Chapter 128: Oedipus Spanks
Chapter 01
The global economy was in the shitter. When the financial crisis began, I'd only been out of school and in my new job for a few months. It was a case of last in, first out. It didn't matter that I liked what I was doing, it didn't matter that I was good at what I was doing, it didn't even matter that I was a hard and dedicated worker; I was new, I was out.
Mom had been so proud of me the day she helped me to move out of the family home and into my own flat. It was a small place, basically just half an attic space in a three storey house that had been converted into six flats. As such, I hadn't moved all the stuff I'd accumulated from 18 years living at home into the new place. There just wasn't room for it all. I still had my bedroom at home and all my crap – my good crap – stayed put.
It broke Mom's heart the day I called her on the phone and said I just couldn't afford to live there anymore. The job market was in the toilet, I had no skills and very little experience, people just weren't hiring teenagers for anything other than menial tasks at below minimum wage.
I packed my stuff into the back of Mom's Volkswagen and couldn't help but feel totally dejected as she drove me back to the family nest.
"Cheer up son," Dad said as he stood on the front porch, welcoming me back. "It'll pick up again soon. You'll be back on your feet before you know it."
Well it didn't pick up again soon. Oh, I got another job, one which I hated. Serving people at a bread and cake chain store. I had to wear a hair net. I found it humiliating and degrading, especially when people I knew came in to buy something.
School friends would find it hard to keep a straight face when they came in during their breaks from college and I'd hear them laughing the moment they stepped outside.
I didn't last very long. I was just so miserable there, Mom told me she'd rather I quit than see me so desperately unhappy all the time.
My parents weren't poor. They weren't rich by any means, but the house was paid for, Mom and Dad each had a nice car, we always went on holidays together and they had enough dough to see them through a rainy day or two if need be.
Dad had a job, but was not in a position to offer me a placement as the only positions he had any say about were graduate positions. And I wasn't a graduate.
Far from being stupid. I just didn't really have any idea what to study. Besides which, I'd been in school for a long time and wanted a change of scenery. I thought, maybe in a few years, I'd have more of an idea and go back and finish my studies then. And do so when I had some money under my belt to see me through. I didn't relish being a poor, indebted student.
Two demeaning jobs and a couple of long stints on unemployment benefit later, Mom suggested I rethink my strategy of putting university on hold. She hated to see me mope around the house, not going out, not seeing friends.
Mom gave me an allowance, Dad did too, though as Mom didn't work, I guess it all came from Dad. They had never been tight fisted. But that was besides the point. I loved them, I didn't want to have to rely on them that way indefinitely, I wanted to make my own way.
But that just wasn't happening.
So I took Mom's advice and applied to university, two years later than all of my friends. My parents would pay, as they always said they would. They didn't want paying back, they just wanted what was best for me. Seeing me twiddling my thumbs, feeling hopeless and not living my life was not what they wanted.
I only just got my application forms in on time. I hadn't been planning on doing it this year, so everything had been a rush, even visiting my old school to ask for some references.
Mom was sat in the kitchen when I came down the stairs. Dad had already left for work. I had butterflies in my stomach and was slightly agitated. What if I didn't get in? What if no one wanted me? It wasn't like I had anything to show for myself, or any great skill, or achievement from the time since I'd left school.
"C'm'ere Babes." Mom always called me that. I may have been twenty, but I was always going to be her baby boy.
I walked up to where she was seated at the breakfast bar, hands in my pockets, head down. I just stood there as she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me in close, smattering my head with little kisses.
"What are you and me going to do with ourselves this summer?" she asked. She wanted desperately to get me out of my rut.
"I dunno Mom."
"You don't know?" she chirped as if talking to a four year old, though without any patronising quality to her voice. "I'm sure we can think of something. You and me. There must be lots of things we can do together ..."
I looked up at her and smiled half-heartedly.
"If you don't mind being seen out and about with your old Mom, that is."
"You're not old Mom." My response was instantaneous.
She smiled, cupping my cheeks in her hands and drawing my head to hers, until our foreheads were touching. As we looked into each others eyes, she wrinkled her nose and rubbed it against my nose, Eskimo style.
"Dad's going to be quite busy over the next few months. He's got two major accounts and he's going to be away quite a bit. He suggested to me last night in bed, that you and I take a few little vacations. Not far. Just around Britain. A few nights here, a few nights there. Just to coincide when Dad's away, that's all. What do you say to that Babes?"
I looked up and thought for a moment or two. Far from being objectionable, I thought it was a cool idea. "Like where?" I asked.
"Where would you like?"
A smile came to my face. The moment Mom saw it, it made her so happy that she pulled my face to hers and planted a great big smooch on my lips.
"Mom!"
"I'm sorry Babes," Mom chuckled at the strength of my protest. "I just haven't seen that smile of yours in such a long time. I missed it, that's all."
"It's okay Mom. I'm sorry I ..." I laughed myself. I had been taken quite off guard by the location of the kiss. "It's okay."
I raised my index finger to my lips and kissed it, then pressed that same finger against my Mom's lips. Mom kissed them back and smiled at me. She stood up and wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight for a few minutes, gently swaying side to side, back and forth in her arms. She was so comforting, my mother. I loved her with all my heart. We'd always been friends. She was the one who would always sneak up to comfort me after I'd been disciplined or punished by Dad.
I'd hear the soft footsteps on the landing and the quiet knock on the door, then she'd just slip in and come lay down alongside me on my bed, put her arms over me and rest her cheek on mine. It was never long before she had me up and about and smiling again.
And Dad wasn't nasty or anything. I loved him too. He was just the parent who dealt with all that sort of thing. It was only right that a young boy learn what his mistakes were and take responsibility for them. Dad saw to all that, so Mom didn't have to. She was free to be the love giving parent.
And that was just fine. Given the choice of Mom coming up to my bedroom to give me a cuddle and a kiss or Dad doing the same – eurgghh – I'd choose Mom any day of the week.
"So where were you going to suggest?" she asked.
I looked at her and smiled, before giving my answer, making her smile too.
A few weeks went by before the first of Dad's business trips. Mom had succeeded in bringing me some way out of my slump, but I still hadn't heard back from the university people other than a receipt of my application form. Mom had booked the first of our trips. Cornwall.
Mom drove all the way, stopping at service stations every hundred or so miles, for a break, something to eat and drink, a pee, or even just to stretch our legs. We had a few CDs in the car that she liked to listen to and I hadn't brought any. All my songs were on my mp3 player and required earphones. So most of the way, it was KT Tunstall, Alanis Morissette and Liz Phair, three of Mom's favourites.
My Mom was a cool chick, with music to match. It may not have been my cup of tea, but it was so much better than Dad's classical music that he kept in his BMW.
I'd never really listened much to Mom's music in her car, because I only ever went on short journeys with her, five or ten minutes at a time and the music would be turned down in the background because we were usually talking. Whenever we went anywhere of some distance, it was always in Dad's car, with Dad driving and Beethoven and Bach and Handel and the like on his stereo.
But this was probably the first time that I really got to listen to some of the stuff Mom was into. Oh, she played a bit of KT Tunstall around the house. I knew half the lyrics to 'Suddenly I See' myself, but Liz Phair was fairly new to me. And it came as something of a surprise.
There were two songs in particular that gelled with me. One was called 'Little Digger' in which the songstress kept repeating the line 'My Mother Is Mine' which made me feel kind of happy because for the next few days, my mother was going to be – all mine. And it made me feel close to my Mom, because she was hearing the line too and every time Liz sang it, Mom would look at me and I would look at her. She'd smile, then I'd smile. I don't know what the song was about, but that line brought us closer somehow.
The other song was causing Mom to blush somewhat and she was refusing to look anywhere other than straight ahead. The display text on the central console readout simply had three letters. H. W. C.
The song hadn't got off to the best of starts, using the F word – a word we generally didn't use in our family, but it just spiralled from there. Several times Mom's left arm twitched, threatening to leave the steering wheel to do something about the song.
If I thought the 'My Mother Is Mine' line had been repeated a lot in the other song, it was nothing compared to the repetitive lyric in this one – 'Gimme Your Hot White Cum'. Over and over and over again.
Mom's face looked like it was going to explode as I cast my eyes sideways in my head, trying not to blush myself. The song was all about a woman pulling back on her lover's penis to make him ejaculate on her so she could rub it in her face and hair and all over her body to make her skin look fresh and youthful. I didn't even know there were songs about that sort of thing out there. I'd never heard a song with the F word in it before today.
When the song finally came to a close what must have seemed like twenty minutes later, even though it was only about three, I turned my head to my mother and she turned hers to me. Without saying anything, I failed to keep my smile contained and the snigger that came out triggered a similar reaction in Mom. It wasn't long before we were laughing so hysterically that Mom had to pull over, for fear of causing an accident.
"I'm sorry Babes, I'm so ashamed."
I put my hand on my mother's. "It's okay Mom. I liked it. It was catchy." I began to sing sheepishly, "Gimme your hot white cu-uh-uh-um! Gimme your hot white cum."
I didn't stop to think how stupid it sounded me singing it, asking for another man's semen.
"Oh stop Babes, you're embarrassing me."
"Go on, sing it with me Mom." I pressed the previous track select on the stereo and the song began to play again. Track eleven.
A minute later we were driving and smiling again, singing the song together, Mom and me, "Gimme your hot white cu-uh-uh-um, gimme your hot white cum!"
We hadn't been to Cornwall for many years. I think the last time we went, I was about twelve, but I'd remembered it fondly, staying in an apartment in St. Ives, around the back, overlooking Porthmeor Beach where we'd watch the tremendous waves that would come crashing in on a stormy day.
But at relative short notice and with the onset of tourist season, which always started early in Cornwall, we hadn't been able to find the ideal spot for a short break, instead having to book a hotel.
Cornwall is a little unusual for Britain. Most of the country is served by chain hotels, catering to both the budget conscious and the cost no object crowd. But what Cornwall was lacking, was those famous brand hotels, whether they be Travelodges, Premier Inns, Holiday Inns or Hiltons, because those hotels were usually set up on routes frequented by businessmen who travelled on the road, like Dad.
Cornwall was a bit of a dead end, geographically speaking, sitting down there in the south west of Britain. Indeed, the most southerly point in mainland Britain was located in Cornwall – the Lizard, so too the most westerly point – Land's End. But far from being a scenic dead end, Cornwall was one of the most beautiful places in the whole of the British Isles.
But that left us in a hotel. The only place we'd been able to find that had space was in Penzance. And the rooms were a little pricey. A little too pricey to warrant two rooms, one each for Mom and me. After all, it was only for three nights and it was just the two of us. And at a cost of £150 a night, it was just crazy to spend £900 for two rooms for two people, particularly when bed, breakfast and evening meal for two was included in the cost of each room.
When we got to the room, we were in for a surprise. There was just the one bed. Mom went into a bit of a panic. She'd booked online and couldn't recall whether this was correct or not. She was sure she'd booked a room with two single beds.
"Don't sit down," she called out to me, just as I was about to slump down and crease the corner of the double bed.
She rummaged through her handbag for the printout. The look on her face when she looked up at me told me it was Mom's error. Her jaw was hanging in mid air. She raised her hand to her mouth.
"I looked at so many different rooms on the computer," she said. "I was sure it was for two singles. I'll go see if they can change."
"Mom. Mom," I shouted, trying to snap her out of it. "It doesn't matter, it's okay. I'll sleep on the floor. I've done it before. I'll survive."
She walked up to me and stroked the side of my face with her hand. "No Babes. Bring the luggage, we'll go back down to reception and see if they can put us in another room."
The hotel was fully booked however and there were no other rooms.
We settled our luggage back into the room and used the facilities to refresh ourselves. Then set out for a little walk to see what was nearby. After about an hour, we returned to the hotel, but it was still too early for dinner, so we strolled over to the bar.
"What will you have Mom? My treat." I always did that sort of thing. Even though the money I had was basically pocket money given to me by Mom or Dad, I at least liked to put my hands in my pockets when I could, if only to show my appreciation to them. Yes, it was money they wanted me to spend on myself, but I really took pleasure in buying Dad a drink every now and again, or surprising Mom with flowers for no particular reason, just that I loved her.
"Uh, G&T for me Babes. Lemon, no ice."
"And a pint of Kronenburg for me," I said to the hotel bar man.
£7.50. Jeepers. That was a lot, I thought, looking for some loose change to go with the five pound note I held at the ready in my hand.
We found a table in the window. It was a nice hotel and it had huge picture windows in the bar area, just off the lobby, that looked out to sea. We sat side by side on a leather sofa, facing out to admire the view, taking sips from our glasses and just generally relaxing, talking about our journey down, ribbing Mom about the song and discussing our plans for the next few days.
Without food, two rounds of drinks had made us a little tipsy when we went in for dinner – which was included in the price. We still had to pay for drinks. All in all, it was a very pleasant meal and Mom and I once again adjourned to the bar for a little night cap.
Mom had stayed on the gin and tonics and I had stayed on the lager, but the air conditioning in the hotel and the slightly salty meal had dried out Mom's mouth and left her craving for something long and cool.
She gestured toward my glass, "Mind if I ..."
I shook my head. "Go ahead Mom. Feel frrree," I said, stumbling on my words with a giggle in my intoxicated state. I think if I'd been a little more sober I would have made some pathetic complaint about catching cooties from my Mom sharing my glass.
Mom lifted the near full pint glass to her lips and began to slurp. And slurp. And slurp. And before I knew it, all but a half inch at the bottom was gone from my glass.
My Mom let out a little belch, then wiping her lips with the back of her hand, said, "God, I needjid zhat!" Then smiled and began to giggle.
I went and bought myself a replacement pint and brought along a half for my mother and settled it down alongside her G&T glass.
"Whashat for? Are you tchrying to get Mommy dhrunk, Babesh?"
"Mom ... I think you're well past that stage. Jush enjoy it."
We managed to get each other back to the room safely and we both seemed to sober up slightly when we saw our bed situation. Mom had insisted we share the bed, but I had insisted just a little bit more that we didn't. I took a pillow and a blanket while Mom was in the bathroom changing and lay them down on the floor to the side of the bed.
I could hear water running and so assumed Mom was cleaning her teeth, so instead of waiting to use the bathroom to change after Mom, I took off all my clothes and sat nude on the edge of the bed, pulling up my pyjama shorts just in time to hear the water shut off and Mom's hand on the door handle.
"Oh Babesh. I feel sho guilty about dish. Are you sure you won't shleep in zhuh bed?"
"Mom. I'm fine. Stop worrying, will you!" I settled onto the floor and Mom, in a thin green satin nightgown, that barely covered her supple thighs, slinked under the covers alongside me.
It wasn't long before she let her arm dangle out of the bed to hover over me, fidgeting, waiting for me to take it. I did. I held onto her hand.
"I love you Babesh."
"I love you Mom."
Night.
"Oww! What the ..." I was shaken out of slumber by a blunt pain to my side, then another to my stomach. Wondering where I was and what was going on, I was suddenly the recipient of one of the most agonising experiences of my life. I cried out in pain as my Mom stepped on my balls with her bare feet, then stumbled, landing on top of me in a heap.
"Mom? What are you doing?" I cried, buckling over, clenching my little guy between my legs.
Mom's face was about an inch from mine. It was dark, but I could still make her out. Suddenly I felt something wet on my face, missing my open mouth by a fraction, it trickled down my cheek.
Mom immediately lifted her hand to wipe her face and I realised, she had just inadvertently drooled on me.
"I'm sorry Babes. I forgot you were there."
I helped her to her feet and into the bathroom, where the light blinded us both. Before I could turn to leave her in privacy, she lifted her nightgown and sat straight down on the toilet and started to go. I saw the briefest, most fleeting glance of my Mom's pussy and turned my head immediately and left her alone.
Mom came out of the bathroom and took more care, stepping over me. As I watched her kneel on the bed, I caught a glimpse of her ass and Lord help me, but for some mysterious reason, completely unknown to me, my dick twitched.
"Night Babes."
"Night Mom."
I leaned over onto my side, facing away from my mother and tried to get back to sleep. Now, when I've been disturbed in the middle of the night in the past, I usually can't just fall back asleep, I have to think of something.
What I think of varies, but it probably has something to do with that song from the Sound of Music. I try to think of my favourite things, but nothing too stimulating. I normally just try to picture some ideal future for myself, a house, wife, kids, that sort of thing. But no matter what I tried to think of, all I could see in my mind's eye was the flash of brown fur between my Mom's legs and her big, juicy, succulent, perfect ass.
What was wrong with me? This was my mother. This was the woman who gave birth to me, who let me suckle on her breasts, who bathed me and dressed me and took me to school, who was always there for me, kind and caring and loving, always with a sweet hug and a kiss. And I had a boner for her?
Suffice it to say, it was a long time before I finally drifted off to sleep.
Next morning, I woke on the floor, on my back. It took me a moment or two to realise where I was, before becoming aware, like I did most mornings, that I had an erection. It wasn't sexual. It was just a need to pee. The chemicals that were released during the night by my brain to quell that desire had subsided and a new chemical sent word to my penis to wake me up to go start my day.
The next thing I became aware of was my mother, lying face down, sideways across her bed, with her arms crossed under her and her chin rested on them, looking at me. And the tent in my blanket. I twitched again and I'm sure a faint crease appeared at the corner of her mouth. Rolling onto my side, I said good morning to my mother.
"Good morning Babes. Sleep well?"
"Um, let me think about that, um ..." I smiled, so too did she.
"You're sleeping on the bed tonight."
"Mom, it's fine."
"It's not fine. You're sleeping with me. And if you refuse, I'm going to sleep on the floor as well."
"Mom, that's ridiculous."
"No. What's ridiculous is paying £150 a night and my son sleeping on the floor. That's ridiculous."
"Mom, I can't sleep with you."
"Why not? I don't bite ..." A look of mischief came to her face. "Unless you want me to!"
I laughed. "Mom. It's just not right. I'm not a little kid anymore and I'm not Dad."
"What does Dad have to do with it?"
"Well you're his wife, he's your husband, you're married, it will be like cheating."
She scoffed at me. "Why would it be like cheating? You're my son and I love you more than anything in the world. You're my darling baby boy, not some stranger picked up in a bar. You're sleeping in the bed tonight, or I'm sleeping on the floor. That's the choice. Are you gong to make your poor, old mother sleep on a hard floor?"
"Mom, you're not old." Again, I was instantaneous. But I saw the look of seriousness in her eyes. Once she got that look, I knew she meant it and would be good to her word.
"Oh alright, I'll sleep in the bloody bed if it'll make you happy."
She scooted out of the bed and knelt down alongside me, lifting my blanket and snuggled up beside me, pulling the blanket back over us both. She placed her head on my pillow and rested her palm on my chest.
"Oh God, how did you ever sleep a wink on this hard floor?"
Being drunk helped, I thought. After her mid-night foray into the bathroom, it wasn't so easy after that.
She started to rub her hand across my chest. It was just a little bit hairy. I had a little in the centre of my chest and a little upside down V on my stomach around my belly button, but most of my hair seemed to be around my nipples. And it was those that her fingers began to circle, every so often tugging a little on those hairs.
Far from finding it uncomfortable, I found it mildly soothing. What she did next however, I found to be incredibly awkward. In an attempt to get more comfortable, probably not even thinking about it, or at very least, having forgotten about it, Mom readjusted herself, bringing her right leg up onto my left thigh. Her right knee was sitting directly on top of my boner, flattening it.
As every man that has ever been will know, a flattened boner is an anxious boner. My little guy pressed into the side of my mothers knee, throbbing, pulsing, trapped.
As her head lay next to mine, I looked at her, we were breathing in each other's breath. My heart raced and her eyes fixed on mine. She was painfully aware of what she had done and was not quite sure how to extricate herself from this most unfortunate of positions that a mother and son could find themselves in. Again my erection pulsed.
Without further ado, my mother spoke, "Who's first in the bathroom, you or me?" As she was speaking, she moved her leg back to the sidelines. She tapped my chest, waiting for an answer.
"I need to pee Mom, but then you can go before I do anything else."
Why I said that, I don't know. Yes, I needed to pee, but could I get up without showing my doozie of a boner to my mother? Whatever. I got up and went and did what I needed to do.
As I washed my hands in the sink, I looked at myself in the mirror. Actually looked at myself, almost accusingly. This woman was the most precious person in the world to me and I had spent half the night having illicit thoughts about various parts of her anatomy.
I pulled my pyjama's down and let them fall around my ankles. The mirror in the hotel en suite was full length, no window, just a light. I looked at it. My penis.
Morning erections normally tended to diminish as soon as urination began. By the conclusion of urination, it was usually half mast, or semi-hard/semi-flaccid. This thing was throbbing. It was out of my foreskin and everything. That practically never happened with an a.m. boner. Yeah, I'd be hard, but not so hard that my mushroom cap would come out to play. That only happened when my mind got sexed up. As it was right now. For Mom.
Mom knocked on the door. "Can I come in Babes. Mommy's really got to pee."
I could hear her hand squeezing the door handle, so quickly reached down to pull my PJs up. I opened the door for Mom and she scooched past me and sat down on the toilet. This time I made sure not to look, instead taking me and my boner out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
I slumped back against the wall and my hand naturally found its way inside my slack fitting pyjama bottoms. I grabbed hold of my foreskin and forcibly pulled it back over my glans to cover it and afford it some protection from the harsh elements. I could however feel the telltale slickness of pre-cum all over my fingers and shaft.
I reprimanded myself for having the thoughts I was having. My own mother. My penis, hard as a rock, sliding between those delicious half moons I'd seen last night as she got back into bed. STOP IT.
Slipping between her legs to reach her fur, wrapping my arm around her body to touch the tip of my penis against her pubes, using my other arm to float up inside her nightie to cup her breast, give it a squeeze, tease a nipple. Kiss her neck from behind. Oh God, what was happening to me? I'd never been so horny in my life.
My fingers were in my mouth and I was licking my pre-cum off them. God, I was a pervert. A moment later my hand was back in my PJs and I was squeezing out another handful of my juices, again bringing them to my mouth to taste and swallow, somehow imagining they were my mother's own juices.
Oh, I've got to stop this. I have so got to stop this. I had to have a wank. I just had to have a wank. There was no way I was going to get through today with Mom without jerking off thinking about her.
No, I can't do that. I just can't. I can't I tell you. Stop it. Leave me alone. Why won't you just leave me alone?
If I had an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, the angel had his pants down and had his cock in his hand. The devil was already fucking my mother, twelve ways from Sunday.
Breakfast was an uneasy affair. We sat across the table from each other in the same seats we had occupied at dinner the previous night. I was fairly quiet, looking around the dining room, always averting my gaze when I felt Mom looking at me. Before long, Mom spoke up.
"It's perfectly natural you know."
"What is?" I asked, not for one moment thinking Mom would bring it up as a topic of conversation.
"To have an erection in the morning. Your Dad has them all the time."
"Mom!"
"Shh!" she hushed me. I'd been a bit too vigorous with my objection again. Heads were turning.
"Mom, you can't talk about shit like that."
"Why not?"
"Because ..."
"Because what?"
"Because it's sensitive."
"Oh please. You make it sound like half the world doesn't wake up in the exact same condition as you woke up. You had a boner. So what!"
"Mom!" I stifled my outrage.
"I didn't raise my son to be such a prude."
I had to smile at that. When I did, she smiled right back at me, her eyes positively glowing, perhaps realising the abject sauciness of her words at long last.
"Mom!" I said barely above a whisper.
She stood up and leaned across the table to kiss me on my cheek. As she took to her seat, her arm stretched out and her fingers wiped away the lipstick mark she had left on the side of my face.
"Come on. Let's just forget about it, eh? It's nothing. Penises have minds of their own. They stand up when they see a nice lady and they stand up when they need a pee. It's harder for ... I mean, it's more difficult for men, having such an expressive body part. When women are turned on they're a lot more subtle. It doesn't show so much unless you know where to look."
"Mom, I wasn't turned on." I lied.
"I know, I'm just saying, it's the dual nature of ... well, you know."
"Can we change the subject Mom? I had a boner, yes, I have one every morning. It just means I need to pee. It doesn't go away 'til I've had one."
"Consider the subject changed. Right, I think it's going to be a nice day, shall we go to St. Ives?"
I smiled and nodded, unable to disguise my delight.
"As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives, every wife had seven sacks, every sack had seven cats, every cat had seven kits. Cats, kits, sacks, wives, how many were going to St. Ives?"
"Two!" I replied. "Just you and me Mom!"
St. Ives hadn't changed a bit. It was exactly as I remembered it, frozen in time.
Parking the car at the top of the hill overlooking Porthmeor Beach, we wandered down into the town. For some reason, I don't know what, I don't know why, Mom took a hold of my hand and we strolled about like that all morning, releasing only momentarily to pick things up or put things down, or hand over money or scratch our noses, but always returning to hold each other's hand. It was nice and gentle in a caring sort of way and I didn't feel in the least bit self conscious about holding my mother's hand in public.
Mom bought me a new watch in one of the side streets, just because I liked it and she caught me looking at it. It came as a complete surprise, but such a nice one nonetheless. We sat down in a pub for some lunch, nothing heavy because we'd be eating late.
It was a lovely day, the sun was shining bright, it was warm, it was just beautiful, perfect in every way. Mom and me had only light summery clothes on, I was in shorts and a T shirt, Mom a skirt and a thin cotton T shirt. We really didn't need anything more.
It was mid afternoon before Mom started to drive us back, but we needed to stop off for a few supplies along the way. There was a supermarket and a few chain stores, but Mom wanted to pick up some snacks and some drinks, so we wouldn't have to spend so much in the hotel bar. We could take the alcohol up to our room instead and save a bundle.
As we walked into the supermarket, I said to Mom, "I think I need a shit. Where's the toilet?" I had to be crude, to disguise my true intentions.
Mom pointed out the toilets and I said, "I'll catch you up. I'll come find you when I'm done."
I found a stall, wiped the seat with some toilet paper, yanked down my shorts and pants and took my dick in my hand, shut my eyes and began wanking.
Toilet paper. I'll need some toilet paper, so I ripped off a few sheets. It was horrible stuff, cheap, thin, longer than normal toilet paper, but incredibly poor quality. I dropped it onto my shorts around my ankles and shut my eyes again.
I tried to think of other people. Actresses, sexy situations. But Mom kept coming into my thoughts. That flash of bush. I was in the hotel bathroom with her. That green nightie of hers hiked up around her waist, her ass cheeks supporting her, knees apart. I could see between her legs, all that fur.
Ohhhh, my breathing got heavier and I had to reel myself in and remember where I was.
That white lacy bit that sat atop the plunging neckline, the thin pale green satin clinging to her breasts, my face getting closer to her hardening nipples. Looking up at her face, deep into her eyes. Those lips, kissing those lips, Mom's lips, Mom, oh Mom, Mom, Mommy. I reached for the TP and blew my load. That had to have been some sort of record. That was less than a minute. I'd never come that fast in my life before.
I squeezed every drop out of my penis, before wiping myself off, holding the spent wad to my face, I sniffed it, thought of Mom, kissed it, thanked her quietly and then flushed it in the bowl behind me. I washed my hands and went and found Mom.
"You weren't long Babes. I thought you'd be in there quarter of an hour."
"Turned out I just needed a good fart Mom. I think I frightened the guy in the next cubicle. I couldn't help laughing at how loud it was."
She feigned disapproval at me, but secretly I knew she loved hearing me say stuff like that, even though this time, none of it had been true.
We finished the shop and Mom handed me the keys of the car to go load the shopping up. She wanted to nip into next door for something or another.
The sky had turned dark and the wind had picked up. There was now a chill in the air and rain seemed imminent.
I sat in the VW waiting, waiting. Then I saw Mom coming my way as the heavens suddenly opened and released torrents down upon my mother. She ran to the car and I reached across to open the door for her, but by the time she sat down, she was soaked through and shivering.
"Mom, you've got to take that off, you'll get pneumonia otherwise." That was something she always said to me when I came in soaked through.
"I can't take it off, I've got nothing else to wear."
"Yes you do Mom." I immediately pulled my T shirt over my head and pulled my shorts down and handed them to her.
"What are you doing? Put them back on."
"Mom, you're soaked through. I'm dry. You're gonna catch your death if you sit like that. Come on. Take your top off." I helped her with it. She sat there in her pale pink bra and I could see her dark nipples underneath poking through. They were like bullets. She swiftly put my T shirt on over her head and noticed how it covered her below the waist as well since it was much bigger than hers had been.
"Put your shorts back on. This is fine."
"Mom you can have them. You need to take your dress off, it's soaking."
"It's not a dress Babes. It's a skirt. There's a difference you know."
I didn't know. I thought the terms were interchangeable. Whatever, she undid her skirt and took it off, flinging her wet clothes into the back seat, sitting there all wet and windswept in just my T shirt and her underwear and shoes.
"You can put them on," she said. "I don't need them.
"Mom, they're the only dry thing in the car. At least dry yourself off with them."
"And what are you going to do when we get back to the hotel? Just walk through the lobby in just your underpants?"
"No, you can go up to the room and get me some clothes, bring them back down to me, it won't take more than a minute or two."
She couldn't argue with my logic. She was soaking and shivering, even though the engine was switched on and the fan was attempting to blow out warm air, with a cold engine, that air wasn't so warm.
Mom physically shook from the cold as we sat there arguing, so I took my shorts and started to wipe her arms, then her hair. She took over from me and dried herself up, then as the fan started to warm up, she leaned over and kissed me on my cheek.
"Look at us eh? What would your Dad say if he could see us now?"
I looked at her, but looked at her differently now. Just half an hour earlier I had jacked off thinking about her. And since then, I'd got a real good outline of her nipples and she'd kissed me.
I got that telltale sensation in my pants and clenched tightly, digging my backside deep into the passenger seat. I couldn't let Mom see my erection now. She'd know it was for her this time, if I did.
David Cameron. Gordon Brown. Tony Blair. John Major. Margaret Thatcher. Who was before her? I couldn't go back any further than my own lifetime, so I switched to American presidents. Barack Obama. George W Bush. Bill Clinton. Other George Bush. Ronald Reagan.
That seemed to do the trick. Politicians always got rid of my hard ons. They were sure fire damp squibs.
---
Chapter 02
I walked through the lobby of the hotel in my son's T shirt and my own damp underwear. I had seen his erection in the car and thought about it all the way back to Penzance.
I couldn't very well rebuke him, he had done such a kind thing for me. We brought him up well, that's one thing I will say for myself and my husband. We are good parents.
Although sometimes I wonder. If he only knew of my hidden urges and desires. If he knew his dear Mom lived a secret fantasy life in her head because she's so sexually frustrated it aches.
Even now, walking through the lobby, feeling people's eyes on me, I want to be exposed. How I wish my son had kept his clothes on and insisted I get out of mine. Out of my top, out of my skirt. But Mom, your panties are soaked through and your bra is all wet, I can see your nipples. You have to get out of those wet clothes and I'm not taking no for an answer. Strip. Do it now. Strip.
And then leading me, naked, through to the elevators. My pussy was wet just thinking about it. I'd been tingling all day. As I lay on the bed this morning gazing at my son's cock bob up and down as he slept peacefully, as I placed my knee upon it and felt it heave, our breakfast conversation, I've been squirming down there ever since. I need to masturbate, but how can I do it with my son around all the time?
I need to send him out so I can have half hour alone, naked on the bed. Although I don't just want to be naked in the room. I want to step out into the corridor naked, walk down the hall, maybe get as far as the elevator and go down a few floors and come back up again. Feel the danger, walk past the doors with their little peep holes and picture guests spying on my nude body, walking up to the window and pressing my body against it. Look at me, look at me. Please, look at me.
I want to be a slave. All the time. Subservient, submissive, exposed and humiliated in public. I want eyes on me. I want to be commanded, punished, whipped, spanked, oh God, I'm such a horny little pervert.
I let myself into our room. We'd had maid service, that was very evident. I stripped off my son's oversize T shirt, took off my bra and panties and just stood there in the middle of the room.
My fingers found my nipples and began tweaking them. Harder. I pinched them and tugged them out, pulling my breasts away from my body. Ow. Then release. Again. Again.
My hand found its way between my legs. My God, I was like a swamp down there. Bad Mommy. I smacked my vulva. And did it hard. The pain shot through me. It was intense. So too the thrill. Once more, then I turned my attentions to my ass.
Smack. Smack. Smack. I slapped my bottom 'til it was raw. I might have trouble sitting down later. But I couldn't linger. My son was sat in the car in just his underwear and I didn't want him playing with his cock in public.
I slid my soaking wet panties back on, slipped my arms through my bra straps, pulling the cups down under my boobs before feeling around back to fasten it. I put my son's T shirt back on and grabbed a pair of trousers and a T shirt from his case and headed out to find him.
When I got back to the room for the second time, I was not alone. My son was with me. It was still a few hours to dinner and we had our own alcohol now so didn't need to pay the exorbitant prices in the hotel bar.
"I'm going to take a bath, Babes, okay?"
"Sure Mom. Why don't you take a glass of wine in with you? It'll help warm you up."
I loved my son. He was such a thoughtful, kind young man. And he'd just had an excellent idea. I walked over to him as he sat on the corner of the bed fiddling with the TV remote and lifted his chin with my fingers. I edged my face closer to his, giving him an idea of my intentions and giving him plenty of opportunity to back away. But instead, he surprised me and let me give him a little peck on the lips.
I poured myself a glass of supermarket red and delved into my bag for my 7 inch tablet computer. "No more than two lagers before I get out of the bath."
"Oh Mom! How long you are you going to be?" He could see I had my machine in hand.
"No more than two in half an hour. If Mommy's any longer, you can have one more."
"Okay," he moaned. "I just need a quick pee, though."
A few minutes later, I closed the bathroom door behind me, but didn't lock it. I never did. No one ever came in, but it was the thrill of the possibility that someone could that gave me a sense of guilty pleasure. Besides, it was my intention to give myself a good seeing to.
As the water started to fill, I stood naked in front of the mirror. I had a sip of wine and placed the glass down. Then slapped my ass.
"Mom? Mom? Are you alright in there?"
Shit. He heard that? "I'm fine Babes," I called through the door. "I just dropped something, that's all."
"Okay. As long as you're alright."
"I'm fine my love. Thank you."
I lifted my right leg clean up onto the waist height counter to the right of the sink. Threading my hand behind my back and between my legs, I found my pussy and ran my fingers through my pubic hair, finding my soft, puffy lips beneath. I shoved two fingers up inside and my thumb naturally dug into my clit hood, pushing around to release my little nub from its prison of skin.
With my other hand I caressed my breasts, all the while staring at myself, like some kinky voyeur. I imagined it was a two way mirror with people watching from the other side. I felt the first waves rising within.
I stepped into the bath, carefully placing my glass of wine on the floor alongside then reached for my computer.
I'd married my husband at 17. We eloped, north of the border, Scotland and Gretna Green. George was a student in his final year of university at the time and my parents were not thrilled when they found out. They threatened to disown me, but even back then, it didn't concern me. I wanted to be owned and I was owned, by George. His was the only opinion that mattered. I would have done anything for him. I guess in some ways, I did, I ran away with him. He was my man, my loving man.
George rapidly rose through the ranks in his company and began spending more and more time at work and away from me. It didn't bother me much, because we had our little one and I was a full time Mommy. My little bundle of joy.
Aside from our child and George spending so much time at work, I was blissfully happy and wanted and needed for nothing. Sexually.
I guess I just wasn't awake back then, when I was younger. Sex was always nice, but George was neither adventurous nor demanding. I wasn't bothered. The highlight of my day was my son and his well being. One or two nights a week, George and I would make love.
He was a very considerate lover and I did enjoy sex, but, what can I say? It didn't thrill me. It didn't excite me. And it didn't bother me if we didn't do it for a while. For me, it was all about the love, the closeness, the companionship and the trust, always complete trust between my husband and I.
I knew George loved me. And I adored him. Still do. But as far as having any raw, unadulterated passion seething within my loins, well – I'm afraid I didn't have any. I liked getting off, I would have orgasms. It's just that, they weren't the be all and end all. There was so much more to my life. And I loved my life. Still do.
But something happens to a woman when she approaches 40. She stops worrying too much about trivialities. Firm backside and breasts, washboard stomach, supple thighs. Bah! So what if there's a little sag, a little cellulite, a slight pooch out front? So what if sometimes my neck and chin are not as sculpted as they once were?
None of that shit matters and a woman of my age finally stops fighting the inevitable and comes to accept her body as beautiful in its own right. So I don't look like I came out of a glossy magazine. Uh, newsflash – I never did. I guess what I mean to say is, I'm comfortable in who I am. 40 doesn't scare me. In my youth perhaps, it scared the bejeebers out of me; but in reality, 40 doesn't phase me in the slightest.
And I think that's what it took. That and one other little thing.
A year or two ago, a novel came out that sort of took the world by storm. It was an erotic novel, that had somehow managed to make it into the mainstream.
I've never read it. But some of my friends have. Opinions vary, most seem to think there are some good bits in it, but that the writing can be a little clunky at times and overall, while not a great read, it was at least a change from the usual suspects.
Like I said, I've never read it. But it did get me thinking.
My son had a computer, my husband had one; I however, wasn't in the least bit interested. But one day I borrowed my sons laptop and asked him to give me a few lessons on using this internet thing. I'm a quick learner and my son is a patient boy. And he's good to his old Mom.
After a few lessons, finding myself alone in the house, I was able to put it to use for my true intentions. I had been intrigued by this book and by what my good friend Shirley Madison had said to me one day – you can find better stuff on the internet if you know where to look. An innocuous comment perhaps, but one which had stayed with me.
I learned how to Google. I think I must be the second to last person in the world to do that – before some modern day Robinson Crusoe perhaps. It took me a little while to figure out the importance of the right search term, but when I did, typing in something like – erotic stories – I discovered a wealth of sites to explore and see what all this erotic stuff was about.
I must admit, even though I am an avid reader, I had managed to avoid Lady Chatterley's Lover, Fanny Hill, The Story of O and their ilk. I just didn't think it was proper or dignified for a lady to be stirred by such filth.
But I was approaching 40 and if I was starting to think 'oh hell, sod it' about my body, maybe my standards should fall by the wayside too.
One of my preferred sites to read this 'literature' turned out to be called 'literotica.com'. I perused the various sections, learned how to navigate and began to work my way down the so-called top lists.
Anal. Well I didn't much care for that. George and I had tried it just the one time and neither of us had particularly enjoyed it. We had a hard time trying to figure out what all the fuss was about.
Next up was BDSM. I'd heard of it but didn't even know what all the letters stood for. Bondage and sadomasochism I knew, but wasn't sure of the finer details. So I gave it a miss and moved on down the list.
I liked a bit of romance, a bit of naughtiness perhaps and I found many stories that turned out to be very pleasant reads. Some turned me off instantly, but the great thing about reading these stories on the internet was that if I didn't like it, I just forgot about it and moved on to the next one – it hadn't cost me anything. And of course, nobody knew I was reading this kind of stuff.
My son had been very thoughtful and had warned me that my internet history would be recorded – by the stupid browser, he would say – and that when I was done, I should always clear the history and cache files. Not only did he show me how to do these things, but he wrote the instructions down on a piece of paper and sat down with me as I followed them to see that I could do it. I love my son, did I say that already?
One day, I woke up from a dream. My husband had already left for work. My son was back living at home after losing his first job. He was so disappointed. He'd been given a little bit of freedom with one hand and had it taken away with the other. I wanted to pay his rent for him but my husband rightly predicted our son wouldn't accept such an arrangement.
Anyway, he'd gone out. I had the house to myself and this dream I'd had, no doubt triggered by the heavy reading day I'd had the day before, had turned me on like never before. I was actually wet between my legs. That sort of thing just never happened to me.
I'd been in school. Instead of my usual dream I would have about school – the one where I had exams but hadn't done any work for them – I had gym. And I was in the showers. Naked naturally. In front of other girls, again naturally. It was something I did many times at school, showered naked.
But this dream had been a little different. I was at an all girls private school. And the girls were coming out of the showers, myself included and instead of an impending exam, we were lining up to get spanked.
I wasn't just wet, my nipples were so hard and erect I could hang pictures from them.
At breakfast, I reached for my son's laptop, visited my favourite website and found the search page. 'Private School' I typed.
Sure enough, potential stories appeared before me. Indeed, the first was even entitled 'Private School Ch. 01' but it was in the BDSM section.
Now like I said, I really didn't know what it was. I thought it was people dressing up in leather and rubber and using gags and ropes and whips and I struggled to ascertain just where the fun would be in that. It did absolutely nothing for me sexually. But I was missing one vital piece of information, one key ingredient – the psychology of it all. The inner mind. The hidden desires. The submissive. The desire to be humiliated. The craving to be exposed and vulnerable.
I read chapter one of the story about an obnoxious rich girl being taken to a new school where she was bound and gagged, stripped naked in front of her mother with the express intent of humiliating her. My God. My fingers were in my pussy without my knowledge. My toast was on the table with barely a bite taken out of it and I was sat at the breakfast bar with my legs apart fingering myself.
The next three chapters could not come quickly enough. And neither could I. I sat there pulsating on the stool, writhing orgasmically as this rich girl endured a body cavity search followed by a degrading photoshoot. Then when her counsellor explained the photos were going to end up on a website for all to see, I came again and again, several times in close succession, riding on a crest like never before, sweat oozing from every pore on my trembling body.
My God, this person could write stuff to turn me on. I had to take a break. If I kept my fingers in my pussy that morning I would probably have died and my husband or son would have come home to find me lying on the floor in a puddle of my own sex, albeit with a huge smile on my face.
I had to cool off, I had to get out of the house, get some fresh air, go for a drive. I was still so unbelievably horny, despite a plethora of orgasms that morning, more than I'd probably had all year.
Schlank. The author's name was Schlank. As I pulled over and tilted my head back, closing my eyes, a smile came to my face and I created a verb. The more I thought of how wild and horny I'd been, in a complete frenzy like never before, I decided I had just schlanked myself. Okay, it might not have been pretty, but it summed up how I was feeling and did so better than any other word I could bring to mind.
And for the first time, Schlank, or Diane Schlank, had provided me with the psychological perspective to understand the attraction. She had tapped into the innermost workings of my brain and ignited within me a desire I never knew belonged to me. She woke my pussy up. No, that's not right. She birthed my pussy. She gave it life where there was none.
I spent my days naked within the walls of my house, reading Schlank's stories that I prayed she would add to, touching myself, passion burning within me, my loins on fire.
Before, I had never masturbated in my life to a written story. I knew my son had jerked off his teenage penis to porn on television, but that was very much an industry set up in favour of the male fantasy. Truth be told, there wasn't much in it for me.
I was more likely to indulge in fantasy of the mind picturing hot, muscled delivery men bringing parcels to my door which needed assembly on sultry afternoons. Taking off their shirts to reveal sweaty six packs and gorgeous pecs, slipping off their trousers, my fingers lightly hovering over the growing bulges in their skinny tight briefs, before allowing them to ravage me while my husband was at work and my son was in school.
But that was then, a lifetime ago. Now I found myself masturbating two, three, even four times a day whilst reading literature of the most erotic kind, naughty and dangerous and oh so devilish. I'd found the spark that was missing. So as the beginning of my fourth decade galloped toward me, like many women before, I endured a sexual awakening, my libido going into overdrive.
I couldn't get enough to quench my insatiable appetite for this most intoxicating of fantasies. I read other stories by other authors in the BDSM category such as 'The Vassal Academy' by 'SavannahMann' and quickly became enthralled with the notion of being a slave, subservient to a master, to serve him with every fibre of my being, to exist solely for his pleasure. My pussy was his pussy, my orgasm belonged to him, he had power over me to command his every will.
Now I was never one to flaunt my body. Sure, I got naked when I had to. I was never a prude. I didn't especially enjoy trips to the doctor, especially those that required I get naked and spread my legs for the camera, so to speak; I'd had a few of those in my life. I just didn't believe it was ladylike to be running around naked at every opportunity. I had friends who enjoyed going to the gym or the spa and I could guess what would happen afterwards and it was never my thing.
I guess I felt that my body was my husband's to ogle and not anyone else's. So I never indulged in that sort of life. But all of a sudden I had this overwhelming hunger to show off my body, be vulnerable, so I started driving to towns perhaps fifty miles away and going to the gym, going to the swimming pool, so I could shed all my clothes, expose myself, shower naked amongst other naked women.
Some days I would drive from gym to gym, perhaps taking in two or three to feed my hunger. Oh God, if only I was a lesbian like the heroine of the Schlank stories, I'd be in heaven. But I wasn't. And I wanted to feel the eyes of men upon my naked body as well as those of other women. I wanted everyone to look at me. See me vulnerable. See me exposed. And humiliated.
The wine in my glass was finished and so too was I. I'd done my best to keep quiet whilst I read some of my favourite bookmarked stories, many of which I had read more than a hundred times. My son was in the next room and he'd already been able to hear me spank myself even if he didn't know what it was. Besides which, the water was much colder and if I stayed in here much longer, my baby boy would be plastered, pissed out of his skull before we even got to the dining room.
---
Chapter 03
My Mom was so beautiful.
Sat across the dining room table from me, cutting her bread roll with a knife, I couldn't help but stare at her. Two times today I had pictured her while I masturbated. Once at the supermarket, once on my knees behind the bathroom door as she took a bath. It was lucky I remembered to nip into the bathroom to get some TP.
She smiled at me. I smiled back. She probably thought I was drunk. She would be half right. I wasn't drunk on alcohol, I was drunk on love. I'd fallen in love with my Mom. And it had all happened today. And it had all taken me completely by surprise. It was like falling in love at first sight.
But how do you fall in love at first sight with someone you've known all your life? And how do you fall in love with your own mother?
I knew nothing could come of it, I mean, what was I going to do? Say, hey Mom, wanna go on a date, just you and me? I could take you out for a meal. Maybe afterwards we could have a drink or two. I could take you up to my room and – maybe we could sleep together. What do you think Mom? Do you fancy that?
I laughed to myself.
But I had it bad. I'd fallen for my mother as hard and fast as I'd ever fallen for any girl in my life before. And my Mom was gorgeous. I know she didn't think so, she was so modest, but my Mom was a real knockout. And as I sat across from her at this table, I wanted nothing more than to profess my love for her and have her hold me in her safe arms, kiss my lips, just as she had done before she went into the bathroom. And I wanted her to let me know she'd be mine. Like that song in her car, 'My mother is mine'.
Oh, what was I thinking? This was the one love that could never ever be. Never mind anything else, it was illegal anyway. We could get locked up for that sort of thing. Spend our lives in jail. I could never take the separation. I could never live my life without my mother in it. I wouldn't want to go on without her love.
Our main courses arrived.
"Mmm," Mom said. "That looks nice."
I was having the lasagne. Mom had gone for the pork dinner, with gravy and potatoes.
"Do you want some Mom?"
"No sweetheart. You enjoy it."
"It's alright Mom, have a bite. I want you to."
"Are you sure Babes?"
"Positive."
Mom reached across with her fork and had the first bite. "Mmm. Scrumptious. You'll lurrrve that!"
I tried it. She was right. It was delicious.
All through dinner my thoughts were of one thing. Forbidden love. As she sat there, looking and smelling so fresh, I admired her contours. Her boobs were the perfect size and shape, Goldilocks boobs, not too big, not too small. The low neckline of her pale blue summer dress teased her cleavage – just that little vertical bunching together, before the material hid everything else from sight. I couldn't help thinking of the physical similarities between a woman's cleavage and a builder's bum, one so perfect, one so awful and yet, cropped and taken out of context, hard to tell apart.
"What are you going to have for dessert Babes?" she asked, reaching under the table with her foot to rub my leg.
You Mom.
Oh! Shit! Did I say that? I didn't know. Did I speak that or merely think it? I thought it so loudly, I could almost swear I'd given voice to my thoughts.
"Um. I dunno. What are you having?"
"Hmm? Either the profiteroles or the ice cream sundae. I can't decide. You know I'm a sucker for whipped cream, but I'm so hot right now, I think I need an ice cream."
"We'll order both Mom. We can share. That way you can have both."
"I thought you'd want the peach crumble."
"Hmm? Not tonight Mom. I'm feeling hot too."
Half hour later we had decided to pay our after dinner visit to the bar, but we were just going to order the one round. As Mom had started on the wine and had more waiting for her upstairs, she stuck with it, so I ordered her a Burgundy Pinot Noir – something a little finer than she had in the room. I didn't get any change from a tenner this time, having to put down another twenty pence for just that and my pint. But my mother was worth it. And after what I had done to her in my mind today, it was a bargain.
We were both a little tipsy stepping into the brightly lit elevator. As the lift began its lethargic ascent to the third floor, Mom looked closely at herself in the mirror, bringing her fingers up to smooth out her crow's feet.
"I'm sho old," she slurred.
"You're not old Mom."
"I am. And I'm ugly."
I wasn't having my mother say such horrible, untrue and undeserved things about herself. If I ever heard anyone else call my mother old or ugly, I'd punch their lights out.
"You're beautiful Mom. You are so very beautiful."
She smiled in the mirror at me as I wrapped my arms around her waist and hugged her from behind. "You really shink sho?"
"I know sho ... uh, so!"
I went to peck her cheek and just as I did she turned her face to me and I ended up planting one on the corner of her mouth. She started to snigger helplessly.
"What?" I asked.
The elevator reached our floor and I stood aside for Mom to exit first. As she started to move forward, with a little spring in her step and a girlish swing to her bottom, she held out her hand for mine and led me out.
"You sweet baby boy. Mommy loves you."
As Mom had her left hand in my right, I walked around to her right tugging her hand behind her back and slipped my left arm up over her shoulder. I tilted my head down to hers and she reciprocated as we walked to our room.
All I could think was how lucky Dad was, having this beautiful, sexy, gorgeous, kind, sweet, endearing, magnificent woman as his wife. I was envious of him. He never seemed to show her much affection and Mom always responded so well to it. She always did. I couldn't help but wonder if she craved more of it. Well, whether she did or whether she didn't, she was going to get more of it from me, from now on. Or at least until she told me to stop.
Mom's TV show was on. I didn't much care for it. I just put her to lie on the bed while I went to the bathroom. "Need a shit Mom."
"Another one?" she asked.
"I couldn't go in the supermarket. It was just a fart remember?"
"Oh, yeah," she nodded. "Okay. Have fun."
I didn't need a shit, I needed a wank. My mother was intoxicating. Her simple presence had increased my libido threefold and I just had to beat another one out before bedtime.
I locked the door and sat on the can, pulling down my trousers. I looked across the floor and saw her bra and panties. I couldn't resist. I collected her panties and gave them an almighty sniff.
Shit! I nearly choked. The odour was so powerful, so dense, so – primal. That was not a normal smell. If that was normal, she'd have men falling at her feet wherever she went. That was intense. That was beyond words. That was – that was the scent of my Mom's sex.
I beat off furiously on the toilet seat, my balls slapping between my legs. I continuously sniffed her panties and pictured my Mom's face at dinner. I didn't even need to imagine her naked, it really did not get that far. I didn't need to picture my Mom's body, I just needed to picture my Mom.
I lasted a little bit longer than my two record breakers earlier in the day. I'd come in less than a minute first time and lasted about three when Mom was in the bath. It took about five to ejaculate my load, which, for a third round of self abuse, was simply unheard of.
I couldn't help myself. My dirty little mind got the better of me. Even though I had dropped my wad in the toilet beneath me, I was still milking white stuff from my bell end. I dabbed it with my finger and pressed it to the crotch of Mom's panties, rubbing it in. That gave me such a thrill, but nothing like the thrill it gave me to actually place her panties on top of my penis to physically contact her moist patch.
I sat back on the toilet, shattered from chronic masturbation. At the side of the bath I saw Mom's tablet on the floor. I reached for it and swiped it on. She had a few games that I'd put on there for her, I could play one of those while I pretended to be emptying my bowels.
Oh, bollocks! I pressed the wrong bloody thing by accident and now her internet browser was starting up. Come on, you stupid thing, back, back. There was a bit of lag on it. It returned to the screen I wanted but not before I became aware of the word cunt on the previous screen. Funny how things like that catch your eye.
I pressed for the browser to load again. I did see cunt. There was a story on the page. There it was again. Two cunts. Three cunts! Shit Mom! What are you reading? This was porn. My Mom was reading porn in the bath, I thought.
My eyes became transfixed by the story. It was filth. A woman being tortured and made to parade around naked, seemingly against her will. She was a slave and had her hands tied behind her back and affixed to a collar she had been made to wear. Hmm? Kinky!
I scrolled to the top of the page to see what the website was called. Literotica. Shit. My Mom was a perve. And for some reason that notion thrilled me. Because I was one too. I had just jerked off with my Mom's knickers to my face and had touched the glistening end of my tip to her crotch.
I looked at her search history. Literotica, Literotica, Literotica. All the way down, it just kept going and going, each page she had visited had a different title, but from what I could tell, my sweet darling mother was into bondage. Well that was a turn up for the books.
I lost track of time and next thing I knew, Mom was knocking on the bathroom door.
"You alright in there Babesh? You haven't fallen in, have you?"
"Just wiping Mom. I'll be out in a jiffy."
When I stepped into the room, I immediately felt it cooler. I guess there was a fair bit of heat in that small windowless bathroom, some of which was probably my doing.
Mom was already in bed, changed into her nightie and sat up, watching the TV. She tapped the bed alongside her and peeled back the corner of the sheet. "It's gone ten Babesh. Time for bed."
I grabbed my PJs and slipped back into the bathroom to change. I came back into the room and grabbed a pillow from the bed and turned around to go get a blanket.
"Hey! You're not shleeping on the floor. I meant what I shaid. Into bed now."
I placed the pillow back down and sat on the bed.
"I don't bite."
Maybe she didn't, but I couldn't guarantee the same for myself. If I were to roll over in the night and somehow end up with my head on her breast, she wasn't going to be able to prize me away for all the tea in China.
I lay there awkwardly still next to my Mom. The lights were out and I could tell from her breathing she was awake. Next thing I knew, her hand was feeling for mine under the covers.
"This is nishe," she said, before rolling onto her side to face me and put her hand on my chest in a mirror image version of this morning. But this time, her leg stayed put.
It wasn't long before she drifted off to sleep; every so often I would hear a little piglet snore and then she'd lick her lips and just go back to quiet breathing. I lay there awake for the longest time, my penis had received more blood from my brain today than it'd had in a long time.
I just couldn't seem to fall asleep, so many thoughts were floating around my head. Not only had I caught glimpses of my Mom's pussy, her bottom, the outline of her nipples and been the recipient of a couple of kisses on the lips from my Mom in the last twenty-four hours, but I had also discovered my Mom liked to read erotic stories about bondage. Oh – and I'd fallen in love with her too. And now I was in bed with her sleeping next to me and my boner was climbing halfway to the stars. Hardly a normal day.
I think I saw daylight before I did finally fall asleep and I slept solid for a few hours before waking abruptly. I couldn't remember what had woken me, but the first thought that entered my mind was that I was in bed next to Mom.
I opened my eyes to see that she was facing away from me, lying on her stomach with her left arm under her head, her long, wavy brown hair pulled my gaze over her back and shoulders, down her green nightgown, which I soon realised had ridden up on her body during the night. Not only that, but she had kicked the covers almost entirely off her body and they were now at her feet. The most startling thing however, was that her ass was bare and exposed in its entirety for me to view.
I sat up and leaned on my left elbow. Mom was still asleep. I think. I was almost certain of it. Without any authorisation from me, my right hand had gone slightly AWOL and was hovering just barely an inch above Mom's bare behind.
My brain yelled orders at my hand to retreat, but my hand took no notice. It just sat there, floating, as if on a cushion of air. In a world of its own.
Just then, Mom moved, her ass lifting off the bed momentarily, just skimming my hand. I was sure I was done for. If she was just now this moment waking, she surely felt my hand on her ass as surely as I felt her sweet ass on my hand. I was done for and ready to apologise or make up some lie when all of a sudden, Mom rolled onto her left side, still facing away from me.
A moment later, she completed her roll onto her back and that section of her body that had been uncovered on her rear was now uncovered on her front. Her pubes. All of them. Not just a dark brief flash between her legs, but full 1080P HD Technicolour Dolby surround sound pubes. IMAX pubes. In 3D – glasses free. Layer upon blessed layer of them.
My eyes wouldn't pull away from them. I tried turning my head, but my eyes stayed pointed at Mom's thatch. I think if I could have made my head spin through 180 degrees, my eyes would be facing backwards.
Somehow, don't ask me how, I managed to glance at Mom's face. Her eyes were shut and her breathing was peaceful. Was she still asleep? God, I hope she was. She was magnificent. Simply without peer.
I lay my head back down on the pillow and closed my eyes slightly so I could watch Mom and pretend to be asleep should she wake and feel the cool air on her snatch.
But Mom just lay there, without expression, just breathing. I raised my head to look at it again, take a mental photograph of this delight on show. If only I could have a real photo, or better, a video.
Why couldn't I? The camcorder was on the bureau; we'd used it in St. Ives. I looked over my shoulder and saw it, clear as day. Could I get out of bed without disturbing her? Reach for it, bring it across, get back into bed, switch it on and actually start to film her? No. She'd be too near waking.
My heart raced. I had this once in a lifetime opportunity, handed to me on a silver platter. If I didn't at least try, I'd never forgive myself. Unless it was a dream. That's what it was. Damn. It just had to be. I was fast asleep dreaming I'd woken to find the goddess Venus herself in the bed beside me.
Or was I? If it was a dream, I could reach for the camcorder and at least try. It wouldn't matter if I got caught in a dream, none of it would be real. But if it wasn't a dream, this was my golden opportunity. And I just couldn't pass that up.
Working with borrowed finesse, I crept back into bed. Mom's eyes remained closed, her breathing uniform. Lens cap off. Power on. Record. Zoom.
I was not a religious man. But if I got away with this, I was going to get down on my hands and knees and thank someone. Thank something. I let the camera pan up and down Mom's body as I looked in the swivel viewfinder screen at what I was filming. Up and down, in and out. I covered every conceivable shot, before panning out to get a full body shot. Mom. Her green nightie wrapped around her perfect breasts, outlines of her nipples against the soft satin material. Her bare midriff. Sasquatch. Her supple thighs and legs that went all the way down. Beauty personified.
---
Chapter 04
My son and I had been back home for a couple of weeks. That trip to Cornwall seemed to do him some real good. He was back to his old self. Actually, the way he was behaving around the house, he was back to his old teenage self. He was full of beans and a joy to be around. He was laughing and playing and going out with his father down the pub twice a week. The two of them were having a grand old time.
He'd heard back from two universities, each inviting him for interview, but not for another month yet. George's next business trip was ten days away and my son and I were going to head north this time. A cabin cruiser on the Caledonian Canal. Loch Ness. Nessie! It was a midweek break, Monday to Friday and we were actually going to be away from home one night longer than my husband.
My son had been so attentive to me the last few weeks. He was like a transformed man and it made my heart sing that he was enjoying life again. And in some small part, I hoped that I had helped him regain some of that which he had lost.
I knew he had filmed me.
I woke that second morning in Penzance when I felt his weight get up off the bed, then creep silently across the floor. With his back turned, I could feel the air on my crotch and looked down and reached to cover myself up. But then I thought that would only embarrass my son if I did. He'd know that I knew that he had seen me.
I saw him pick up the camcorder and so I lay my head back on the pillow and shut my eyes and tried desperately to control my breathing. I felt him clamber back into bed and pop the lens cap. I even heard the faint whirr of the hard drive spring into action. My son was filming me. And I was displaying my womanhood to him.
And it was my every dream come true.
I had never fantasized about my son. I didn't think of him that way, he was my son, the love of my life, my pride and joy, I would die for him in an instant, I wouldn't hesitate. That's what mothers do. They protect their sons.
But I was also a sexually frustrated woman on the brink, who had become prone to fantasizing about being on display, being naked on display, exposed. And knowing that my son's eyes were upon me was the most sexually stimulating thing that had ever happened to me in my life. I just hoped I wasn't doing him any mental damage as I used him to propel my turgid fantasies.
There was a film he wanted to see, so I had given him some money to go to the cinema and grab a bite to eat at some fast food place of his choosing beforehand and a little bit more so he could stop off for a pint on the way home. I thought I'd give him a nice day out, my treat. I also needed him out of the house because I wanted to watch that video of me again.
He'd been keeping the camcorder in his room, permanently plugged into his television via some cables, the charger at the ready on his desk. I'd first watched it three days after getting home. I was shocked by what I saw, but also incredibly turned on. Yes, my son had violated my privacy for his own carnal needs. But what were those needs? Was he in love with me? Or was he just like every other young man and just infatuated with the naked female form.
But no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't be mad at him for that, because inadvertently or otherwise, he had stumbled into my deepest need, that to be exposed and vulnerable.
That first time I watched it, I trembled and fell to my knees as my legs just would not sustain me. Afterwards, I felt sick to my stomach. I thought I was a bad mother, leading my son on, allowing him a glimpse of something that could never be, that was forbidden, taboo. I was sure I was going to burn in hell for my sins. I'd corrupted my son.
That night in bed, as I lay next to George, I initiated sex. I never did that. Not only did I initiate it, but I led. I sucked my husband's cock, I rode him like a cowboy. I had a screaming orgasm and he had to cover my mouth with his hand to subdue me. By the time my husband spilled his seed inside me, I'd come three times.
The second time I watched the video, I sat at my son's desk chair and masturbated, right there in his room.
By the third time I did it, I had ungodly wanton desires to do it again. Expose myself and have someone I knew, see me.
But today, my son was enjoying himself at the movies. I went into his room. I switched on the camcorder and began scrolling down the file menu and discovered my son had renamed the titles. Gone were the date entries, in their place, he had given the files names. 'St. Ives 1' and 'St. Ives 2'. 'Hotel Room'. 'Sleeping Beauty'.
Oh, bless him. I played Sleeping Beauty and it was me, naked on my son's TV. Well, pubes out naked anyway.
That was it. That was all the incentive I needed. I was going to make a video of my own and I was going to film it in my son's room.
I opened the doors to our walk in closet and found an old blouse that I used for painting. With scissors in hand, I cut under the collar, removing it from the shirt, tossing the blouse back in a drawer. I then proceeded to strip off naked, all the while watching my reflection in the dressing room mirror. I took the collar from the old white shirt and fastened it around my neck. I looked like a Playboy bunny I thought, minus the dickie bow and ears!
But that was my slave collar. I'd never built up the nerve to visit a sex shop, even though I knew the location of one in town and had tried on more than one occasion to venture in, but I'd always become nervous at the prospect someone might see me going inside. Ironic, I know, seeing as that was my fantasy.
But fantasy was fine, reality made me nervous. Reality had consequences attached. There was just that one day when fantasy and reality collided and my son filmed his mother naked on the bed while he thought she was sound asleep – the most thrilling day of my life and it had somehow involved my beautiful baby boy.
I set up the camcorder to point into my son's room. Then pressed record. I walked away from the camera, giving it a tasty view of my big, ugly ass. Then I turned to face it, hesitant at first, but then I felt the thrill build inside me. I knelt. Slaves had to kneel. I pretended the camera was my master and bowed my head before my master.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone