
you would do anything for me, but you refuse to do the first thing I ask."

I suddenly saw the door to her body closing shut fast. "I, I didn't refuse.
It's just that what you said came as a real surprise that's all. I never met a
woman who asked me that before. You mean you really want me to hurt you? You
want me to slap your bottom or something?"

It was bizarre, we were talking about sex, yet discussing it like I'd discuss
whether a customer wants an oil change or not.

"Yes Peter", she replied, "I want you to slap me. But more than that I want you
to tear the clothes from my body, punch me, tie me up and bugger me. I want you
to bite me and eat me. I want you to piss and shit on me. I want you to whip
me, scratch me, pull my hair and twist my arms. Peter, I want you to hurt me in
anyway you can. I want you to treat me as badly as you can. Will you do that
for me Peter? Please, if you want me to I'll beg you. Peter I need it."

As she went through this foul litany she seemed to become more and more
hysterical and the disgusting pictures that she painted in my mind turned me on
more than I had ever been before. Hearing her ask me to do those things,
unlocked a room in my mind that I didn't know existed. Every foul, disgusting
thought I had ever had about a woman had been kept hidden in that room. Every
thought that had ever been to do with torture or abuse, those primeval urges,
now bubbled to the surface.

My mouth went dry but I managed to croak: "Angela, I HAVE to know that you're
sure about this. Once I start to hurt you, I don't know if I can control
myself."

If she had said no at the point I'm not sure I could have stopped myself
anyway.

Angela took my hands in hers and pulled me to her, shuddering. At last we had
made physical contact and the touch of her body made me shiver too. "David, I'm
more sure about this than I have been about anything before. I WANT you to lose
control." Then she added, almost coyly, "When you finish with me, I want to be
just about unconscious."

I hugged her and smelt her beautiful hair. I sensed that this was the first and
probably the last time I would hold her like this, innocently. I felt her soft
hair against my face. I smelt her beautiful perfume, my fingers touched the
smooth skin of her neck. The touch of her temporarily banished the demons. All
I wanted to do right then was hold her in my arms and protect her from hers. I
think she sensed this and pulled away from me.

I couldn't meet her eyes as I said: "Angela, I don't know if I can do this."

Instantly she slapped my face as hard as she could and looked at me with real
anger. Shocked, my face stinging with the pain, I tasted blood in my mouth. She
saw my surprise and a look of contempt crossed her face. That contempt
mobilized me more than anything else could and I stepped back slightly and
slapped her face. She made no attempt to stop it. I stopped her from stumbling
with my other hand and as she twisted around I took hold of her hair and
wrapped it around my hand and pulled. As I pulled her hair, she held my hand
with both of hers which pushed her breasts towards me. With my free hand I took
hold of the neckline of her dress and with a sharp pull ripped it from her. She
was naked beneath. The sight of her naked, helpless body was sufficient to
summon up all those demons again........

What happened after that is a blur. I know I screwed her on the floor and over
the sofa. I bit her so hard she bled. I tasted her blood and wanted more. I
punched her directly in the face and made her nose bleed so that I could drink
her blood. Whatever I did to her she took, she hardly made a sound, only the
occasional low grunt. Her assent to let me do whatever I liked to her yielding
body drove me on. Everything I had ever wanted to do to a woman but had been
held back by fear of what they may think I now did. My assault on her lasted
well over an hour at the end of it I was exhausted and Angela lay in a crumpled
heap on the floor. My passion never died, everything I did to her was new and
exciting, my cock stayed rigid throughout. Eventually, as she lay, a bleeding
heap on the floor, I lifted her face in one hand, and one or two strokes with
my hand was sufficient to shoot the enormous load I had built up over her face,
hair and breasts. As I came down from the orgasmic high I looked at her face
aghast. The cum mingled with the blood. She whimpered, so I dropped her head to
the floor. I was too shocked to say or do anything else. Somehow I managed to
stumble away, dress and leave.

The rest of the day I spent in a daze. I didn't come out of it until I saw
Angela limping towards me at school. She was now wearing a trouser suit and a
large pair of sunglasses. I didn't know what to say to her - stupidly I asked
her if she was alright, but to my amazement she gave me a broad grin and
replied that she felt great. She lowered her glasses to give me a glimpse of
her black eye where I had hit her and then thanked me for what I had done. I
couldn't believe she could have possibly enjoyed the ferocity of my attack, but
she had. I asked her about what would her husband say, but she told me not to
worry and that she would invent something.

The following day, Angela rang me at the garage. She didn't waste much time and
asked if I could come around again. I didn't hesitate, told her I would be
there in fifteen minutes, however, to replace the receiver needed both hands.
Would Angela want me to attack her again? All I wanted was just to make love to
her. As I drove to her house I was determined that I wouldn't hurt her. But as
I got out of my car, I intuitively felt that simple lovemaking was not what she
wanted, and worse, I was already excited that she would want more.......

She answered her door wearing another thin dress. As I walked past her I
couldn't help wondering if she would want me to rip it from her. At first
conversation was difficult, almost as though what had happened yesterday were
some strange dream that had happened to two other people. We sat on the sofa
where I had raped her the previous day and as I watched her sitting beside me I
couldn't help but admire her beauty. Her perfect skin, her long silky hair, the
tips of her breasts as they pushed against her dress. She was so beautiful,
even up close, that she could have been a model. I loved everything about her.
She caught me watching her and asked what I was thinking.

"I was thinking that I could look at you for forever, you're so beautiful", I
said.

She seemed frustrated by my remark.

"Oh, you may think I look beautiful, but inside I know I'm ugly. I want to be
punished again. Last time you hurt me I actually felt at peace afterwards."

"Angela, listen to me, I can't attack you again. Please don't ask me to."

"Peter, you must. I want you to tie me to my bed and beat me again."

"Please Angela, no. I want to make love to you. Not like this, but as lovers.
Please don't ask me to hurt you again."

She seemed to get angry with me. Her voice took on a commanding tone: "Don't be
stupid, I hate you - don't you understand? I don't find you attractive at all
you filthy grease monkey. Now, you must hurt me. If you don't want to, you can
leave now, but if you do, you will never see me again."

The thin black dress was buttoned down the front and now Angela slowly began to
unbutton it, revealing her naked body beneath. As she undid the dress, button
by button she stared straight at my face, questioningly.

"Do you really not want to see my body ever again?"

I was wracked with anguish. Had she really meant that she hated me? Was she
just saying that to make me hurt her again? Part of me still wanted to leave, I
knew that if I stayed, after the mood I was in before, I could come close to
killing her. My eyes were torn from her face to the sight of her magnificent
tanned body being exposed to my view.

"You just want me to tie you to your bed and beat you?" I said, playing for
time.

Angela relaxed, realizing that I would stay no matter what. She flicked her
hair over her shoulder.

"To start with I want you to tie me face down on the bed. Then I want you to
beat me - I have selected a belt already. Then, when you've finished I want you
to fuck my ass. You must push in as deeply as you can. I want it to hurt."

How could she know that was one of my most enduring fantasies? I had always
wanted to fuck a woman's ass but had never been able to even begin to suggest
it. I felt like she could look into my mind.

"Is that all?" I said, trying to remain calm.

It wasn't, she handed me a wicked looking knife. I took it, bemused.

"Then I want you to cut me."

I was sickened. "Angela, no! You must be crazy, I can't do that. Please don't
ask me to", I pleaded.

"You must. Before we go upstairs you must promise me that you will do
everything I want."

I was running out of time. "Can I have a moment to think about it?"

"You can have two minutes. I will go to my room and wait for you. If you want
to leave you still can. But remember what I said."

She rose from the sofa and the black dress slid to the floor. Deliberately,
slowly, giving me a full view of her delicious back and firm, rounded ass, she
walked to the stairs. I still wanted to leave but the stronger part had taken
hold of me again, I knew I would go to her room and probably do whatever she
asked.

I climbed the stairs after her, still carrying the knife, and entered her room.
She lay, naked on the bed, arms outstretched in a gesture of total submission.
"Are you ready?" she asked, then , "Do you promise you will do what I asked?"

"I promise", I said in a whisper.

"Then I'm ready too", she said.

She looked so sweet I faltered. How could I hurt her in cold blood? But Angela
was expecting this and as I bent over her to kiss her lips, the slaps that hit
my face were well aimed and painful. As the next slap came at me I grabbed her
wrist and twisted her around, kneeling on her back. I tied her hands and feet
to the bedposts with cords that were already in place. When she was secure I
found the wide leather belt that she had ready for me on her dressing table and
struck her with it. The first stroke hit her ass. The next was on her thighs
and the rest, some twenty or so, I don't remember well, just went everywhere as
I went kind of crazy.

Eventually I threw the belt to the corner and tore off my own clothes. My cock
was rigid. I mounted her and pulled open her reddening cheeks, exposing the
brown bud of her tight asshole. It wasn't easy to penetrate her without
lubrication, but as soon as I had thrust the head in, the rest of my cock
followed easily. As I went deeper I heard her gasp for the first time. The gasp
inspired me to go harder and faster and deeper. She was totally helpless, tied
as she was, and the combination of the sensation of her tight ass around my
cock and the thought of her helplessness made me cum almost immediately. When I
pulled out she seemed to sigh with pleasure.

I undid her bonds and rolled her over. I was hoping that this was sufficient,
but I was wrong.

"Now, cut me!" she commanded.

I ran my hands over her beautiful body, not knowing what to do. She must have
realized I was hesitating because once more she slapped me.

"Now you bastard! Do it!" she screamed at me.

I picked up the knife again and pressed it against her face. I pressed
slightly, but not enough to cut.

"Cut me! Make me scream with pain!" she shouted, screwing up her eyes in
anticipation of the blade.

But I couldn't. I felt my stomach turn over and I ran to her bathroom to throw
up in the toilet. I sat with my head down the loo for ages. Afterwards I washed
my hands and face and went back into her room. Angela had put on a loose
fitting white dress that was tied around her neck and reached nearly to the
floor. If she was in pain from the beating and the buggery she didn't show it.
I couldn't help hating her for what she had made me do.

"Why do you want me to hurt you?" I asked her.

"You don't need to know", she said, "All you need to know is that I am grateful
to you for doing it."

"Grateful!" I shouted. "How can you sit there and say that like I'm providing
some kind of service, Angela? I love you, how can you have wanted that?"

"It does not concern you. I just did."

She was so unreachable that I lost my temper and hit her again. She made no
move to stop the blow and just looked up at me, inscrutably. At that point I
lost control. Every time I hit her she seemed to just be looking at me with
more and more contempt. I picked up the knife.

"You want me to cut you, bitch?" I screamed, "You want me to, huh?"

I clumsily thrust the knife at her but she seemed to move towards it, as though
inviting the blow. She winced as the blade struck her chest. I pulled the knife
away but I had cut through the flimsy dress and into her breast. We both
stopped; Angela put her fingers to the bleeding wound and then slowly licked
the blood from her fingers. She smiled; I had done as she wanted after all. I
was furious with her and slashed at her again, drawing yet more blood. This
appeared to arouse her even more. It was incredible to watch the
transformation; profoundly erotic in a way I can hardly describe. Every time I
cut her she seemed to have an orgasm. Eventually she was too weak to stand,
blood was everywhere and her dress was in ribbons. She collapsed backwards on
the bed and raised the tattered dress over her bloody thighs.

"Take me, Peter", she said.

She needn't have asked. I was on her, fucking the dying life from her bleeding
body and it was the most orgasmic experience of my life. Later I would say that
it was the happiest I'd ever seen her.

She must have died before I came, but I didn't stop - I never wanted it to
stop, but eventually, when I came to my senses I realized what I had done.
Angela and I had both fulfilled our desires, but hers had cost her her life.

I didn't really know what to do. I was naked, covered with blood when Angela's
husband came home early and found me sitting on the sofa, staring out of the
window.

"My god, Peter - what's happened?" he asked.

I looked up at him, somewhat dazed.

"Angela......she's dead", I said simply.

He looked pained and put his hands up to his face. He was quiet for a minute
then muttered, almost to himself: "That crazy bitch, she's finally done it."

His reaction surprised me.

"What do you mean", I asked, confused.

"She wanted me to hurt her when we made love. She wanted me to hurt her until I
killed her. I think she was still suffering from post-natal depression. Of
course I refused. She said that if I couldn't do it, she'd find a man who
would. I guess you're that man."

I don't know if I managed to say anything. I just knew that Angela had been ill
and I had taken advantage of her. Whether I said anything or not, he seemed to
sense my guilt and said:

"It's not your fault, she would have found someone else to do the same thing
sooner or later - I'm just sorry that it was you."

I was dumbstruck with the horror of the whole situation - what I had become at
Angela's request. I had become part of her illness.

"Listen, please do me a favor", he asked, "If I clean this mess up, can you
fetch Lisa from school and take her to your house. I'll try and make this look
like a break and entry killing, but I don't want Lisa here."

"What.....what should I tell her then?" I said.

"Tell her........tell her 'mommy's gone to heaven'", he replied.


Send feedback to sally34@hotmail.com and kelsall@enta.net