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Watch with Mother

By: rbuchanan



I suppose I'd always been a bit of a voyeur but before that week I'd never actually spied on anyone. I'd certainly never secretly watched a woman undress. Not any woman ... let alone my own Mother. 

So when I say 'voyeur' I mean I was like most young men in those days; I liked looking at dirty photos and I masturbated quite a lot. (This was in the late 60's so the photos weren't really that 'dirty'. They were mostly scantily clad nubile young ladies revealing more in the way of lingerie than naked bodies. I guess that's where I got my taste for stockings and garter belts and high-heeled shoes). I was a voyeur in the sense I got more sexual satisfaction from 'looking' at pictures than I did from contact with girls. Partly this was because girls at the time were reluctant to share their bodies, and partly because if they did, they were equally reluctant to give anything other than straightforward intercourse. Taking pleasure in dressing them up, or showing too much interest in their under-clothes, was considered perverted! 

The world ain't like that anymore!

But back then when I masturbated I could dress my fantasy girl however I liked, and make her do whatever I wanted. I guess (like many guys in those days) I had two sex lives: the 'official' proper one and the 'dirty' fantasy one, and these two never collided (I don't think they'd even met till I went to stay with Mother). My fantasy life was peopled with imaginary girls and women clad in my favourite lingerie and happy to do whatever my mood desired of them. Their existence, however, was known only to me, and they were locked away in the depth of my mind. I suppose I assumed it would always be that way, especially as modern fashion was moving girls away from shaped brassieres and seamed stockings and into tights and burnt bras!

Looking back, I assume my Mother, like all women in the late 50's and early 60's, must have worn all those things that now turned me on, but I'd never seen her undressed so I guess it never registered. Ok, I suppose as a horny kid I'd probably rummaged through her draws once or twice and felt and fingered her bra or suspender belt. I certainly remember examining her stockings, neatly folded in her bedside draw, and marvelling at the feel of them in my hands, but I never fantasised about her wearing them or masturbated to visions of her undressing for me. I mean she was my mother and not in any way sexy to me.

Quite the opposite actually, Mother was a strict, slightly puritanical, woman who took no nonsense from anyone. As a kid I did as I was told, or I got a slap from the back of her hand. I think even my father was a bit in awe of her. She certainly wore the trousers in our house. Not that she was tyrannical or anything, just tough-minded and very sure of herself. She was not the kind of woman you crossed ... or tried to get a look at in her underclothes!

It wasn't till after Father had passed away and I was at Uni that things changed. I remember I'd offered to go and stay with her for a week during the spring break, more out of guilt than anything else. Father had been gone a couple of years and she was living on her own in a big old house in Surrey. I'd hardly seen her at all in that time and I felt I had to make the effort to go see her. It was a bind of course. I was 21 and having fun with all my friends from University, and the last thing I wanted was to spend my precious time with a strict difficult old woman who would most certainly not approve of my life-style!

I say 'old', but Mother was actually about 56 or 57 by then, so she wasn't really ancient. She was medium height, thin build, and she wore simple traditional make-up. Her grey-silver hair was permed in a conservative manner, and she sported a fairly heavy set of round-rimmed glasses. Her clothing tended to match this image, being smart but old-fashioned and certainly not stylish. As for her figure, I suppose she had a reasonable pair of legs (her skirts were so long I couldn't be sure), but her chest was pretty flat ... or at least it didn't stand out much. I'd certainly never really noticed it or given any thought to her breasts. As I said, she was my mother ... enough said!

However that situation changed in several ways very soon after I arrived at her house in Wallington. For the first time in my life I saw my Mother in a state of undress, and something about that view turned me on more than I could ever have imagined. 

I'm not sure why this vision had the effect it did, but part of it must have been down to the fact I'd always been a bit in 'awe' of mum. If I'm honest I suppose deep down I was scared of her. She was always in control and always telling me what to do, and I always did as I was told. As I said before, my mother was not the kind of person you crossed. She could give you a look that could make your balls freeze and the tone in her voice was sometimes worse than my old Headmaster at school! She was the primary symbol of authority in my life (up to that time), and seeing her naked must have impacted on me in a variety of ways.

This unexpected 'vision' (that changed so much inside my head) happened entirely by accident. I'd arrived at Mother's home just as she was changing for work. I hadn't realised it before but Mother did a couple of shifts a week at a Rest Home, just for a little extra pocket money. She'd given up full-time work and had enough money to survive, but a little extra was always useful, and I think she enjoyed keeping in contact with friends from her working days.

When I arrived at her door she'd opened it in her dressing gown and she had a white towel curled around her head. She seemed surprised and a little flushed to see me.

"Simon?" she said, one hand holding the towel to her head. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming till tomorrow!"

"No ..." I said as gently as I could, and smiling broadly to try and soften Mother's stern look. "I said Friday ... I did say Friday."

She gave me a dark frown and turned around and marched back into the hallway. Over her shoulder she called back, "well you'll have to sort yourself out, I have to be at work in half an hour!"

"Oh ..." I said, pulling my case into the hall. "Work? I didn't know you worked?"

"Hmm," she muttered, and stopped to turn back to me. "I haven't seen you in the last couple of years, and hardly spoken to you in the last 18 months. I'm surprised you remember where the house is!"

I grinned again, but this time rather sheepishly, already regretting I'd come. Mother's fierce and intolerant manner always made me feel like a small child.

"Right, ok ... not to worry," I half-whispered. "You carry on. I'll sort myself out."

With a 'tutting' noise she turned around and walked back and gave me quick kiss on the forehead. I could smell the shampoo in her hair as her face softened just a fraction and she tried to give me a smile. It wasn't an entirely successful attempt.

"Well it is nice to see you Simon. I'm sorry ... maybe I got the days wrong. You go and unpack and make yourself at home and we'll have a nice chat later. But I must go now and get ready or I'm going to be late for my work. I'll explain everything when I come back."

"OK," I murmured as she turned and disappeared down the hallway.

As it happened, the house where she now lived was not the house I'd grown up in and I wasn't entirely sure if I could remember where the spare room was. I'd stayed here once before but that was only for one night and about two years ago, so as I slowly dragged my case down the hall I was trying hard to recall where to go. I stood there puzzling for a moment but I couldn't remember. It was a big house with several corridors off the main hall, and so with nothing on my mind other than orientating myself, I left the case behind and wandered off down the hallway. As I came around the corner I saw an intersection I vaguely remembered and I turned left, thinking the room Mother had allocated me was at the end of the passage.

I was wrong (it was actually the passage on the opposite side), but I only realised this when I came to a doorway that was half-open and saw it was the main bathroom. Mother was there washing her hair, and I stopped and silently stared.

In fact I didn't just stop, I froze to the spot. Mother had removed her dressing gown and was now standing semi-naked facing the doorway. Her hands were lifted up to her head massaging her shampoo-covered hair and her bare breasts jutted up and out not three feet from where I stood. Not only was she topless but her lower half was also uncovered, revealing white panties, a white suspender belt, and brown tanned stockings. Her eyes were closed because of the shampoo in her hair and her tits jumped and juggled about as she massaged her head. 

I should have realised my mistake and instantly turned and walked away. I shouldn't be looking at my own Mother in this state ... I knew that quite clearly. But for a long moment I didn't move, I just stayed there and looked. As she half-turned giving me a side-on view of her breasts I felt my cock go rock-hard. Then as I looked down, I noticed with a stomach-grabbing shock she was wearing high-heeled shoes and her stockings were seamed and fully-fashioned.

But it was her breasts that first grabbed my attention and rooted me to the spot. They were so different from any of the tits I'd seen in the magazines, or even in real life. They were smallish ... not tiny or flat but definitely small in comparison to some of the girls I knew ... but the nipples were oddly 'chunky' and pert. They stood up proud of her breasts like tiny towers, and they were big and bold and had a chewed look that was incredibly attractive. It seemed like they were begging to be engulfed by a hungry mouth! I'd never seen anything quite like them before, and they turned me on like crazy.

At the same time my mother had a great set of legs, and engulfed as they were in stockings and suspenders from my own fantasy world, they turned me on almost as much as her breasts. As she turned back to face the sink she revealed obsessively straight seams running erotically up the back of her legs, and then as she lent down over the sink her pert bottom thrust itself out above the brown stocking-tops and it was all I could do to stop myself reaching in and grabbing and fondling at her.

Instinctively my mind was telling me to back away silently and get the hell out of there ... but I didn't. There suddenly seemed to be a new character in me, a new power that just wanted to stand there and keep looking and see as much as it could. It was wrong ... the new person in me knew quite well it was wrong ... but that just made it more exciting and more compelling. So I stood there ... ten, fifteen, twenty seconds ... ogling at my Mother's body and examining every inch of it in increasing sexual excitement.

As I mentally fondled her exposed and jiggling breasts, I could not believe I'd lived with this sexual Goddess all my life and never know the wonders she'd kept hidden under her staid ordinary clothes. And then my fantasy world reached out and touched reality for the first time in my life, and I knew I wanted more. I didn't just want to masturbate over what I'd seen till this vision lost its power. I wanted to keep feeling this excitement that was making me physically shake, and keep experiencing the strange shivering dance going on in the pit of my stomach.

But then Mother began to rub her face on the towel and I knew any second she'd open her eyes, so I stepped back as quietly as I could and retraced my steps to my battered old suitcase standing alone and silent in the hallway.

I found my bedroom easy enough at the second attempt, and I dragged my case through the door and fell back on to the bed in the corner. I was still shaking and my cock still felt like it had been pumped up almost to bursting point. My hand dropped and inserted itself down the front of my jeans and I squeezed my cock as hard as I could. I began to rub it ever so gently, but I'd hardly begun before it started to explode, so I went with the flow and pumped and pumped as it ejected unbelievable amounts of semen into my underpants. It was a heart-stopping, stomach-churning, head-exploding, mammoth of a climax, and I think I even moaned out loud.

As I lay back upon the bed with a massive sigh, my hand still down my trousers and floating in a sea of cum, the door suddenly opened and Mother came in. The dressing-gown was back on and the towel removed from her wet hair, and her face was decorated once again with its traditional scowl. My right hand instantly leaped out from my trousers and under my leg (to hide the fact it was dripping with cum), and my left hand dropped to the front of my jeans in a vain attempt to cover a moist dark stain that was growing rapidly and inexorably.

"I ..." mother started to say, and then stopped. She gave me a strange look and then said, "Are you alright?" 

I wanted to jump up and go somewhere and do something to hide my embarrassment, but I knew I couldn't. My jeans were soaked at the front and any movement would reveal my shame.

"er ... I'm fine," I mumbled, aware that I was still shaking and that my face must be red and flushed. "I ... um ... damn case was heavier than I thought!"

With something close to a real smile, mother said, "What a wimp you are Simon! It's not that heavy!"

My panic notched down a peg or two in response to her seeming acceptance of my excuse. But then it jumped up again as she explained the reason for her visit.

"I just wanted to make sure you found your room and you weren't lost and wandering around somewhere. This old house can be a bit confusing if you don't know your way around."

She didn't smile this time but gave me a strange look that made me wonder if she suspected where I'd been and what I'd seen.

"No ... I'm fine thanks," I said again weakly. I ... I found it ok."

"Good," she said, still giving me that look, only this time I noticed her eyes were looking down at my crotch and the darkness spreading behind my hand. "I must go," she said simply and turned and left.

I sat there for a moment staring at the closed door and wondering exactly what she'd seen and what she was thinking. Then I lay back upon the bed and with a shuddering sigh closed my eyes.

When Mother came back from work some five hours later I was feeling much better. I'd cleaned myself up, changed my clothes, and persuaded myself she hadn't really noticed anything ... and even if she had, mother being mother, wouldn't say anything. My mother was much too straight-laced and prim and proper to bring up the subject of masturbation. Whatever she'd seen and whatever she may have thought, would be quickly despatched to that box in her head labelled 'not to be thought about ever again, and certainly never to be discussed'!

In my own head I'd moved away from the guilt and embarrassment I'd momentarily felt, and on to the echoes surrounding the experience of seeing mother without her clothes on. It was a much warmer and more comfortable subject on which to dwell. It was the kind of subject you could while away hours or days or even weeks, happily contemplating. It was certainly giving me food for thought, and the primary focus of that 'thought' was increasingly related to ways of repeating the experience.

It wasn't just her body that had turned me on, it was more than that. Ok, so all my 'fantasy' girls had suddenly morphed themselves into copies of her (I'd masturbated again since she'd gone to work and all the women in my sexual visions had suddenly acquired mother's breasts and legs and bottom), but even that was changing. It was something to do with the fact she was my 'mother'. Increasingly the 'incest' part was coming to the fore. Making these girls in my mind (who now looked like mother) do what I wanted was one thing, but making 'mother' do what I wanted (in my fantasies) was something else again. There was a forbidden element in that idea that was still churning and growing in my loins even after two massive climaxes! The bottom line was I wanted to see more of mother ... in more ways than one!

When Mother came in she was wearing her Rest-Home gear; a sort of plain nurse-like uniform. Before I'd probably have hardly noticed, but now it seemed an incredibly sexy outfit. It was a one-piece starched white dress with buttons down the front, and it made her breasts seem larger and her entire body slimmer and more attractive. As she began talking to me I was mentally toying with the idea of slowly undoing the buttons, one by one.

She apologised to me for the earlier misunderstanding about my arrival, and she explained about her job which she did twice a week. She seemed concerned to know if I had made myself at home, and then, to my surprise, she thanked me for coming to stay with her.

I said I was fine and then I did something I'd hardly ever done before: I went up and gave her a cuddle. I'm not sure who was most surprised, her or me. I guess I knew instinctively where that had come from (it was this new person in me who wanted to get a bit 'closer' to her), but she seemed quite taken aback. As I held her tight, her arms hung in the air behind me for several seconds, before she begrudgingly returned my embrace. It was all over in a moment and I stepped back, but the look on her face was a picture. It was a cross between surprise, and pleasure, and a slightly scowling distrust.

"Simon ..." she began in a breathless uncertain manner.

But I didn't wait for her to finish. "Sorry Mum," I said with a big smile. "It's just so nice to see you. It's been a long time."

"Well yes," she replied, still a touch uncertain. "It's ... it's nice to see you too. It has been quite a while I guess."

"I was thinking," I went on, "maybe I should stay a bit longer ... you know, so we can get to know each other again. I mean you're my Mother and I hardly know you anymore, and ... well ... it would be nice," I finished rather lamely.

We were in the kitchen and she pulled a chair out from the round wooden table and sat down. "Well ..." she said slowly. "I must admit to being a bit surprised. I thought ..."

"You thought what Mother? That I didn't love you any more?"

That finally brought a smile to her face. "Don't be silly," she said. "I just thought you were so involved at University ... with all your new friends ... you really didn't have time for your boring old mother!"

"I don't think you're boring," I said, perhaps just a touch too quickly, because her smile faded as quickly as it came and was replaced with a slightly suspicious look.

Just for a moment I wondered again if she knew I'd been spying on her ... that I'd seen her undressed. But to my relief the look passed and she changed the subject, asking me what I wanted for dinner. I let it go, for there was plenty of time for me to casually tell her I planned to stay another week or two. I mean I was a free agent and I had no fixed plans for the holiday period, and if things got 'interesting' maybe I'd stay with mother till it was time to go back to Uni!

Now at this point you may find my story a little bit odd. After all I had no thought (at that stage) of anything other than looking at my Mother. All I had in mind was a bit of spying on her and a chance to see her in a state of undress ... and yet the whole idea was becoming both terribly important and highly erotic to me. '

'Why was that?' you may ask. At the time I had no clear idea why I was becoming so obsessive about the whole thing; I just had this compulsion to find a way to see her again without her clothes on ... to see her in an 'exposed' state. Now, years later, I understand that making her seem vulnerable was at the heart of the whole exercise. I'd been dominated by my mother throughout the whole of my life. I'd always done as I was told without exception, but now as I was growing up I no longer wanted to be dominated by any woman ... and somehow making mother vulnerable (reversing the 'power relationship' if you like) seemed extremely important ... especially now I'd seen her as a real 'flesh and blood' sexy woman. My mother had always been a bit of a 'bitch' to me and I think something deep inside me wanted to pay her back!


Watch with Mother



However, as I lay in bed that night I had no clear understanding of my own motives, I was just trying to work out in my head where exactly I was going with this. Ok, I thought to myself, you've been blown away by seeing mother's half-naked body and just being near her is currently putting you in a permanent state of sexual excitement, but where is it all leading? 

I remember I had some vague notion that just being around her I might get (or might be able to engineer) more opportunities to see her body ... to get turned on again by looking at those wonderful breasts, or maybe to see her without her skirt on and feast my eyes on her magnificent stockings. But as I lay there (my hand on my cock) the whole idea began to seem increasingly unlikely. What had occurred was just an accident (a lucky accident!), and it was extremely unlikely that such an opportunity would happen again.

If I tried to engineer such an event, if I actually tried to engage in spying on mother, I would be taking an enormous risk. Mother was not stupid, not by any means, and if she suspected what was going on she'd throw me out and probably never talk to me again. I wouldn't be surprised if she tried to give me a bloody good beating as well ... my mother was a tough old boot! 

It was curious but thinking about how 'tough' Mother was made me go hard, and reinforced my desire to see more of her 'hidden' attributes. Somehow I wanted to have some control over her ... to make her do what I wanted! In the end, however, I decided I'd got a bit carried away by the whole experience, and I'd just have to play it cool and see if any potential opportunities presented themselves. If they did I'd take them, if not I'd try and forget the whole thing and just stay for the planned week.

In the event things turned out very different from what I'd expected or hoped. In fact they turned out better ... much much better! Over the next few days I made three conscious attempts to further my aims. Whilst they were not especially successful they triggered an entirely unforeseen series of events that was far more erotic than I could ever have hoped!

My first attempt centred on making Mother 'breakfast in bed'. I guess I didn't sleep much on that first night ... a lot of fantasies kept my mind spinning ... and somewhere in the dead of night I came up with idea of making Mum a very 'early' breakfast. Maybe, I thought to myself, if I do that it'll serve the dual purpose of making her happy with me (or at least more tolerant), and at the same time give me an opportunity to see something interesting. I mean you never know your luck!

So there I was at 7.30 in the morning, cooking fried eggs and toast, putting them on a tray, adding a cup of tea, and slipping quietly along the passageway into Mother's bedroom.

To my delight she was obviously asleep. Although she was wearing a plain cotton nightdress, it was a warm night and the covers were pulled a little way down. She lay on her back, and the covers were down enough for me to see the outline of her nipples. I walked as quietly as I could to her bedside and just stood there looking at her breasts, hidden this time, but still strangely appealing.

With a deep breath I put the tray on her bedside table and leant over her as if to awaken her with a kiss. But the kiss never came and my head simply hovered over her chest, as close as it dared, my eyes peeking and probing at her breasts and focussing intently on the shape of her nipples.

Quietly suddenly, and without warning, she opened her eyes,

"Simon!" she almost screamed in my ear.

Startled, I tried to complete the pretend manoeuvre and give her the kiss.

I don't know if it was instinct or what, but her hands pulled the covers up over her chest and she struggled to sit up. "What are you doing here for God's sake?" she snarled breathlessly, dodging my pursed lips like I was a snake about to bite her, and backing away violently.

"I ... I brought you breakfast," I said, standing up and pointing at the tray. "I thought it would be nice for you have breakfast in bed."

She looked across at the tray and then back at me, but although she visibly relaxed, the smile of gratitude I'd planned for failed to materialise, and instead I was greeted by a look of suspicion.

"What!!?" she said in a manner that was more an accusation than a question.

I could feel my guilty conscience turning my face red as I spluttered and tried to explain. 

"Breakfast," I said, "Breakfast in bed. I ... I thought you might like it ... for a change. I mean it must be lonely here never having anyone to do it for you". I stopped and licked my lips and suddenly felt embarrassed. "I mean living all alone you never get it anymore do you? I mean you never get it in bed ... breakfast that is ... I mean you never get breakfast in bed... that's what I mean."

It's funny how the meaning of innocent words can suddenly turn and bite you. Have you ever noticed that? You mean to say one thing and the words seemed to be happily following you and behaving like you planned, and then suddenly, all on their own, they turn to a meaning you never consciously intended, and you find yourself saying what you really mean but never in a month of Sundays intended to say! Of course living on her own she wasn't 'getting it' anymore, but it was hardly an appropriate thing for me to point out!

She stared at me for a long silent moment of deep dark suspicion, as if she knew exactly what I hadn't meant to say. It was as if my simple subterfuge was entirely transparent and she was asking herself if my stumbling tongue and red face really did indicate something unmentionable ... something a son should never be discussing, however unintentionally, with his own mother.

In response, I gave her a weak watery smile, imbued with as much innocence as I could find in my soul (which I have to admit wasn't much). I felt worse than I had yesterday when she'd nearly caught me masturbating, and I was sure my face must be red as a beetroot. I gave a small strangled laugh, as much for my benefit as hers, and said, "so ... is that nice then ... did I do good?"

She continued to watch me for a moment longer, and then with a grunt grabbed the tray and put it on her lap. "Thank you," she said but without much conviction. "It's ... it's good of you I suppose." 

I turned to leave, inwardly sighing a deep sigh of relief, but as I left the room I heard her say with an acid tone, "but don't do it again!"

I shut the door and went out.

She hadn't really needed to tell me not to try that one again. I'd felt so bad after the early morning session I'd gone back to bed and given serious thought to abandoning the whole idea. However, this urge in my loins just wouldn't quite let go, so a couple of days later I can up with my second clever plan. Morning didn't work, so how about the evening ... or to be exact, how about the middle of the night? This plan again centred on the idea of making her less hostile to me, and maybe being in her presence when she was a bit more vulnerable. However I couldn't go to her again, she'd be much too suspicious. This time she had to come to me!

I mean she was my mother for God's sake, so she must have some feeling for me, and what I wanted was a situation in which I 'needed' some comfort from her. I'd even toyed with the idea of injuring myself in some way, but I soon chickened out of that one (I mean I was sexually aroused, not crazy!). My 'brilliant' plan therefore had to be something I could fake convincingly, and what better time or situation than to fake a terrible 'nightmare' in the middle of the night!

I guess that might sound a bit strange to you, but the idea stemmed from a real experience. When I was a kid I suffered from nightmares (I don't know why, probably something oedipal), so I knew how it felt to have a nightmare ... and maybe my mother remembered too. Back in those days she would come into my bedroom and give me a cuddle. I can still remember her smell and the feel of her hair on my face, and maybe it was those memories that led to the notion of a nightmare, but however it came to me, it still seemed a promising idea ... well, worth a try anyway.

So there I was in the middle of the next night preparing myself for a new career in acting. It was again a warm night (July is usually warm in England) so I stripped off my pyjama top and lay back, bare-chested, contemplating exactly how to play this. 'Fear and desperation' seemed like a good plan. In my 'terror' I could grab Mother and hug her, and in the confusion of the situation who knows what I might grab by mistake!

Looking back, I was being as over-optimistic as usual, and conveniently forgetting that Mother had just as often employed the strict 'pull-yourself-together' approach to my night terrors as she had the 'given-him-a-cuddle' method. Even back then she'd never been a naturally 'physical' woman. I never knew why but she always kept her distance and seemed to perceive close contact as something to be avoided. I guess I thought she was a naturally cold person ... it never occurred to me she might be afraid of physical contact, that getting too close to someone she loved might be dangerous in some way. But then I was only young and had no real concept of female sexuality.

To begin with the plan went surprisingly well. I had some vague notion about a big horrible 'thing' trying to get me (in my dream) and I'd be terrified and scream and scream till Mother came to see what was wrong. It was about 3am on the Thursday morning when I began, I shouted 'NO!' lots of times and followed it up with a roar that welled into a scream and went on for as long as I could hold it.

This finished and I was taking a deep breath for the second act when to door flew open and Mother ran in. Luckily I was ready and immediately began to thrash about on the bed, moaning and yelling 'NO! NO! Stop! Leave me alone! Help! Help!' 

As part of my plan I'd already thrown the covers on the floor and was writhing about on the bed dressed only in my pyjama bottoms. Somehow the idea that I might accidentally expose myself to her just made the whole thing more exciting and compulsive. It didn't even matter if I was hard. Just a 'morning wood' after all!

Mother ran up to my bed and grabbed me by the shoulders.

"Simon?" she cried. "Simon, what is it? What's wrong?"

Through pretend sleepy-eyes I saw to my joy that her nightdress was no longer linen but some thin semi-transparent nylon. I couldn't see much in the dark but it was enough to give me encouragement to continue the play.

"No! Please don't hurt me!" I screamed as mother struggled to still my convulsions. "Oh God no don't! Please please ... arrgghhh!" 

"Simon, SIMON!" She shouted in my ear. "Calm down. Calm down. It's alright ... it's just a dream. For goodness sake wake up!"

I was tempted to grab and cuddle her then but I knew instinctively it would be better to play it a bit longer, so I struggled against her grip on my shoulders, shouting "Let me go. Let me go!" as if I thought she was now the monster attacking me. It worked brilliantly and she grabbed me and held me to her chest whispering "It's ok. It's alright. Mummy's here," over and over.

The obvious next step was to throw my arms around her, bury my face in her chest and start to sob... and sure enough it worked like clockwork. Her hand dropped to the back of my head and she tenderly pressed me to her breast. Slowly she began to rock and soothe me as my face and mouth snuggled up against her tits. I could feel a hard nipple pressing into my cheek, which surprised but delighted me, and I couldn't help turning my face inwards till I could feel the nipple against my bottom lip. I really wanted to open my mouth and take it in, but I resisted.

Nevertheless I began to moan and mumble so the opening and closing of my mouth would rub against the nipple. She seemed oblivious to what I was doing and continued to hold and caress me.

"Simon," she whispered softly. "What was it? A bad dream ... is it better now?"

I mumbled something and pushed harder against her breast, feeling the strong hard nipple slip up and partly between my lips. I guess I never asked myself exactly why her nipples were so hard and erect. I think I assumed it must have been the cold night air. But whatever, this time I could not stop myself from opening my mouth wide and allowing the nipple to push in and play against my tongue.

It wasn't a very bright move as she felt it, and lifted my head from her chest. At this stage however I think she must have assumed it an accident, because apart from withdrawing my head from her breasts she didn't seem to react. Indeed it might have been a very successful night's work if it hadn't been for the fact that having mouthed her nipple, I now got over-excited and did something that was both too clumsy and too obvious. It was a shame really because it ruined a promising situation.

What happened was I had one of those spur-of-the-moment ideas which seem clever at the time, but which you later realise were pretty dumb. I'd suddenly thought I might be able to actually 'grope' her if I pretended I wasn't sure who she was. So I kept my eyes closed, pretended to still be half asleep, and went back to the 'let me go! Let me go!' stage, as if I didn't know who she was. 

Then I then tried to push her away.

My aim was spot-on first time as my hand reached out and pushed against her left breast. Even then I might have got away with it if I hadn't allowed my fingers to momentarily tighten and cop a great 'feel'. Worse still I didn't think to pull my hand back but just left it there, holding her breast.

This time she reacted.

She grabbed my hand and ripped it from her breast and abruptly stood up. I half fell from the bed, bumped my head on the bedside cabinet, and completely forgot I was supposed to be asleep. The resulting moan I emitted, however, was the first genuine one that night.

"What are you doing?" Mother hissed at me. "How ... how dare you!"

"Eh?" I mumbled, genuinely dazed, but fast realising my terrible mistake. "I was asleep. Is that you Mum? I think I was having a bad dream." 

It didn't sound convincing ... even to me.

Without another word she turned and stormed from the room, leaving me torn between mortification for being so stupid and excitement from the thrill of actually holding her breast. After several long minutes of mental battle the 'excitement' side won out and my hand reached down and embraced my cock.

I think I expected the next day to be problematic (to say the least), so I slept in late and went downstairs with a great deal of reluctance. I was sure I was about to pay dearly for those few moments of incestuous joy, but in the event Mother seemed quite normal. Ok, she was sullen and miserable, but then Mother was always sullen and miserable!

Indeed she seemed more concerned and annoyed I'd got up late and missed breakfast than she did because I'd groped her tit the previous night! The only time she mentioned the subject was to ask me if I was alright now. I said I was sorry I had woken her, but I occasionally had bad dreams. I even thanked her for checking I was alright. She gave me a withering look but let the subject drop.

I remember I was puzzled by her reaction and idly wondered to myself if she really hadn't minded being touched up by her own son. Maybe, I thought, it was a thrill for her too but she couldn't admit it. I mean she really did live alone and really 'didn't get it anymore'! 

It was a nice thought but I didn't believe it. No, my mother was much too prim and straight-laced, and the truth was she'd chosen to suppress and forget the whole thing. 

However what happened later that day proved I was more wrong than you could possibly imagine ... and not just about that incident but about my Mother's entire personality.

It began with my third attempt to 'see more' of Mother. 

Today was the day when she went to work, and I knew I couldn't let this time pass without risking another chance to see her undressed. So when she excused herself after lunch, saying she was 'going to get changed for work', I waited a few minutes then followed, hoping she was now in the bathroom. Obviously I was cautious and didn't just blunder in or anything, but I still managed to make a complete hash of it!

I started by going to the passage intersection and listening to see if she was in the bathroom. When I heard the taps I guessed she was washing her hair, so I crept quietly forward to the bathroom door. My heart was pounding and my cock rock hard. I don't know why but the thought of seeing her tits again was driving me crazy. I even imagined I'd be able to touch her ... crazy I know, but I was that wound up by the thought of her standing there semi-naked!

When I reached the doorway I peeked gingerly round into the bathroom. Even though my sexual juices were boiling I was still extremely cautious. As I looked in I saw she again was washing her hair, except this time she had no panties on ... just a suspender strap and stockings. She was turned away from me, and the sight of her bare bottom made my cock jump and struggle in the confines of my trousers. 

Her hands were raised again to her head, massaging her hair, and even though I was swooning at the sight of her backside, I still wanted her to turn around so I could see her breasts. After a moment she slowly began to swivel, and my hand dropped down to my cock in preparation for the feast to come. Inch by inch her breasts came into view, and I couldn't help rubbing my cock up and down as my eyes took in the wonder of her tits. 

Unfortunately I was so overcome by the sight of those fabulous nipples, I didn't notice that this time her eyes were open! Indeed it was five or six seconds before I became aware she was staring at me, with a look of shock and horror on her face. 

There were no excuses or clever get-outs this time ... I was well and truly caught!

I tried to say something like 'sorry' but it just came out as a spluttering moan, so I spun around to run away as quick as I could.

But she said "SIMON!!" with such force and authority I stopped. I still couldn't disobey mother's command, even though I was embarrassed and scared. All I could do was try to mitigate things by keeping my back to her and not looking at her nakedness.

"Oh God Mum!" I whispered to the passage wall, "I ... I'm so sorry. I ... I didn't know ..."

"Don't give me that crap!" she hissed at me, in a voice that said she knew exactly what was going on. "You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know what you've been up to? You think I don't know you've been spying on me ... trying to see me without my clothes on ... trying to ... to put your hands on me!"

"I ..." I started to say.

"At first I couldn't believe it," she went on. "My own son for God's sake! My own son trying to see his mother naked! How could you do such a thing Simon? Why ... why on earth would you want to?"

Again I tried to say something in my defence but again she cut me off.

"You're just like all the other men. You just want a woman for her body ... for what she can do for you. There's no love or tenderness, you just want sex. You'll go to any length ... even to spying and groping your own Mother! Your own mother for God's sake ... how could you Simon, how could you do that?"

"That's not true!" I said quickly, stung by her words. "I do love you Mother ... of course I love you. I just ..."

"Just what? Fancied a bit? Felt horny and your mother was the only woman on hand!"

Her tone was becoming harsher and harsher, and her last words dripped acid.

"No ..." I started to say.

"You're a dirty little shit, just like all the others. You want to see my tits ... feel them, fondle them! Don't you? I know ... I saw you playing with yourself. You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know what men are like?"




Watch with Mother



To say I was mortified would be a gross understatement. I just couldn't take any more, so with a mumbled 'sorry' I started again down the hallway.

"WAIT!" she commanded, and I stopped again.

"Come back here!"

Still keeping my face to the wall, I stopped and shuffled back. Right then I wanted to be anywhere else in the universe rather than here, but I simply wasn't able to disobey her when she used that tone of voice.

"You're dirty little shit!!" she said again, and I flinched. "What are you? Tell me what you are?"

I didn't know what to say so I kept silent.

"Tell me!" she screamed

"I ... I'm a dirty little shit," I said in a voice hardly above a whisper.

"I can't hear you! Say it again!"

"I'm a dirty little shit," I said more loudly. "And Mother ... I'm sorry I ..."

"Shut up!!" she roared.

As I stood there staring at the wall, all my childhood fears seemed to come flooding back. I think I was shaking.

But then she said something that puzzled and surprised me.

"Turn around."

"But you're ..." I started to say after a moment's silence.

"Shut up!" she said again, "and turn round!"

I turned slowly, keeping my head down. I wanted to look up ... believe it or not I still wanted to look at her nakedness ... but I thought the moment had passed and I just needed to escape.

For a long moment we just stood there - me; with flushed face staring at the floor, and her; with soapy hair and naked apart from her stockings and high-heeled shoes, staring at me. I couldn't see her face but I imagined it looked like thunder. I felt trapped but there was nothing I could do. 

"Look at me! She commanded. "Look up."

It took a moment before the words registered, but I was so shocked I didn't move.

"You wanted to see me ... so look at me. Come on you shit!"

Was this a trick ... was it going to be some form of punishment? It certainly didn't seem like punishment, but I was confused and scared, and uncertain what to do. Did she really want me to look at her ... or was she going to slap my face the moment I looked up! 

Slowly and gingerly I raised my head.

When I'd realised she knew I was watching her, my cock had done an immediate impersonation of a tiny, old and shrivelled carrot, but now as I raised my eyes, first to her stockings, then to the bush between her legs, and then on up to her nipple-crowned breasts, it stirred once more. She looked so God-damn sexy standing there ... angry, but seemingly unaware and unashamed of her nakedness.

She followed my eyes as they lifted up and explored her body. He face seemed a mixture of emotions, but the expression in her eyes was dark and angry.

"Satisfied?" she said harshly. "This what you wanted? My breasts exposed for you to drool over?"

I said nothing.

"Not enough for you? You want more?"

I looked up at her face, again confused and uncertain by what she was saying.

"You want to touch my tits? Play with them ... fondle and grope at them? Is that it? Is that what you want?"

It was odd, but although the tone of her voice was angry, as if she was telling me off and giving me a proper dressing-down, but the words made no sense to me. What was this about; she wasn't really offering her breasts to my hands ... was she?

Still I kept silent.

She moved forward till she was standing right before me. Then she reached down and took my hands and lifted them up to her breasts.

"Come on my little shit boy ... play with 'mammy's' tits! This is what you want, isn't it?"

As my hands closed over her breasts and I felt the hard nipples snuggling into my palms, my cock suddenly went hard again. I had no idea what game she was playing with me, but what the fuck, I wasn't going to miss this chance. I squeezed and massaged and fondled her glorious glands ... I even rubbed my thumb over one of her nipples. As I did so I was sure her eyes squinted closed, just for a moment.

"There," she said, her tone softer but still acid. "That's what you wanted to do isn't it, touch mummy, fondle mummy, grope mummy. It's so exciting, isn't it ... abusing your own mother!"

My hands froze at her words. 'Abusing' she'd said, but she herself had lifted my hands to her chest? Talk about mixed messages! But then as I stood there mystified and trying to work out what was happening, I felt her hand touch the front of my jeans and her fingers softly taking hold of my hard cock.

"Is that what you want mummy to do?" she whispered. "Rub your hard dick for you ... make it even more exciting? You want mummy to rub it till you cum?"

I think I gulped as she began to gently fondle my cock, her surprisingly soft fingers sliding up and down my enthusiastic penis and sending me into waves of ecstasy.

"This is what dirty little boys want isn't it. They want their mummies to play with them while they paw at mummies titties!"

I almost said 'yes it is' in response to that one, but I didn't want to risk upsetting her and making her stop, so I kept silent, mentally urging her to keep going as my excitement mounted. My hands were now clawing and squeezing and tearing at her breasts.

And then she leant forward and whispered in my ear, "Wanna fuck your mummy, do you? Is that what you want? Wanna fuck her wet cunt!!?"

It was all too much, and with a low grunt I came hard in my trousers (another ruined pair!), pumping and pumping as her fingers tightly squeezed and massaged my cock. It was a mammoth, earth-shattering climax, better than anything that had gone before. My eyes closed and my head spun in an unbelievable and unexpected ecstasy of delight.

I was so bombed by the experience I didn't notice her hand leave my cock, and it was only when I opened my eyes a few seconds later I realised she had gone, and I was alone in the bathroom.

I didn't see her again before she went to work, and I lay for a long time on my bed mulling over what had happened. She's masturbated me whilst letting me fondle her breasts. It seemed unbelievable that my mother ... my cold hard unsympathetic mother ... could do such a thing. Ok, she'd sounded incredibly angry, but her actions had belied the tone in her voice and the look on her face. When she'd first caught me looking at her in the bathroom I'd expected to be ejected from the house on the end of her boot, but instead she'd fulfilled all my wildest dreams. I must admit I was at a loss to make sense of it all.

Puzzled as I was by the perverse nature of her behaviour, and not a little uncertain as to what possible punishments I might have to endure in payment for that experience, I was nevertheless intrigued by the last words she uttered before I came and she went! She'd said 'wanna fuck mummy' in a deep and highly erotic whisper. Me being me (a young and sexually charged wanker!), I couldn't stop my mind coming back every time to those words, and asking myself the inevitable question ... did she really mean it?

She'd be back from work in a couple of hours and I wondered to myself what was going to happen then. Up until this afternoon I'd have been scared shitless at the thought of her return, but I'd seen and experienced something in the bathroom that suggested I had nothing to fear. On the contrary, this evening might well be something magnificent beyond belief. I was starting to realise her hard and brusque exterior, although part of her personality, may well be camouflaging a far more interesting persona underneath. She may well rant and roar at me tonight, but if that was the price I had to pay to actually getting inside mothers panties, who was I to complain! Slowly I began to understand that this afternoon she'd been playing some sort of game with me. On the surface she couldn't admit to be anything other than a reserved and prim-and-proper mother, but underneath ...?

However, excited as I was by the prospect of what might be to come when Mother came home, one thing nagged at me ... and that was the whole question of incest. This was my 'mother' I was playing with. Somewhere deep down in my mind I was not just hoping to see her body anymore, but also hoping to fuck her. Incest I knew was illegal and it was probably wrong ... should I even be toying with such an idea? Would it damage me? Would it damage her? It would certainly change our relationship for ever.

I tried, as calmly and intelligently as I could, to mull over the ethics of the whole situation ... at least that's what I told myself. In practice every time I thought about the word 'incest' my cock would stir in my trousers. The truth was I wanted this badly and my thinking was just an excuse for finding a way to give myself permission for something that in every culture is an impermissible taboo!

In the end my tiny brain gave up the impossible struggle and I faced the reality of things ... it was too late now. I should have thought of this before spending so much time planning to spy on mother. Now my balls were in control, and if the chance did present itself I knew I'd go for it and worry about the consequences later!

Not really sure how to act or what to do, I was in her small lounge watching TV when she came back. I heard the front door open and I tried to steady my nerves. After only a few seconds she entered the lounge and went straight over and turned the television off. The she swung round to face me. She was again wearing her 'uniform' and although her face seemed a bit flushed, she looked really sexy in the white button-up nurse dress, and I felt myself go hard just looking at her.

For a long moment she said nothing, just staring at me with that hard uncompromising look on her face. I had no idea whether she was going to yell and shout at me, or strip her clothes off and leap on me! Oddly enough the uncertainty was actually quite an exciting experience.

Then she said, "I think you'd better go, don't you?"

I said nothing, but I guess she could tell by the look of disappointment on my face I didn't entirely agree with that conclusion.

"What am I going to do with you Simon?" she said, but softly and almost to herself.

I had a few ideas, but I wisely kept them to myself for the moment.

"I ... I'll go if you want," I said at length. "But I'd rather not."

She looked hard at me, her face a myriad of different expressions.

"I'm an old woman Simon ... and I'm your mother. You shouldn't be looking at me ... not in that way."

"I know," I said. "I'm sorry ... I don't know what came over me."

She gave a short harsh laugh. "You're a man, that's explanation enough. Men want sex all the time ... and from anything in skirts. If your mother is the only female available, then you'll lust after her!"

I'm not quite sure why but I suddenly felt it was time for me to say something real and true, so I took a deep breath.

"Mother," I began. "It's not just because you're a woman. I ... I don't know why, but I think ... I think I've become infatuated with you ... for some reason. I can't really explain it, but I just find you so attractive ... so beautiful. I can't help it. I just wanted to see more..."

Strange as it may seem, it was probably exactly the right thing to say. She looked at me for a long time, her head cocked to one side and a thoughtful, almost puzzled look on her face.

Then she looked down at the ground and in a seemingly unemotional voice said, "So your solution is that you should stay here and continue to use my body for your sexual pleasures?"

What could I say to that? It was exactly what I wanted of course but obviously I couldn't say so. I would have to make some polite denial. I'd have to say something like, 'don't be silly Mum ... I'm sorry for what happened and I won't do it again'. 

But then, as if she could sense my doubt and uncertainty, she looked back up at me and said, "Be honest Simon," in voice so soft I almost didn't hear her ... and there was a strange look on her face too, a sort of slightly scared smile. It was very 'un-mum' like, and it made me stop and think before I answered. Maybe I should just be honest for once?

"Well ..."I began, feeling distinctly uncertain. "No disrespect Mum, but ... well yes, that would be kinda great."

As soon as I'd said these words I immediately wished I hadn't. How on earth could I tell my own Mother I wanted to use her body for my 'sexual pleasures'? What kind of a son would say such a thing ... was I mad or what! So that was it! Now I was gonna get booted out now ... both metaphorically and literally!

For some moments she just stood there looking at me. It went on for so long I began to wonder if she couldn't believe what she'd just heard ... or if she was inwardly planning how to dispose of the body after she'd killed me! In any case I braced myself for the volcano about to explode all over me!

But then she straightened herself up and seemed to become mother again. She gave me her usual withering look, laced with her standard 'resigned acceptance at having to deal with such stupid people' look that she did so well.

"So you are a dirty little shit!" she said in a harsh but controlled manner.

I'm not quite sure why, but I felt my cock go rock solid.

"You're a typical man. You just want a woman for the dirty thrills you get fondling and groping and feeling at her body! All those disgusting things you do in your dirty lustful dreams ... when you're playing with yourself. You want to do them in reality, don't you? You want the woman to do as she's told ... to obey you ... to accept all those dirty hands and fingers and cocks you want to rub over her?"

She said all this with such feeling I instinctively began to protest.

But she said, "Shut up you little shit. I don't want to hear another word out of you!" and I was forced to shut my mouth and wait and see what happened.

"Get up and come here!" she hissed at me.

I was still seated on the sofa with her standing in front of me, so I got up and stood facing her. I must admit to having this strange quivering excitement throughout my whole body. I didn't know what was going to happen, but I was beginning to suspect it was gonna be something real good.

She moved her face close to mine, her eyes wide and slightly wild. "I know what you want," she half-whispered. "You want to grab my uniform and rip it from my body, don't you? You want to strip me, don't you? Rip and shred and tear at my clothing?"

Her face was pushed up close to mine, and as I stared into her blazing eyes I saw something that both shocked and delighted me. Behind the anger and contempt I was sure I could detect a look of 'lust' ... pure unadulterated lust!

"Y ... yes," I breathed. "I'd like that!"

"Do it then!" she snarled. "Do it to your poor defenceless Mother. Do it now!"

I reached up and took hold of the lapels of her white uniform. I grabbed them tight in my fists and after a moments pause (I think I did that for effect), I ripped her uniform open. Buttons flew everywhere and she moaned and half-fell back a step or two. But I ignored that and continued to pull and tear at her uniform until I had ripped it right down the middle. Then I pulled it backwards off her shoulders and threw it to the ground.

She stood there before me unmoving, except for a breathless heaving in and out of her breasts. "Poor mummy ...." She murmured to herself, but she made no attempt to stop me as I reached up and grabbed for her tits. 

I guess by that time I was on fire, for after a momentary fumble at her bra covered mammaries I dragged the brassiere down and clasped her bare bosoms with my hot sweaty and lustful hands. She moaned again as I squeezed and groped and fumbled at her tits. 

"Poor, poor mummy," she said again, as I continued to tear at her breasts. "Mummy has to do this for her little boy, doesn't she? Mummy has to let him take what he wants ... poor mummy."

But then I felt her hands on the front of my jeans, tracing the outline of my hard cock. "But he wants more doesn't he?" she went on. "He wants mummy to take this dirty filthy thing out and play with it, doesn't he?"

I think I must have grunted in affirmation for she began to pull down the zip on my jeans, but this time she didn't reach in and extract my cock. Instead she moved her hands up and undid my belt and began to drag my trousers down. As she did so she began to slip down towards her knees pulling down both my jeans and underpants. Freed from its cage my cock sprang upwards and came to a quivering rest just inches from her face, now at the level of my crotch.

I looked down at her, dressed now only in her garter belt, stockings and panties. She looked back up at me with sad, almost mournful eyes, but with a slight twinkle not quite hidden.

"You're going to put that thing in mummy's mouth now? Is that it? Make mummy suck your filthy cock? Push it in her mouth and down her throat, and make her suck and gobble at it? That's what you're going to do, isn't it? Make her suck and suck at it till you fill her mouth with all that foul-smelling white stuff ... till it runs out of her mouth and drips on her poor ravaged breasts. How can you do that to our own poor mother? How can you?"

But by now I knew the game and what she was saying, so I grabbed her head and brought it in towards my cock. "Oh yes mum," I whispered, "that's what I'm gonna do!"

With a wail of protest she opened he mouth wide and I slipped my cock deep into that velvet purse. Her lips closed around me and she began to mover her head back and forth rhythmically. After a moment her tongue began to wrap itself around my tool and she played with it and caressed it as she pumped with her mouth.

It was amazing. I mean I can't tell you or explain just how amazing it was. My own mother sucking my cock ... but not just sucking it, she was skilfully doing things I'd never experienced before ... touching and tickling and probing ... making me feel more aroused and lustful and sheer bloody amazing than ever before.

But even beyond the sheer sexual beauty of her obvious skills and techniques, was the fact she was my mother. The incestual part was blowing me away the most. For God's sake this was my own hard-nosed bitchy mother sucking me off! I was fucking the mouth that so many times in the past had put me down, told me off, made me feel small. And any second now I was gonna cum in it, fill it with my own secret and personal lust. Talk about getting your own back!

"Oh my God!" I whispered, as the moment approached. "Oh Mummy ... suck me mummy ... do it for your little boy. Make me cum mummy .... cum in your mouth!"

I think she guessed I was about to blow, for her hands reached up and grabbed my bare backside. With one hand she pulled me harder and deeper into her mouth, and with the other she inserted a finger down into my anus.

With a roar they could probably hear three streets away; I came in a blowing, blasting, crushing eruption. I crushed mother's head right into my crotch and pumped (what seemed like) gallons of cum down her throat. She coughed and spluttered a bit but she swallowed it all. Then she continued to gently suck and caress me till she'd extracted every last drop of semen and my tool was washed clean.

Later that evening, as we sat on the sofa, I began to realise that what we had done together (and despite all the play acting we had done it together) had changed my mother almost beyond recognition. It was like a wall had come down and now she was ... to use an old but well worn phrase ... much more 'touchy-feely'. We were watching a movie and she was lying with her head on my shoulder and an arm linked around mine. She was soft and sweet, and so damn loving I kept having to check it was really her. But it was her, and now we were closer than ever before. It was good ...

In fact it was better than good. Now that the wall was gone she seemed to think that her and I were an item ... a sexual item. Not that I had a problem with that ... far from it. As we lay watching the film her hand was resting on my lap and her fingers were gently smoothing my cock. She was wearing a silk dressing gown but it was lying open, revealing her uncovered breasts and her fully-fashioned seamed stockings, which my hand was gently playing with. Almost unconsciously I was feeling around the suspender clips and repeatedly exploring the transition from nylon to flesh. Every now and then I kept turning my head from the film to admire her breasts, and she'd notice and give me a secret little smile.