18 comments/ 240180 views/ 44 favorites A Tale of Two Mothers By: rbuchanan I – My Evil Stepmother Why is it stepmothers are always portrayed as wicked? I'm thinking of all the old fairy stories - you know, Snow White, Cinderella, etc. - where the stepmother is always the villain of the piece. Maybe it has something to do with an (inevitably) younger woman replacing mother, breaking up the happy home, and causing pain and suffering to all concerned. (If that sounds a bit sexist it's probably because it is. For some reason the guilty husband is never branded in quite the same way - it's almost as if everybody understands how an older man can fall under the spell of a beautiful young woman, and they blame the woman not the man). But whatever the reason stepmothers are portrayed this way in fiction, in my case it wasn't just poetic licence, my stepmother really was wicked. In fact she was a downright evil bitch! It started when I was sixteen. My father and mother split up and father married a woman fifteen years his junior. As a result Mother was ousted from the family home and the new woman moved in. I have to say I hated her from the start, and I guess the feeling was probably mutual. I should explain this all took place many years ago - before the days of women's lib - and mother ended up losing her house, home, and family. It wouldn't happen today, but back then she was conned out of everything she had, including the prospect of a comfortable retirement. At the time I didn't really understand what was happening, and it was only a couple years later (when I was 18) I realised what she'd given up. I guess I need to take time to explain how it all happened, not only because it sets the scene for my story, but also because in may in part justify what I did later. I like to think I'm an ordinary human being, and I don't want you to go away with the impression what I did was perverted and wholly unjustified. I mean it may well have been perverted, but I hope when you hear my tale you won't think it unjustified. Anyway it wasn't entirely my fault and I didn't do it alone. I had a partner in crime - my mother to be exact! I don't really know for sure why Mum and Dad split. If I had to guess I'd say it was Dad's roving eye that caused the problem - he was a real sucker for the Ladies. He was a charming man and I loved him very much, but he wasn't the strongest character in the world. I don't think he went out of his way to seduce other women; he just couldn't turn it down when it was offered on a plate. Unfortunately his charm and personality meant it was always being offered in three course meals, not just plates, and he seemed to have a ravenous appetite! As I understand it, father did a deal with Mom when they split. The house was in his name and so was the business so he kept both, but he agreed to give mother a generous living allowance if she was prepared to leave and find a new life for herself. She agreed, partly because she loved my Dad very much and trusted him implicitly and partly for my sake. She thought if she went I could stay in my home, and as my Dad was a fairly wealthy man, I'd be better off in the long run. So the deal was done and Mom moved into a rented flat in London. She didn't get any guarantees in writing as she trusted Dad, and for the first couple of years it all seemed to be working out. Mom wasn't very happy suddenly living alone at 55, but she had enough money to live on and I visited her every other weekend, staying overnight in her flat, so she felt she could make a life for herself. My new Stepmother's name was Julia, and I have to say I wasn't very happy either. Julia was in her mid thirties and a right stuck-up bitch. She worked as a manager in the local hospital (which was unusual for a woman in those days), and she was as hard as nails. When she was around everything had to be clean and tidy and perfectly ordered. My home was replaced by a 'show house' for all the local dignitaries to visit, and she was forever castigating me for being untidy and disorganised. After Mom left she employed a professional housekeeper to run the house, and Maria, the housekeeper, was almost as bad as Julia. She moaned at me constantly about the state of my room and my 'noisy' music, and sometimes I got the distinct impression she was under orders from Julia to try and drive me out. They'd both come down on me all the time for stupid little things (like leaving my coat on the bed), and they'd act as if I'd done something really terrible or disgusting. After just six months I was under such pressure I seriously thought about getting myself a flat, but I hated Julia so much I wasn't prepared to give her the satisfaction of forcing me out. I tried talking to Dad about the problem but it was no use. He was infatuated with Julia, and as I've said he wasn't a particularly strong character. Mind you I could understand what he saw in her. She was a tall elegant woman with shoulder-length blond hair, who was always immaculately dressed in her smart, well-tailored, business suit. She spoke real classy, and she had these amazingly large breasts which always seemed on the verge of bursting through the top of the suit. Occasionally she'd leave a button or two undone; displaying the most daunting cleavage I ever did see. I don't know how she did it but she had this incredible erotic presence, and she eluded an aura of sexuality which would flood over you in waves. I mean she could turn you on (well she could turn me on anyway!) just by standing in the same room as you, and if she hadn't have been such a bitch I'd have fallen under her spell instantly. As far as I could tell she seemed to have the same effect on virtually every man she met, and it was no wonder she'd got such a high position in the hospital. Julia, of course, was well aware of the effect she was having on all those around her, and she used her sexuality to make my Dad do whatever she wanted. Unlike most women she always dressed sexy when Dad was home, and she never seemed to get fed up with it or need encouragement. Her skirts were always shorter than when she was working, her cleavage more pronounced, and she would focus on those things a man finds particularly sexy. Stiletto heels, for instance, and fully-fashioned black seamed stockings were the standard evening attire. My dad always seemed to be drooling over her, but as much as I hated him for it, I was rapidly becoming a man myself and I could see where he was coming from. She was an unbelievably sexy woman, and I have to confess I masturbated many times to visions of her taking off her clothes for me and letting me fondle her breasts or stroke her stockings. I may have hated her but that didn't stop me wanting to bang the life out of her. I was only human after all! So, as you can see, it was a pretty strange set-up in our house, what with Julia and the housekeeper. We lived in Wimbledon in South London and the house wasn't that big, just four bedrooms, so it didn't take me long to start to wonder exactly what Julia saw in my Dad. He was quite a lot older than her, and although charming, it seemed to me she could have had many younger and more attractive men without any effort on her part. In the end I realised it was his business she was after (and the money of course). He owned and ran a number of private Rest Homes in the London area, and he was gradually expanding and opening more all the time. I think Julia saw great financial potential in this business and her ambition was to take over and control the whole enterprise. The problems for my mother began when Julia decided she didn't want Dad wasting money giving it to Mum. I don't know how she did it but she persuaded Dad to go and see Mum and tell her he couldn't afford her allowance anymore. He told her he was sorry but he needed the money for the business. Obviously Mum got upset and angry with him and they had a blazing row, but Dad dug his feet in and left telling her he would stop the allowance the following month. When Mum got legal advice she discovered because she'd left of her own accord, and nothing was signed, she didn't have a leg to stand on. Mother, as you can imagine, was devastated and left with no choice but to find herself a job. To her credit she found work as manageress in a dry cleaning shop, which although a come-down for her at least provided enough income to survive. Her life, however, had been changed beyond recognition, and she felt as if all her efforts up to that point had been entirely wasted. Understandably she became pretty depressed. I was furious when I found out and I angrily confronted my father and stepmother. What on earth were they doing, I demanded to know. How could they do that to my Mother when Father was getting more wealthy, not less? I screamed and shouted at both of them, but it didn't do me any good. Dad just retreated in to his shell and mumbled something about needing the money, and Julia just told me it was none of my 'damn business', and to keep my nose out of it. I remember standing in front of her, seething inside and eyeing her angrily, but she just stood there defiantly. Eventually I became abusive and she too got angry. She moved right up close and confronted me. I tried to tell her what I thought of her, but even in that situation I couldn't help being distracted by her cleavage which, as her anger increased, was heaving up and down only inches from my eye-line. Part of me wanted to look her in the eye and shout at her and tell her what a bitch she was, but another part of me wanted to drag down my gaze and feast on those magnificent breasts. Unfortunately it tends ruin the effect of an argument when you're shouting in someone's face but looking at their tits! So anyway the deed had been done and there was nothing I could do. Julia was clearly in charge of our family and Dad and I had both been relegated to bit-players. I guess it wasn't so bad for dad, at least he could fuck Julia whenever he wanted, all I could do was swallow my pride and discharge my emotions by masturbating to visions of tearing off her clothes and raping the bitch! It's strange you know, but back then I never thought I'd actually have a chance to do just that! II – My Loving Mother Over the following couple of years I spent a lot of time with Mum, comforting, consoling, and encouraging her. She'd had a pretty hard time of things, and as her job barely covered her outgoings, she had no money left to enjoy herself or meet people. As I said, I stayed with her every other weekend and we did things together. I suppose I was her only source of entertainment and joy in life. Slowly, however, she got more and more down, and I resorted to visiting her every weekend for a while, just to try and life her spirits. I guess as a nineteen year old teenager I should have been out enjoying myself, meeting girls and having a good time, but I simply couldn't abandon Mum after what Julia and Dad had done. Mum and I became very close during this period - too close some might say. Why might they say that? Well, because something happened one weekend in February which changed my relationship with mother irrevocably. There was snow on the ground that day, and the train I took to visit her was late. I was frozen when I got there, and Mum, obviously worried about me, was very concerned when I arrived. "You shouldn't come and see me in this weather," she said fussing about me, taking off my overcoat and rubbing my hands to get them warm. "It's Ok," I replied with a smile. "No problem. The snow is fun, and let's face it we don't see it that often." As usual I was trying to make light of her concerns, not wanting to put her under any pressure. Mother was fifty-seven by then. She was about average height (a couple of inches shorter than me), and very slim. She had short mousy brown hair which curled at ends and, unlike Julia, fairly small breasts, but she was still quite a good looking woman. Although she rarely used make-up these days or anything to bring out the best in herself, she was a very old-fashioned woman and in her eyes a certain degree of presentation must always to be maintained. She was normally smartly dressed in a skirt and thin sweater, and she always smelt of lavender. Her shoes tended to be flat or low heels, and although tights were in fashion by then, she continued to wear the light brown stockings she'd always worn. I knew that because occasionally I'd get a glimpse of her stocking-tops as she bent over. Mother had nice legs and I guess a guy looks - even if it is his mother. I remember mother seemed especially low that weekend, and overly worried about me and the trouble I'd taken to visit her. I think she was becoming concerned about the amount of time I was spending with her, and the fact I was, as she put it, 'missing my teenage years'. "You shouldn't keep bothering about me," she insisted. "I'm alright, really I am. You don't need to worry so much. I'm happy in my little flat and I keep myself busy. When I've saved up some money I'm going to take a few days off and have a bit of a holiday." But I'd just smile at her and tell her not to worry. Regardless of what she said I knew full well she needed my company, at least until she'd come to terms with her new situation - if she could ever do that. It was late Saturday evening when it happened. We'd had a meal, cooked by Mother, and we sat together (as we tended to do) watching television up until about eleven o'clock. About that time Mother would usually take her sleeping pill (which her doctor had prescribed for her depression), and get up and go to bed. She only had one bedroom so I would bunk down on the sofa. Sometimes she'd have a bath before bed and sit around for a while in her dressing gown. For some reason she always got dressed again after her bath, at least in her normal underclothes, and the dressing gown would replace the sweater and skirt. On that evening she taken her pill early and had her bath, and she was sitting back on the sofa watching the end of a film before she went to bed. It was one of those sad, weepy 'women's films' where somebody dies in the end, and I think it depressed mother. Certainly she was crying by the end of it and I gave her a cuddle to make her feel better. I remember how her dressing gown fell open as she cuddled me, and how I couldn't stop myself from looking at her stocking tops. As she pulled back she noticed me looking, and I blushed red and said something about the film to change the subject. She never said anything at the time about my furtive glance at her stockings, but I'm sure she thought about it and that it was partly responsible for what followed. As the film ended she got up and gave me a peck on the cheek and turned for her bedroom. As she went in I noticed her looking back at me with a melancholy look on her face, and I grinned at her to try and lighten the mood. She smiled back at me but her smile was tinged with sadness. I'd watched the TV for about another half an hour and was just undressing for bed when I heard a sound. As I listened I realised in was mother crying softly in her bedroom. Worried and concerned, I slipped into my pyjamas and knocked softly on her door. The crying stopped instantly and I heard her say 'come in'. "Are you OK?" I said gently as I entered her bedroom. "Yes ... don't worry ... I'm fine," she said, but it was clear from the tone of her voice she was still struggling with her tears. It was dark in her bedroom, with only a distant streetlight behind the curtains providing a faint glow. I went over and sat on the edge of her bed. "What is it?" I asked. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to disturb you." "You haven't disturbed me," I said, "I'm just worried about you. I hate to see you so unhappy." "Oh dear," she whispered. "That just makes it worse." "I don't understand?" I said, not sure what she meant. "Makes what worse?" "I was just thinking about you and what you've given up for me. I feel so guilty ... so wretched, knowing that you're sacrificing your youth just to help me keep going. It makes me so sad. I'm sorry, I couldn't help my tears." I reached over to cuddle her. "Don't be daft Mum," I whispered, "I don't mind, I really don't. I love you very much and I enjoy coming up to see you ... I really do." "That's very kind of you," she said in a voice that clearly indicated she didn't believe me. "I know you worry about me, and I know you're doing your best to help me, but you're a young man and you're missing so much of your life. These days will never come again. You should be going out with girls and learning about life, not wasting your time with a miserable ugly old woman like me." "Don't be so daft! You may get sad occasionally, but you're certainly not ugly ... or old for that matter." She patted my hand and whispered. "Thank you dear, but I know you don't mean it." As I tried to argue the point she dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. Then she said, "Lie down here beside me and cuddle me for a while. It will make me feel better." I did as she requested and she whispered, "You're such a generous boy and I'm so lucky to have you." As I slid on to the bed beside her I put my arms around her shoulders. "Please Mum; stop worrying so much about me. I've got my whole life to live and I've plenty of time to go out and have fun. You need a bit of support at the moment ... life's been pretty cruel to you, and I'm more than happy to help." "I know," she said, "but it's wrong for me to steal away your adolescence. This should be a time for learning and for having fun. You should be falling in love and learning about the opposite sex, not stuck here with me. It's wrong, I know it's wrong." "Now stop it," I whispered forcefully. "I'm not complaining and I'm quite happy." Then I added with a smile, "I'm supposed to be here to help you, not to make the situation worse by giving you something else to worry about." But she didn't seem to be listening, and I heard her whisper almost to herself. "I wish there was something I could do to show you how much I appreciate you coming to see me ... something I could do to help." I squeezed her shoulder again. "I'm fine," I said. "I don't need you to give me anything. I really don't." For a while she was silent and I lay there holding her in my arms. Then I felt her move her arm. After a moment her hand came to rest on my thigh. "Maybe there's something I can do," she said, so softly I could hardly hear. Very slowly her hand began to inch its way across my thigh in the direction of my crotch. "I love you so much," she whispered. "Mummy loves you ..." And then suddenly her fingers touched to edge of my penis under my pyjamas. I felt a jolt of surprise, and I thought for a moment it was an accident. Automatically I tried to shift my body, but then I realised my penis had gone hard and I started to feel very embarrassed and uncomfortable. I felt deeply ashamed of allowing such a thing to happen when I was lying next to my mother, and I hoped she wouldn't notice her hand was actually touching my erect penis. Again I tried to wriggle away. But then her fingers moved across my hard cock and shaped themselves gently around it. If I'd been shocked before, I was now stunned, but this time I didn't move. In fact I was frozen in place, my mind spinning and my heart racing. What is she doing? I kept asking myself, does she know she's holding my cock? And then I heard her whisper to me gently. "It's alright baby, relax. Let mummy help. Let mummy do something nice for you ... just for once." I lay there silent, not knowing what to say or what to think or what to do. Stunned as I was by mother's hand on my penis, I nevertheless waited breathlessly to see what would happen next. I knew what she was doing was wrong and very naughty, but at that moment I didn't care. All I wanted was for her to go holding me. A Tale of Two Mothers Very gently she lifted her hand and moved it into the gap at the front of my pyjamas. After a moment of unbelievable tension and anticipation I felt it slide around my naked cock and grasp me firmly. I think I must have sighed or something because she whispered, "is that good baby? Do you like that?" I was too shocked to say anything clearly, and I just mumbled something vaguely positive. Slowly her hand began to move up and down my cock, and I lay there totally entranced. I was afraid to do or say anything that might break the spell, but with every micro-movement of her hand I became more breathless and more excited. Gradually her hand began to move more rhythmically, back and forth along the length of my penis and I finally understood she was actually masturbating me. "Mummy's here for you baby," she murmured in my ear. "Just lie back and enjoy it ... have a little pleasure for yourself. You're such a good boy and you deserve something nice ... and mummy knows what you need." I suppose in terms of a sexual experience it wasn't much - in fact it was hardly anything at all. However, as with all things in life 'more can be less, and less can be more', and I look back upon that experience as one of the greatest, most erotic, sexual moments in my whole life. I was being willingly masturbated by my own mother, who only moments before had been the least sexy thing in my entire world. Now, suddenly, she'd been transformed in an instant into some dark, dangerous, and delicious nymph who could provide sexual joy and wonder beyond belief. Needless to say I didn't last very long, and as I realised I was about to cum I tried to say something to warn mother, but she ignored my mutterings and continued to wank me harder and harder until I erupted in a sudden flood. My cock spurted and spurted all over my pyjamas and all over mother's hand, but she continued to massage me until every drop had been drained from my balls. For a time we just lay there in silence, mother's hand still entwined around my penis. Although I was feeling satisfied, I had no idea what to say to her. Indeed I was beginning to feel slightly ashamed and embarrassed. Eventually mother leant over a kissed my cheek. "Was that nice?" she whispered in my ear. "Did mummy do good?" "Oh yes that was wonderful ... thank you," I said uncertainly. "I ... I'm sorry I made a mess." I suppose she suddenly realised how young and inexperienced I was, and probably how embarrassed I was now feeling. "Don't be so silly," she said gently. "I wanted you to make a mess. I wanted to do something to say thank you for all the time you've given me ... and maybe to make up in some small way for all the things you're missing." I was silent, mostly because I still didn't know what to say, but I think she took my silence as an implied criticism of what she'd done. "It was ok?" she asked uncertainly. "You didn't mind? You're not unhappy with me, are you?" I heard the doubt in her voice, and immediately I realised I didn't want her to go away with the idea that what she'd done was anything other than fantastic. I suppose even then, somewhere deep inside I was hoping this wouldn't be the only time. Abruptly I came to life and turned around and kissed her cheek. "That was fantastic Mum ... amazing. That was the greatest gift anyone ever gave me ... it really was. It was the best, the very best!" Ok, so I was going over the top, but even in those days I instinctively understood the principles of positive reinforcement – if you want somebody to keep doing something you need to reward them. "I love you Mum," I whispered. "That was so wonderful. Thank you ... thank you so much." Even in the dim light I could see she was smiling, and the more I praised her and thanked her, the more she smiled. Eventually, after a great deal of praise, she took me to the bathroom, washed me down and changed my pyjamas. After that we both went thoughtfully back to our respective beds. Although nothing further was said the next day, or during the following week, about what she'd done for me, by the next weekend I was visiting mother with a whole new agenda. I didn't know if she'd ever do it again, but I sure as hell hoped she would. I guess it's strange, but although I knew intellectually she shouldn't have done it and it would be far better if she never did such a thing again, emotionally and sexually I was in a frenzy of excitement about the possibility it might just happen. I suppose men in general, and young men in particular, are pretty much ruled by their balls. The following Saturday was normal and nothing was said during the day, but as I'd never expected it to be I wasn't disappointed. However as bed time approached, I became increasingly concerned she wasn't going to offer me another session. She had her bath, but her legs remained covered, and there was no flash of stockings. We sat on the sofa, but at opposite ends, and I was never invited to cuddle her. I wanted desperately to indicate to her that I was feeling horny, but I knew I couldn't say anything. I had no right to encourage my mother to masturbate me, and if it'd been just a one-off thing I knew I was just going to have to live with that. It was a crying shame (for me anyway), but there you go. She kept me in suspense right to the end, and I'd just about given up all hope; but then as she opened her bedroom door to go in for the night she turned and looked at me. "Would you like to lay with me for a while?" she said softly but with an obvious undertone. I nearly said 'I thought you'd never ask!', but I didn't. I just smiled, nodded my head, picked up my pyjamas and followed her into the bedroom. As she slipped into her bed I got undressed in the corner (facing the wall), donned my pyjamas and turned back towards the bed. She pulled back the edge of the covers and silently invited me in. With pounding heart and rock-hard cock I snuggled in beside her. She immediately put her arms around me and pulled me into her chest. For a while we just cuddled up to each other, occasionally whispering warm 'I love you's' in each other's ears. Then, as we relaxed down into the bed, I felt her hand move over my penis. For a while it just rested there, only my pyjama bottoms between the fingers of her hand and my hot throbbing cock. Eventually I realised she was struggling to say something before she continued. "I shouldn't be doing this baby," she said at last. For a moment I was silent. I felt very disappointed, but I knew she was probably right, so I said, "I know Mum ... do you want me to go?" "Am I abusing you?" she whispered, almost to herself. "Am I hurting you? Am I damaging you? Is it wrong baby ... is it wrong? I want to do it for you. I like doing it for you ... but I don't want to hurt or damage you." I thought for a moment, and I realised my new relationship with mother was in the balance. If I said the wrong thing now she'd never touch me again. As I said, I knew she was right to question whether we should be acting this way, but deep down I desperately wanted her to continue. Yes, of course it was wrong - everybody knew incest was wrong - but right then I didn't give a monkey's tit what anybody else thought. I wanted her to play with me - and I wanted it desperately. "I'm nineteen Mum," I said, trying to sound eminently reasonable and grown-up. "I can do what I like, can't I? I can choose what I want. I'm not a child anymore ... so how can you be abusing me?" She was silent for a moment, and then she said, "are you sure baby ... really sure?" I lent over and kissed her on the lips, nothing erotic just a gentle tender kiss. "I love you Mum, nothing you can do would hurt me. If you want I'll go, but ... well it was nice what you did ... very nice." Suddenly she smiled, and with a deep sigh seemed to relax. It was as if all her doubts were falling away. Then she whispered, "you're a very naughty boy, you know that don't you," and her hand reached inside my pyjamas and grasped my cock once again. Over the weeks that followed she masturbated me regularly every Saturday night, and I have to say going to see mother ceased to be the bind it was. Inevitably, however, things changed over time and our sexual encounters started to become more than simple masturbation. It was about the third or fourth weekend when the first change occurred. We were lying in her bed and she was holding my penis. She'd just beginning to rub it gently when I put my hand round her waist. It was the first time I'd done that. Up till then I'd just lain there, passively letting her do what she was doing. A moment later I half-kissed her cheek, whispering "I love you Mum ... thank you". She turned to me in response, momentarily kissing my lips, but as she did so my hand rode up and touched the bottom of her breast. I moved it away quickly, but she reached over with her other hand and caught mine and lifted it right up to her chest. I didn't need any second invitation and within a moment I was fondling her left tit vigorously. After that I just assumed that I was allowed to touch her and I freely fondled both breasts as she brought me to climax. I guess an important barrier was broken that night, and on subsequent days I began to explore all over her body with my hands. She never stopped or discouraged me and it wasn't long before I was investigating the area between her legs. At the same time we began to kiss each other on the lips more frequently, and the kisses gradually became longer and more fierce. This kissing led to the next major change. We were sitting on the sofa one Saturday evening in May, long before bed time, when I leant across and kissed her on the lips. The kiss was soft but I let it last a while. Suddenly she opened her mouth and pressed her tongue against my lips. I responded immediately, opening my mouth, and our loving pecks abruptly transformed themselves into something new and far more passionate. As we kissed I slid my hand up and caressed her breasts. In response her hand slipped down and fondled my penis through my trousers. It was the first time we'd had any sexual contact other than in her bed at the end of a Saturday night. That was also the night when I first discovered her stockings. After touching her breast for a while my hand dropped to her knee and crept up her stocking-clad leg. There is something incredibly erotic about the way a stocking suddenly ends and is replaced with bare thigh, and I found myself spending a lot of time feeling around the interface between her leg and her stocking-tops. I seemed to be fascinated, not just with the way the stocking became thigh, but also with the feel of the material. It was just so sexy and erotic. Abruptly mother broke away, and I thought she wanted to stop necking, but all she did was undo the side buttons of her skirt and drop it down to the floor. For the first time in my life I was looking at a woman dressed in stockings without having to pretend I wasn't interested or I didn't care. Mother seemed to notice my interest, and she stood there with a knowing smile on her face, just letting me look. I looked long and hard, examining how the brown colour darkened up to the thicker stocking-top, and how the straps of her suspenders were neatly attached. It was the beginning of what was to become a life-long fetish. Suddenly Mother took my hand and led me to the bedroom. She sat me on the bed and let me watch as she took off her sweater. I thought for a second she was also going to remove her bra, but she didn't. Instead, dressed only in her bra, pants, stockings and suspenders, she proceeded to undress me, removing my shirt and trousers and then everything else, till I was standing naked before her. By now I wasn't embarrassed to be naked, even with a rock hard cock standing up to attention. She pulled back the bedclothes and tucked me into her bed. As I lay there looking at her, she reached around behind her back and finally removed her bra, and for the first time I saw her breasts in all their glory. As I said, they weren't very big, but maybe because of that they didn't sag at all. They were pert and well-formed, and had that wonderful up-swelling curve of classic boobs. I have to admit they looked much better than I'd imagined they would. Mother noticed me looking and the admiration on my face, and she slimed coyly at me. Then she lightly ran her hands down her thighs and over her stockings, as if to draw my attention to the fact she was leaving them on, and she slipped in bed beside me. As we embraced, I was feeling just a bit stunned by the sudden change in the intensity of our relationship, and for the first time I wondered if she was actually going to let me fuck her. But it didn't happen that night. Instead she gently fondled my cock, whilst my hands explored every inch of her body. As my fingers played all around her stockings and suspender straps, she guided my head down towards her breasts. I kissed and nibbled at them passionately, until I realised she wanted me to suckle her. I took one of her hard nipples into my mouth and sucked at it gently. Gradually my sucking intensified, until the nipple and part of her breast were deep in my mouth, being massaged by my tongue. She sighed softly and her hand reached around the back of my head and pushed my face harder and harder into her chest. "Suck me baby," she whispered breathlessly. "Suckle at mummy's breast ... suck mummy deep." And so, with my fingers probing around her nylon lingerie and occasionally pressing down on her vulva, and my mouth guzzling greedily at her breast, she began to masturbate my cock with both hands, cupping my penis like an artificial vagina. As my passion mounted I even began to pull and tear at her underclothing and nip and nibble at her breast. She seemed caught up in my excitement, and as my hands probed and pulled and poked at her most private parts, she began to pant and squeak and squeal, and rub me harder and harder. As my orgasm approached, I even thrust a hand down the front of her underpants and forced my fingers up between her legs. I think she actually screamed as my fingers invaded her vagina, and her hands tightened still further on my cock, pushing me over the edge. With a violent jolt upwards I erupted, and as my hands tightened involuntarily, squeezing her vagina and crushing her breast, she too seem to jolt forward and her body went rigid. "Oh Baby!!" she screamed. "Oh yes ... do it for mummy! Cum for mummy ... cum all over mummy!! Oh yes ... Oh yes ..." And I did as she asked, pumping my fluid all over her hands. She kept rubbing me for a while, drawing out the last of my sperm, and then she lifted up her hands, and with a hand-washing motion, spread my cum all over her hands and up her arms. It was only some time later I realised she must have reached orgasm, and that that was the first time she done so in my presence. Needless to say, after that it wasn't long until our sex play became full intercourse. It was the next weekend in fact. The following Saturday evening, after she'd had her bath, she came out wearing only her panties, garter belt, and brown stockings, and she sat down beside me and immediately began to kiss me passionately. I was just a bit surprised at the suddenness of this, but I responded by grasping both her naked breasts in my hands. I guess she'd been feeling pretty horny that evening because she immediately began to pull at my zip, and within seconds my trousers and underpants were down to the floor. Although I was still sitting upright on the sofa, both her hands instantly engulfed my penis and she began to fondle and caress it. Then she broke from our kiss and looked down at my cock. I thought for a moment she was looking for something, or was going to say something, but then I realised she just wanted to look at it. She looked back up at me for a moment and said, "I love you baby. Mummy would do anything for you ... anything." Then before I realised what was happening, she slipped off the sofa and on to her knees, her head bent down towards my waist, and she immediately began to kiss and lick my penis. I was surprised – shocked even – but that was nothing to how I felt when her mouth opened wide and descended down onto my cock. Her mouth closed again and I felt like my prick had been encased in a velvet purse. I'd never experienced oral sex before and the sheer wonder and pleasure of it simply blew my mind. Mother was so horny that evening; I'd never seen her like that before. Her mouth and her tongue began to work furiously on my cock and her head began to move rhythmically up and down. Her hands remained clutched around the base of my penis, and it was almost as if she were trying to bring me to instant orgasm, as if she desperately need my cum in her mouth - and the way she was working me meant she'd very soon get what she wanted. As I realised I was cumming I tried to warn her and pull away. In those days I assumed women never wanted you to cum in their mouths – that such a thing was beyond the pale. However I soon learned my mistake. As I tried to pull back she clung on harder, desperately almost. "I'm going to cum!" I warned her, terribly afraid of doing the wrong thing. "Stop, please, I'm going to cum!" For a second her mouth left my cock and her head turned up to me. "I want it," she hissed. "In my mouth ... on my face. I want you cum in me and over me!! Do it baby ... do it for mummy!" Given those words there didn't seem to be a lot left to say. As her mouth sucked my cock back into its incestual depths I just went for it, pushing myself up to meet the downward movement of her head. Within seconds I was blasting gallons of juice into her hungry mouth. The first two or three jets she swallowed greedily and the she withdrew her mouth and directed the remaining torrent all over her face. It was a sight beyond my wildest dreams, cum spurting all over my mother's nose and mouth and eyes, and some of it even in her hair. When I'd finished she lifted her hands and just like I'd seen her do with her face cream, she massaged it over her face and neck. If I ever needed a fantasy vision to masturbate to in the future, that was it! It was the following morning when we finally had intercourse. For the first time that night I slept with her in her bed. Before that I'd always returned to the sofa, but after our experience earlier we didn't want to be parted. I woke early the following morning and lay there for a while just looking at mother. It had been a warm night and the covers were pulled down to just below her navel, and her breasts and tummy were exposed to my view. I examined every inch of her visible body, my eyes running up and down her breasts like faint spidery fingers, and tracing her lower tummy right down to the first stands of pubic hair peeking out from under the sheet. I'd been hard when I woke, but now my cock throbbed with the intensity of unbridled lust. Very gently, so as not to wake her, I lean across and began to lightly kiss her breasts. As softly as I could I licked and tasted her body with the very tip of my tongue. She murmured slightly in her sleep but did not wake up. Emboldened, my tongue drifted down and across, leaving a faint moist trail on her skin, until if was flicking at the pubic hairs at the edge of the sheet. Using only the side of my tongue, I began to drag the covering sheet down until her sex was fully exposed. I lay there for a while; my head propped up on my elbows, looking at her vagina and examining every detail I could see. Slowly I moved my face down closer and closer, until I could smell the aroma emanating from her cunt. 'Cunt', I thought to myself, what a strange, gross word for such an interesting and exciting thing, and my tongue reached down over her vulva and into edge of the valley beyond. A Tale of Two Mothers She moaned in her sleep, and her legs twitched slightly and pulled apart. Accepting the invitation, I ran my tongue down into the folds of flesh and beyond. Her legs fell wider apart and I pulled back for a moment to examine this new vision. I'd never seen a woman's vagina before and I stared at it in wonder. I noticed how the flesh folded and gathered at the sides, and the hint of pink buried deep in the middle, and I lowered my head again and kissed her all around the edges. Then my tongue darted out and pushed its way through the folds and on into the pinkness, and then further down till it was deep inside her. Suddenly mother squealed and opened her eyes. For a moment she looked at me shocked and surprised, and then her face softened into the warmest of smiles. "Don't stop baby," she whispered, as I raised my head. "Don't ever stop ... please!" And so I lowered my mouth once again began to kiss and lick and probe at her cunt. I suppose I was pretty inexperienced but it didn't seem to worry her. What I lacked in skill I guess I made up for in enthusiasm, and only once or twice did she guide me to the jewels in her crown, and encourage me to lick them and mould them, and suck them up into my mouth. Within a few short minutes her body was jolting and heaving in my face, and she screamed so loudly I though I was hurting her. After that she pulled my sticky wet mouth up and on to hers, and lifted and manoeuvred my body till I was lying on top of her. "I guess we've come so far," she whispered in my ear. "It's too late to stop now." I wasn't entirely sure what she meant, and I pulled my head back and gave her a quizzical look. "You want me baby?" she said simply. "You want to fuck mummy?" "Oh yes ..." I breathed, my cock jumping at her use of that word. As my wet mouth returned to hers, she reached down for my cock and without any preliminaries slipped it between her legs. It was an astounding feeling entering a woman for the first time, and it was made so much more erotic and exciting by the knowledge the woman I was fucking was my own mother. "Do it to me baby," she cried. "Fuck me baby, fuck mummy!" I guess she was already pretty hot when I entered her, and it didn't take much for her to be panting and screaming at me and forcing me deep as I could go. "Dirty little boy!" she wailed. "Fucking your mummy. Dirty, dirty little boy." "Yes mummy," I whispered back to her breathlessly. "I'm a dirty boy. Doing it to my mummy ... fucking my mummy!" "Oh God!!" she screamed, "I'm cumming ... I'm cumming. Give it to me baby ... squirt it in my cunt! Cum in me ... cum in mummy!" Her back arched and her fingers tore into my shoulders, and she screamed and wailed in ecstasy, and I though for a moment she was going to rip me apart. But the thought only lasted for a second, because I too reached my climax, and as I pumped and pumped my milky white fluid deep inside her, my roars of joy mixed with her cries of pleasure. My relationship with mother continued in this way for another six months, and we both experienced a joy and satisfaction beyond our wildest dreams. I know incest is wrong - very wrong - but unfortunately it's also very exciting and very erotic, and neither mother nor I had any desire to stop what we'd started. I'm not going to try and justify what we did, these things happen in the world. However things changed in November of that year, when Father died suddenly. * To be continued ... (Part two to follow shortly (The Taking of Julia) in which mother and I take our revenge on Julia by forcing her to become our sex slave!)