15 comments/ 145555 views/ 13 favorites Mother's Gel By: Shadowplayer His hands were tied, Ben was aware before he opened his eyes slowly. A chair, he was tied in it, his clothing removed. Naked, his dick was limp between his legs. The room was small and featureless. No windows, just a door. The light was provided by a light bulb on the ceiling. In the corner, a CCTV camera stared at him creepily. The door opened and a masked man entered, dragging behind him a naked woman. In one of his hands he had a jar of weird green gel. The woman's hands hands were locked behind her back with handcuffs and taped to her upper body with duck tape for their additional immobilization. His mom! Realized Ben when the woman looked up. Her tits hanging, her dark pubes visible. She looked terrified. -You have made some of you school mates mad, Ben!- Said the man in a rough voice. -One of them found me online. Unlucky for you...-, he chuckled for himself. -It is my job to humiliate you as much as possible and get it on video. And, trust me I have a perfect plan.- He shoved his mom and she fell down, yelping in pain as she hit the concrete floor clumsy. -Can you smell that?- Ben did, it smelled kinda like a perfume. -That's a special kind of perfume chemical I had rubbed on your dick while you were sleeping. Made you hard, my retarded sister rubbing it in.- He paused. -You even came in your sleep, I'll show you the video later.- -What will you do to us?-, asked Ben, trying to keep his voice from shivering. -It's simple. There is only one thing that will remove that smell from your penis, and it's in this jar that I have.-, he lifted it, showing it to Ben. -This thing is the only thing that can remove that smell from your dick.- He knelt down next to her on the floor and rubbed the gel gently into his mom's pussy, taking his time while she was trying to crawl away from him on the floor by wiggling her body. -Now boy, you two have two hours too remove the smell of chemicals from your dick. If you don't the next time I come into this room I'll kill the both of you.- That said, he left the room, the sound of the doors locking echoed heavily in Ben's mind. His mom was in front of him, whimpering slightly. Her pussy exposed to him as she lied there, her head against the wall. The gel was dripping from it. Ben's dick twitched and he immediately felt ashamed for it. -What will we do mom?- he asked, almost crying. -Not much we can do.- She said, some resolve existed now in her voice. I have to rub this on you, there is nothing else possible with that camera in the corner. -But, but... Everyone will see, I refuse!-, his voice was broken. -Hush dear! Nothing you can do about it.- She rose up on her knees and walked on them to him. As she started kissing him on his chest her boobs rested in his lap, nipple touching the tip of his penis, making it twitch again. Her head progressed down. -I need to make you hard baby so you can fuck mommy.- -No.-Another tear escaped his eyes. -No please stop.- She was now kissing his lower stomach and his pubes above the penis that was slowly filling up with blood. -No!-, he groaned as she took the tip of it in her mouth and started spinning her wet tongue around it. The pleasure was great and no matter the shame, he was erected. Red as ever he thought about what the girls in the school are going to say. He was in love with Francine. What will she think if she sees him aroused by his mom. She sat on his lap, facing him. His penis lodged between them. I'm going to push your penis inside of me baby. -No mom. He protested again.-, but was unable to will it down. -Go down bastard!-, he cried as she lifted herself up and let him slip between her legs. She slowly came down and he felt himself penetrate his mother. The walls of gel lubricated vagina engulfing him.- -Mom, please stop!- -No baby, sorry, mommy can't stop.- She started to move, up and down. Bringing forbidden pleasure like an electric shock up his abdomen. A terrified thought filed his mind. -Mom are you using birth control?- -No baby, you should warn me if you come close so I will get off of you. I'll let you rest a little bit and then return.- She panted, obviously aroused. Against her will, Ben hoped. She was moving against him taking him closer and closer. It felt good and he wished it to end. It shouldn't feel good. As he approached orgasm and was about to warn his mom of there was a voice from some hidden speaker. -You have two more minutes!- -Mom I don't know if i can hold for two more minutes!- -You have to son. I don't think we washed everything out yet and the time is short.- -But.. but..-, he was trying but it was almost to late. He might have even made it, but at that moment his mom was shaken by the beginning of an orgasm, and the feeling of her contract her pussy muscles around him was too much. He lost it. -No! No! No!-, he shed his tears as he was beyond control with pleasure, shooting his semen into his unprotected mom. They were cumming together and it was the best and the most horrifying orgasm he ever had. And when they were done she remained, leaving his dick inside of her, letting it go limp and fall out on it's own. His semen was dripping out of her onto his thighs and onto the chair. He rested his head on her sweaty shoulder and cried as her panting breath caressed his shoulder. The man did not enter after two minutes. He obviously just said that to make him orgasm into his mother, It took him half an hour more. Mother's Girl Melanie and Melissa were mother and daughter. They were also best friends. Melanie had Melissa when she was twenty and was so glad that even though Melissa was now 19 she still hadn't moved away. They would do everything together from shopping to critiquing boys and men they saw. They always laughed together and had a great time teasing one another about all types of things. One night Melissa went out on a date and was home about an hour later. Melanie thought it funny that her daughter would come home so earlier when usually she'd go to bed before Melissa ever stepped foot in the house. Melanie came out the kitchen to tease Melissa about being home so early but one look at her daughter and she could tell something bad had happened. Melissa ran to her mother's open arms and began to cry. Melanie lead her into the bedroom they shared and sat her down on the bed. She went to their dresser and got out some fresh pajamas for her and told her to change into them. Melissa got up and began to take her clothes off. Melanie had never really looked at her girl but for some reason now to close inspection of her. She was beautiful. With golden brown skin, little bit firm breast, and she also noticed for the first time that she shaved her pussy. Looking at her daughter in this way made Melanie very horny. She tried to shake it off and told her that she was going to go make some hot chocolate to calm her nerves down. By the time she got back Melissa was fully dressed again but the feelings for her had not changed in Melanie. She handed her the cocoa and asked what had made her so upset. Melissa began to tell the tale of that nights events. Her and the boy she was with were supposed to go and see a movie but instead he took her to a secluded part of town and started making advances on her. She looked at her mom and told her that she had never been with a boy in that way and didn't want to be for some time until she found the right one. After she had screamed and screamed at the boy to stop he finally did and drove her home. She began to sob again and Melanie took her into her arms. She stroked her hair and told her everything was all right. It wasn't her fault that he was a stupid boy and let his dick control him instead of his common sense. Melissa began to laugh and pulled away from her mother. They both looked at each other for a long time and then Melanie kissed her daughter. Not like a mother would kiss but like a lover. Melissa moaned and returned her kiss. Melanie pulled back and told her that it wasn't right for her to do that and that she was sorry. Melanie told her that she wanted it. That she had wanted it for a long time and to please let her have it. She wanted to know what it was like to have sex and she wanted to do it first with her mother. This turned Melanie on even more and she told her daughter to get undressed. After they were both naked Melanie came to Melissa and began to kiss her again. She trailed her kisses from her lips to her neck, ear, and down to her breasts. She took her daughters tits into her mouth and they felt wonderful. She loved to be sucking on her nipples and hearing Melissa's moans. She took her kisses from her breasts down to her daughter's pussy. She began to lick the lips of it and all around. Finally after what seemed to be forever to Melissa her mouth placed her tongue down on her clit. Melissa almost came then. The feel of her mother's tongue on her hard clit was wonderful. She put her hand down on the back of her head and started to push it hard in to her. Her hips began to move with her tongue and she began to cum. Moaning loudly her juices splashed onto Melanie's face. Melanie tried in vain to lap up all of it. She pulled back from her and asked how it was. Melissa smiled and told her she loved it. Melanie came up again and kissed her daughter so she could taste her own juices on her mother's tongue. While she was kissing her she moved so that both of their cunts were touching. She began to slowly move her hips and grind their clits together. She loved the feel of her daughter's pussy on hers. She looked down at Melissa and asked her if she liked to fuck her mother. "Oh god yes!" was her response. Melanie began to move faster feeling herself began to cum. "Oh baby I'm going to cum all over my sweet little girl's pussy!" "Oh yes Mommy, cum all over me. I want to feel your juices splash on my clit." With a few more movements of her hips. They both came at the same time. Kissing each other hard as they did so to muffle their cries of passion so the neighbors in the next apartment couldn't hear them. After it was finished they lay beside each other. Still embracing one another. Melanie told Melissa that tomorrow night she could taste her mother's pussy and that made her fall asleep with a smile on her face. Mothers girls Carol Dupree locked the doors on her flower shop and headed for the office. She settled in for the paperwork that she dreaded, but knew was better done now than in the morning. Carol had owned the shop while still married but its income had become even more important since her husband had died 6 years ago. She had gotten the girls raised and started in college but she liked the money and what it brought. The peace of mind that the girls schooling was paid for, by her husbands insurance, was nice but being able to do as she pleased was a perk she didn't want to give up. Carol liked driving over to Evansville every other week. There she stayed at the Hilton and met her lover for great sex and shopping. Carol had never admitted to her husband that she liked women even though he had hinted many times about having a threesome. She liked the naughty side of it being her secret. Kim her oldest, and a junior at State, was similar to her mother in the fact that she was tall and lithe, with smaller breasts. She had her mothers jet black hair but liked to dye it preferring highlights. Kate the younger, and in her first year at state, was more like her father. She was 3" shorter and wider in the hips. Though not chubby she filled out a pair of jeans and then some and her breasts were three times the size of her sisters. All in all she was quite a sight in shorts and a top. She had brunette hair, though quite dark, and with it being long framed her body nicely. Carol was no slouch herself. She had widened at the hips from child birth and when wearing a pair of jeans struck quite a pose with her long legs leaving an enticing gap at her crotch. She really hadn't put on much weight over the years and though never a knock out she attracted her fair share of attention. She finished her paperwork and headed for the house. It was Friday and the drive to Evansville took 2 hours. She wanted to get home and pickup her things and say goodbye to the girls. They liked living at home and the drive was only 45 minutes to school. Although they occasionally stayed with a friend near campus they enjoyed their friends here at home. Kate was watching TV and folding clothes in the den when she came in. She said that Kim had gone to town to get a movie or two because Tracy, a High school friend of Kim, was back from out of state to see her folks and wanted to come over. Carol said for them to be good and that she loved them and she hit the road. Carol had been on the road a little over and hour when her cellphone rang. It was Nancy, her lover. "Hey girl what's up?" said Carol. "Well I wish I was calling to say that I was at the hotel waiting for you but Marks sick and I'm going to have to stay with him at the house." Nancy was 45,3 years older than Carol, and had a son in college. "Well you look after that handsome young man real good. I know I was looking forward to you looking after me this weekend but maybe next weekend will be better." Carol said trying not to sound let down. Nancy said "Sweety you just hold onto those thoughts and I'll make it up next time." Carol and Nancy said goodbye and she got off at the next exit. She pulled up to the outlet mall which signaled the start of the expansion of Evansville to this side of town. She thought about things for a minute and decided to go in and bye a outfit for work and then head home. As Carol headed for home later that evening she thought of her pent up desires, and dwelling there, felt the moist tingle of her cunt starting to heat up. Instinctively she reached to her crotch and massaged the folds of her labia through the fabric of her slacks and panties. She thought of the times her and Nancy had spent pleasuring each other. She drifted back to some chance encounters with different women. She thought back to her first encounter with a woman, when she had been 17 and at the country club playing tennis with her longtime friend Sandy. After the match, which ran up into the evening and finished with her losing by the buzz of the lights overhead, she and Sandy had the locker room all to themselves. As they laughed and joked they both got into the same stall to shower. At first they just compared features. Sandy was thicker and more muscular the the thin Carol and her breasts were large with dark rigid nipples. Carol commented "Sandy I wish my tits were big like yours they look so good." At the time she had meant it as a compliment but it came out sounding as a come on. Sandy said "I wish they were a little smaller but they do draw some attention." With that she had reached down and rolled the nipples around between her fingers and thumbs. Carol reached for her own and did the same and said "Yea, these sure don't compare." Sandy startled Carol by reaching for her breast as she said "They look great to me." And touching Carols breast said "And they feel great to". Carol didn't know what to do, but she removed her hands and sandy reached and massaged the other tit. Carol felt a shudder run through her crotch like when she played with herself in the bed. She had thought about what girls did with girls but had never considered doing anything. Sandy looked into Carols eyes "You can play with mine if you want." Carols hands moved without being told to by her brain and groped the large breast of her friend. They felt full but soft and the hard nipples felt inviting in her palms. Sandy made the next move putting one hand behind Carols neck and slowly approaching her she kissed Carol. Carol seemed in a trance, unable to move she kissed back and feeling the soft pleasing lips against her own fell head long into her friends embrace and pulled her self closer. The feeling of this soft warm body against her own melted any inhibitions she might have had. She caressed the tight round ass of her friend and groped for the entrance as Sandy pulled her left leg up and around Carol. Moaning they parted and Sandy, in the hot spray of the shower, lowered her mouth to Carols hard nipple. It felt incredible and all she could do was give herself to Sandy. Spreading her legs Sandy drug her tongue across Carols midsection and down to the crest of her cunt. Kissing gently she probed her friend with her tongue and mouth. Carol was inraptured by the feeling. Inside her mind she danced from guilt to pleasure and reveled in the nastiness of making it with another woman. This heretofore taboo made her want it even more. As Sandy licked at her clit she drove a finger into Carols vagina and massaged the inner walls of her cunt. Carol arched her back and crying out came like she had never before. Pushing down hard on Sandy's hand and mouth she rode her until the spasms had stopped. Sandy smiled and stood to embrace her friend. Carol, weak, fell into Sandy and they entwined their tongues. Tasting herself on her friends mouth she drove her tongue deeper into Sandy's and searched for more of the flavor. Later she would find the enjoyment was mutual as she gave to Sandy what she had received. The taste, and feel of another woman's cunt was more than she could have hoped for. The aroma was intoxicating and when Sandy had cum she knew she would enjoy this forever. Now here she was panties dripping wet and her hand, now inside her pants, feverishly stroking her clit. She was at her exit and moaned because she couldn't finish herself off before she got onto the well lit streets of her suburb. She thought about how nice it would be to get home, explain to the girls, and then get up to her bedroom and work a couple of fingers into her sopping snatch. She had to compose herself and tried to think of other things as she neared her house. Pulling up she saw what must have been Tracy's car parked blocking her access to the garage. Carol pulled to the side and parked next to the garage, the clock on the dash said 10:23. She grabbed her overnight bag and headed for the backdoor. As she approached she noticed the light of a TV coming from the den window. It was the only window with light and calmed down somewhat from her trip down memory lane a thought popped into her head. She figured that the girls were probably watching one of those "I know that you killed somebody last year" type movies that they loved. She would sneak up to the window and scare them at the right time. Carol tiptoed across the back porch and onto the lawn and then easing through the bushes in front of the window peered inside. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight that greeted her. The first thing she saw was what was on the TV. A woman was holding the hair of another woman as she ate her pussy furiously. That alone would have startled her but the sight that almost knocked her over was on the couch. Tracy and Kim were seated naked while Kate was fingering both of their cunts and moving from one to the other licking at their snatches. In shock Carol watched as Tracy and her daughter turned and kissed while caressing each other's breasts. They broke their kiss and it sounded like Kim ordered Kate to lie on the floor. As she did Kim straddled her sisters face and then motioned for Tracy to move around in front of her and she began to lick at her friends pussy. Carol was awash with emotions - surprise, shock, but mostly lust. Having just spent the better portion of her trip back in a trance of pleasurable memories and massaging her aching cunt, she was brought back to that heated state more easily than usual and this seemed to be the emotion the was winning out. She knew that what she did next would probably change her life and that of her girls forever. But what to do was the question... Mother's Good Deed I suppose it all began when I was at college and I was seduced by a fellow pupil ... a male fellow pupil. Although I lived in a fairly well-to-do part of southern England, I have to admit I was pretty naive and innocent ... but then this was the 1950's and most people were pretty naive and innocent in those days. It's not like that anymore (sad to say). Anyway, we used to have a science class once a week in the science 'lab', and the seating for the pupils was a bit like a lecture hall, with the benches rising up in rows to the back. My friend, Simon, and I used to like to sit in the very back row and mess about during the lectures. Neither of us was very good at science. One day, halfway through a chemistry lecture, I felt a hand on the front of my trousers, feeling for my penis. I was shocked, stunned, but I just sat there as if nothing was happening. I looked at Simon, but he was staring ahead. For a moment or two I toyed with the idea of getting up and leaving the Hall, but I didn't. To be honest I wasn't sure if I was appalled ... or if I quite liked it. Slowly and gently he began to massage my hardening cock, until I started to relax and enjoy the feelings he aroused. This went on for some five or ten minutes. Then the lecture ended and he withdrew his hand. Afterwards nothing was said between us. The following week I again sat next to him at the back, and he again began to feel my cock. This time however, after a couple of minutes, he lent over and whispered very softly in my ear. "Feel mine," was all he said. With some trepidation and uncertainty I obeyed his command, and reached gingerly down between his legs and felt for his penis. It was hard and I rubbed it gently through his trousers. And so we sat there, one hand secretly caressing the other's tool, the other on top of the desk and under our chins, supporting faces that appeared to be staring ahead and listening attentively to the lecture. Looking back it all seems quite bizarre. I can't remember exactly how long we carried on with this behaviour throughout the term, many weeks I would guess. I do remember we became more daring, actually taking each other's cocks out of our trousers and massaging them whilst we sat there amongst the other students in the lecture hall. We never seemed to worry about getting caught. Inevitably this relationship developed further over time. I say 'relationship', but the fact is I was just following Simon's wishes, and obeying without question whatever he wanted me to do. I never started it, but I never refused his desires. The following term he suggested we go across the road to the park for lunch and a 'fag' (in the cigarette sense of the term), and as always I agreed. In fact we went through the park to the woods beyond, and he led me to a quiet spot, put his hand down inside my trousers and started playing with me. In response to his request I unzipped his fly, took out his cock and rubbed it back, as if it were my own. Soon we started to do this every lunch time, and it was during one of these trips we first ejaculated. He would rub me till I came, and then I would rub and fondle him till him until he shot his load over the grass and leaves. Curiously we never discussed what we did, it just happened ... and over the following year he took every opportunity to be alone with me in order for us to engage in these acts. I confess I enjoyed being seduced. I didn't have to do anything, make any decisions or choices; I just followed his commands and took pleasure from his exploring hands. I guess we were both young and naive in those days, and we never went very far beyond simple mutual masturbation. I wasn't gay and neither was he ... we were just boys in a boys-only school. However these games came to a head and final conclusion late that winter. On the surface Simon was just my best mate, and one day my mother invited him to stay over at our place for the weekend. He agreed enthusiastically, and that night we slept in single beds side by side in my bedroom (the other bed was my older bother's, but he was away). About an hour after we had gone to bed, just as I was dropping off the sleep, I felt the cover pulled back, and Simon slip in beside me. He pulled down my pyjamas and began to fondle me as usual. I did the same and began to play with his penis. The fact we were lying down and naked below our waists seemed to turn us both on more than usual, and I felt Simon's hand caressing my buttocks. As was my part in all this, I began to do the same to him. Then, quite suddenly he became emboldened, and began to push his cock between my legs, under my balls. I lay there as he mounted me and started to fuck the area between my closed legs. I remember how having him on top of me ... fucking me ... was both strange and exciting. Then without warning he slid himself down under the covers and took my cock in his mouth. For a moment I was stunned and surprised, and then the sheer lustful excitement of what he was doing took over, and for the first and only time in our relationship, I moaned with pleasure. I suspect it was this sound that was responsible for all that followed. At the time, however, I was simply lost in the joy of what I was feeling. My legs opened wide, and my hand reached down to his head and pressed it down on to my cock, forcing him to take me deeper. Abruptly I realised I was going to cum and I tried to push him away, not wanting to cum in his mouth. But he resisted and kept going, and suddenly I blasted jets of white sticky cream into his sucking jaws. He pulled back, but not far and let me cum the rest on his face whilst he continued to masturbate me furiously. I suppose both of us were incredibly aroused by what had happened, and almost immediately he pushed my face down towards his cock. I resisted slightly, feeling uncertain about whether I wished to return the favour or not, but the excitement was too much for him and he suddenly came, plastering my face and nose with his semen even before my lips had touched his waiting cock. Despite this he forced me down onto his penis to suck up and swallow all the remaining spurts of cum. I didn't like the taste, but as with all that had gone before I obeyed wordlessly, and sucked his cock clean. As we lay there afterwards, both of us exhausted and satisfied, I heard a sound in the doorway, and I tuned my head in time to see a figure leave the shadows and disappear from the end of the room. Instinctively I knew it was my mother... II That night was the last time that Simon and I had any form of sex together. Not long after he found himself a girlfriend and lost interest in me. I too started dating the odd girl, but I missed those walks in the woods, not because of Simon but because of the sex. You see I wasn't very good with girls ... I wasn't forward enough or strong enough, and looking back, I guess my first sexual experiences with Simon had cast me as the 'passive' partner and I could never quite escape that role, even after I started to go out with girls. Back in those days young girls were not nearly as dominant as they are now, and with the kind of girls I went out with, if you didn't start anything, well not very much happened! So I think I came to be perceived by many people, my mother included, as either effeminate or even possibly gay. I suppose in some sense maybe I was, after all I'd had a more intense sexual relationship with a male than I'd ever had with any female, so maybe I could be called gay? But I didn't think so, simply because there were no feelings between Simon and me, it was just physical. Whereas I'd already loved (and lost) a young lady called Linda. She was one of the group I went around with, and at first she seemed to really like me. After a couple of weeks, however, she took a shine to another boy in the group called 'Eric' (God, how I hated that name!), and that hurt me more deeply than anything I'd ever known. I guess you could say she was my first love. So anyway, unlike Simon, this relationship was more emotional than sexual, and in the two weeks we'd been together the most I'd done to her was kiss her a few times and briefly fondle her left breast. I never spoke to my Mother about Linda ... frankly it hurt too much ... and I think she was convinced I was 'queer'. I didn't know for sure (she never mentioned it) but I suspected she'd witnessed Simon and I engaging in oral sex. She must have been appalled, not only because such things were not done in those days, but because it indicated to her that I preferred boys to girls. I guess she must have been really worried for me, and somewhere along the line I think she convinced herself that someone had to do something about it, and as she was the only person who knew or really cared, then it would have to be her. I have to say I'm surmising all this with the benefit of hindsight, but there's no doubt that it's about this time she began to behave differently to me. I think (again with hindsight) she was trying draw out my 'male instincts', for whenever my Father was not around she started to act and dress, well 'seductively' is the only word. She started wearing shorter skirts, and allowing her dress to rise up at regular intervals so I could come to appreciate her (rather wonderful) legs, and even glimpse the tops of her stockings. Her tops were lower too, and she would tend to lean forward in front of me, giving me a splendid view of her ample bosom. I think she hoped I would come to genuinely appreciate her breasts and her stocking-clad legs. And I did ... my God I did! At first I had no idea what she was doing or why, I simply began to notice her more than usual. Or rather I began to notice her body more than usual. Instinctively I knew that noticing how physically attractive you mother is, is not an appropriate thing for a son to do, so I attempted to avoid situations where I saw 'too much'. Sometimes in the evening, for example, she would come downstairs wearing only a slip. This tended to be quite short, revealing both her cleavage and an unusual amount of thigh. If she was wearing her fully-fashioned seamed stockings, as was increasingly the case, she would often reveal the beginnings of the darker bands of brown that were her stocking-tops. I tried hard not to look, but as she lent forward to pick up something from the coffee table, she'd occasionally expose a hint of white flesh above the stocking, and this area, where the normal nylon gradually took on a more intense colouring and density, started to fascinate and intrigue me. I didn't know why but I began to want to see more (I was only human after all!). Her stocking tops seemed to promise something intensely exciting, and slowly I began to develop what eventually became a 'fetish'. At the same time, however, I felt terribly embarrassed that I was seeing so much. As a result I took every opportunity to look, but at the same time went to incredible lengths not to let her realise I was looking. As a result I think she mistook my embarrassment at my own lust, for an indication I was simply not interested. I tried so hard not to let her see me ogling her underwear, she thought that I wasn't interested in her ... presumably (or so she thought) because she was a woman, and I wasn't interested in women. Little did she know I was beginning to masturbate to graphic visions of her in her underclothes. Slowly everything about her began to turn me on. Her generous breasts, lifted and straightened to sharply pointed tips by her 50's bra, and thrust out like inverted cones or horizontal mountain peaks, fascinated me, and when the chance arose I couldn't take my eyes off them. They were so big, so blatant ... and yet so untouchable. The mere idea of reaching out to them with my hands and fondling them, made my cock so hard it hurt ... and the idea of actually exploring the peaks of those thunderous mountains (and the intimate valleys between), of pulling away the material to reveal the pillow-like softness of the dark-tipped flesh within, well that would bring me to instant orgasm. And yet to me her legs were even more erotic. She would sit on the sofa across the room from me in her white satin slip with her legs crossed, casually revealing the tops of her stockings. And I would be sitting there reading a textbook ... except I wasn't. The book was held up to cover my eyes and face, and I would be looking underneath and studying her legs. Examining in microscopic detail how those stockings caressed, comforted, and clung to her legs. Their smoothness and sheen was so alluring; the soft whisper-music they made as they rubbed against each other or against the satin material of her slip was more electric than any guitar music. And the way the bands of colour darkened upwards in ever-increasing rings of nylon, fired my imagination. They seemed to slowly draw the eye up to some warm but forbidden darkness that must lie hidden beyond. I remember how I studied the white suspender clips, standing out as they did against the ultimate brown of the stocking top. They seemed to hang there like miniature guide-rails, waiting for some innocent hand to grasp them for support and be led up, unsuspectingly, to the waiting wonders beyond. I wanted to put my hands there ... to touch the material, to be led on up, and to kiss and caress what lay beyond. I had this major fantasy of laying my head on Mother's thighs, just to feel the satin softness of her stocking tops against my cheek, and to gaze down in sleepy wonder at the architecture of her underwear. III It was strange but I really believe she had no idea how much she turned me on, believing instead I was repulsed by her body, and this eventually led her to be even more suggestive and seductive in her actions. Clearly, she thought, I was lost to heterosexuality, and only something major would now save me from a life of misery as a 'queer'. (This was the late 50's and in those days homosexuality had not been accepted by anyone and prejudice was rife). I believe my mother really thought she was being noble in her actions ... well at first she did anyway... later I wasn't so sure! It was when my Father went abroad for three months that things really began to develop. By then I had begun to very dimly suspect what was happening, and a conversation I had with mother the night before Dad left for France made me stop and think very deeply about the whole situation. It had begun when we were watching television late that evening. Some play or other was on TV and the couple in the play were beginning to get physical with each other. I remember clearly the young man undressing his girlfriend and making comments about her rather buxom figure. Sitting next to my mother I was naturally embarrassed. Not because I was gay, but because I was 'turned on', and I didn't want her to know. But mother, of course, got it all wrong when I made my excuses and left. I presume she thought I was offended by the idea of normal sex. So she called me back and tried to talk to me about 'things'. "Peter I want to talk to you," she began rather formally. "Uh," I replied unenthusiastically "Come and sit next to me," she commanded, patting the sofa. Reluctantly I wandered over to her and sat down. "What?" I murmured. "I ... I want to talk to you about ... about boys and girls." I said nothing, just looked down. "You don't like girls very much do you?" She began. "Not at the moment," I replied almost in a whisper, thinking about Linda and how much she'd hurt me. "I thought not," she said rather sadly. "That's ... that's a shame Peter." "Yes," I said, still thinking about the girl who'd broken my heart. "It would be ... er ... better if you did, you know," she said. She seemed unsure of exactly what to say or how to proceed. I looked up at her vaguely confused. "Have you ever seen a ... er ... a woman ... without her clothes on?" She asked gently. Embarrassed again I looked down. I just shook my head. "If you did, do you think ... you might like ...that?" Her obvious uncertainty and embarrassment causing her to stutter and stumble on the words. Still looking down, and wondering what the hell she was talking about, I mumbled something like, "yes, I guess so." "D'you think it might change your view about girls," she asked, a slight tremor in her voice. I didn't know what to say, mostly because I didn't understand what the hell she was talking about, so I just remained silent. After a moment she whispered, "I see," as if I'd said something important. She looked at me intently. I could feel it, even though my eyes were glued to the floor. I was so embarrassed. All I wanted at that moment was to get away from her. "Well," She said at length, "perhaps we should investigate. Perhaps ... with a little encouragement you might come to appreciate a girl ... or a woman, and what she could ... can do for you," she ended lamely. "Umm ..." I murmured in a noncommittal whisper, thinking to myself that my mother had just gone crazy. "Good!" she said suddenly and leapt to her feet. "Perhaps we can continue this conversation tomorrow night ... when your father has gone." "OK," I breathed as I hurriedly left the sofa and headed for my room. Later, as I lay on my bed thinking about what Mother had said, and all that had happened recently, I began to put two and two together and realise what was happening. "Oh my God," I whispered to myself. "She thinks I'm a bloody poof!" And as I followed the logic of what she'd said, and what she probably meant by those words, my cock suddenly got very hard. IV Ok, so let me be honest! I guess I knew full well by the next evening what she was trying to do ... but I also knew that keeping quiet and not revealing her mistake to her might well prove a more ... hmm, let me think of the right word ... 'rewarding' strategy to follow. It wasn't really as conscious or clinical as that, of course, it was more a deep instinctive understanding that if I did and said nothing, then things might get ...well, interesting! So when she called me in to the lounge the next night I more consciously played the part she had assigned to me. Well, what would you have done? I think I half expected her to be dressed only in her slip or maybe a dressing-gown when I went in, but she wasn't, and I was ever so slightly disappointed. She was still dressed as she had been when she'd taken Dad to the station. A tight-ish smart burgundy skirt and a white blouse that was every so vaguely see-through. I noticed immediately, however, that she was now wearing high-heeled shoes, and looking more closely (as she turned to sit down), I also noticed her stockings were now seamed and much sheerer. So, as I sat down opposite her, my disappointment began to evaporate. Mother was about 50 I guess, but she looked much younger. Her hair was auburn, short, and nicely styled. She wasn't beautiful exactly, but she had this alluring smile that lit up her face. I guess her breasts weren't really as big as I remember, but that damn bra she wore sure made them look massive. She was kind of motherly and kind of matronly, but also kind of sophisticated too. There was no doubt that once she must have been a very attractive woman, and although she'd filled out a bit since those days, she was still a pretty desirable lady. Right now, however, she was just a sex-object to me, mostly because above all she was incredibly feminine and she represented the whole world of women, a world that in those days was way out of my reach. She sat primly on the sofa and smiled at me. I have to say as I looked at her, knowing what I knew, I suddenly found her incredibly desirable. She might have been my own mother, but she was also an experienced older woman with a great body and massive tits! Suddenly it seemed possible, just possible, that tonight I might even get my hands around those tits, and I tell you I was more physically excited then than I'd ever been in my whole life before. Mother's Good Deed Ch. 02 If you remember I left off my previous tale after Mother had shown me how 'exciting' a woman can be. If you also recall, I'd tried to minimise just how much I had been knocked out by her sexual antics, hoping to prolong the experience beyond one night. I'd been afraid if she found out I wasn't as 'gay' as she'd thought, she'd feel the job was done. But although she'd indicated to me at the time she was prepared to continue her sexual instruction, it was clear by the next day things had taken a turn for the worse. I guess she'd mulled over what happened (and what she'd allowed me to do), and realised (perhaps for the first time) she was encouraging her only son to commit incest with his own mother ... and maybe that wasn't such a clever thing to do. She'd thought maybe she'd over-reacted to her suspicions of my homosexuality. Maybe if she'd just left things alone I'd have reverted to being a normal healthy heterosexual male. Certainly my apparent response to her advances, and to her revealing her body to me, indicated I was nowhere near as far gone as she'd thought. In fact it soon became clear she'd made a horrendous mistake. Rather than her advances turning me back into a normal 'male', maybe she'd done the complete opposite and thrown me off the rails good and proper. As I have indicated, mother was never the sharpest knife in the draw, but she was at last starting to understand you can't offer your luscious body to your own son - you can't encourage him to cum in his own mother's mouth - without some consequences resulting. In my case these consequences can be summed up as a new and overwhelming desire to 'shag the living daylights out of her' at every opportunity! At breakfast the following morning, for example, I'd sneaked up behind her whilst she was frying some eggs, slipped my hands under her arms and grabbed both her tits. At the same time I'd embedded my hard cock in the fold of her dressing gown. Looking back one could hardly call my actions 'subtle' or 'cautious' or even 'measured', and I guess a long night of dreaming about fucking my delicious mother in the mouth had proved too much for my normal reserved approach. All I wanted to do at that moment was rip her clothes from her body, throw her on the floor, and shag her for all I was worth! I wanted to enter her for the first time, to fuck her properly. She, however, wanted none of it! When I'd grabbed her breasts she was so shocked she'd actually screamed, and the two half-fried eggs in the pan did a double-somersault and ended up as new decoration for the kitchen tiles. She's spun round, pulled her gown tight across her body, and looked at me in sheer horror. "PETER!" she screamed. "What are you doing?! What on earth do you think you're doing!?" "Oh ..." I'd muttered. "I'm ... I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd mind. I thought ..." "Well think again young man! I am not some TART you can grab whenever you want! I'm your mother for Christ's sake!" I knew then that everything had changed. What had once been untouchable - and then as if by magic offered to me on a plate - had become untouchable again. Still, I did feel she'd over-reacted a bit. I mean I was only doing what I'd been freely encouraged to do the previous evening. It hadn't been wrong then; how come it was so bloody wrong now? I have to say I felt a bit pissed, and just a little justified for feeling pissed. What I hadn't realised of course, was how turned on mother had been by what had happened the previous evening. After she'd gone to bed, she'd lain there and masturbated herself to sleep. But when she'd woken in the morning her lust had faded and been repressed, and (as lust often does) had magically turned itself into guilt. Ever since then she'd been castigating herself - flaying herself with an imaginary birch twig - and showing herself what a terrible thing she'd done. She was now explaining to herself in no uncertain terms that not only must she never let it happen again, but she must seek to undo the damage by pretending it never happened in the first place. Complicated people women ... especially mothers! Anyway, I was too young to realise any of this, so I just turned around and stomped off back to my room. Not only was I mildly offended at being shouted at, I was deeply miffed to realise I wasn't ever going to get another opportunity to see mother's tits, let alone get into her cunt! But in the days that followed I couldn't quite let go of the memory of that incredible night, and I began to wonder if there was a way of turnings things around again ... of getting my hands back into mother's underclothing. There had to be some way. Needless to say I masturbated furiously at every opportunity to memories of that night; to visions of her breasts and her stockings, and most of all to the sight of her mouth engulfing my cock. After a couple of weeks I convinced myself that so much masturbation can't be good for you, and the sheer single-minded intensity of my lust led me to believe I had to find a way back to her body (if only to stop myself going blind!). Time was not on my side, however. Father would be back in a month, and whatever I was going to try had to be done soon. If it didn't happen before dad came back, it would never happen at all. But after a couple of days of compulsive thought about the problem I started to come up with a few ideas. II Now if you remember my previous tale, I'm not exactly Attila-the-Hun when it comes to being bold and forceful. In fact I'm a bit of a wimp. My idea of standing up to mother in her authoritative mood was to go to my bedroom slowly (rather than instantly), and to stamp my feet a bit on the way up. Not very dominant I admit, but then this was the fifties, and if you remember I'd learnt to be passive rather than actively masculine. The point being my first ideas about getting round mum tended to follow this line. I thought maybe if I asked her nicely, or if I kept nagging her, she might just let me 'cop a feel' of her tits. So over the next few days I tried to make peace with her, but at the same time let her know I still wanted (needed even) some 'sexual' contact. One of my first ploys was to beg her forgiveness (as if I'd done something terrible), burst into tears, and when she'd hug me to reassure me, my hand would tend to creep up around her breast area. However we always seemed to end up with conversations that went something like this: Me: "You don't hate me mum, do you? I'm so sorry. I just knew it was wrong ... but you said it was alright." Mother: "No, I don't hate you Peter ... of course I don't. I know it wasn't your fault but it's done now so let's just forget about it." Me: "But I can't forget about it mum, I feel so guilty. I ... I ... I'm so so sorry ..." Cue the tears. Mother: "Oh Peter, Peter, please don't. Here, give me a cuddle." She would then take me in her arms. Long pause. Mother: "NO Peter, don't put your hand there. I've told you before, you must stop touching me! PETER, move your hand ... NOW!!" My hand would drop from her breast ... usually on to her upper thigh. Mother: "For God's sake stop touching me where you know you shouldn't. I'm your mother. You mustn't touch me like that. Please, Peter, please try not to do that anymore." Me: "... but mum I can't help it. I love you so much. Please let me cuddle you ... just for a bit." Mother"NO!! You're not getting any more 'bits' from me! For Goodness sake child, pull yourself together. Whatever happened, whatever we did is over, and it's not going to happen again. And that's final!" And so on... After a week of conversations that were variations of the above theme, I came close to giving it up as an impossible goal. One night, however, when I was idly fantasising about screwing mum stupid, I suddenly understood that my position wasn't quite as weak as it seemed. Indeed, if I could find it in myself to be a bit more 'forceful', I did have something really helpful working for me. That something, I realised, was mum's guilt. Ignoring for a moment my minor (if lustful) role in all that had happened; it was mother who had chosen to do it. Alright she'd been extremely concerned about my sexual orientation, and all she'd wanted to do was help, but she was the one who made the decision to act ... ergo it was all her fault. If she'd been wrong all along about me being gay, and not stopped to think through the consequences of throwing her luscious body at her own (healthy and sexually active) son, then the consequences to her son were all her responsibility. Now the important point here is there was genuinely quite a lot of truth in this. If I was becoming obsessed with the prospect of fucking my own mother, who could blame me? You wouldn't blame me, would you? I mean what healthy young boy wouldn't be driven mad by having his own mother suck his cock and willingly swallow his semen. So if this poor young fellow was driven over the edge by such a 'shocking' experience, well then mum only had herself to blame. Right? Right! The only problem left was how to turn all this to my advantage - how to play it. I mean I'm not Laurence Oliver, and I couldn't be expected to engage in any deep method acting. I had to keep it simple, whilst at the same time making her see she couldn't just stop what she started, as if nothing had happened. After all it was only natural I wanted to mount her ... wasn't it? Having come up with the outlines of a plan I invested another couple of days in thinking through how best to exploit my advantage. Eventually I realised the fact there was some truth in all of this was my best ploy. I would be honest with her ... well sort of honest (I didn't want to get too carried away). I would let her know I was obsessed with her body (true enough) and try to persuade her that the only way to cure this obsession was to let me have my way with her (marginally less true!). I suppose you could call it a sort of 'fuck therapy' ... or preferably a 'bang the hell out of mother at every opportunity' therapy! OK, so it doesn't sound too plausible put like that, but it was worth a try. I mean ANYTHING was worth a try to touch those monstrous tits again ... and to finally lay my cheek on her stocking-tops. In fact that bit was going to be much harder than it sounded; she simply didn't wear stockings around me anymore. Still 'nothing ventured, nothing gained' as they say, and by that time there was only a fortnight left till dad came home, so I knew it was now or never. III It was a Friday (in late November) and we had a potentially quiet weekend ahead. I remember thinking to myself at lunch-time that 'tonight's the night', and going over in my mind what I was going to say. I screwed myself up as much as possible. After all it was new territory for me. I wanted to break out of 'wimpsville' and become a real man. In the event I had no idea just how far I was eventually going to push things with mum, and it was certainly true that by Sunday night I could call myself a 'real man' (although in the circumstances to call myself 'a true gentleman' would have been stretching the truth just a shade too far). At about eight o'clock that evening, when mum was sitting on the sofa watching TV, I slipped into the lounge and stood by the door. Her hair and make-up were immaculate as usual, but she wore a thick baggy sweater and brown slacks (with a bit on the end that attached round the sole of the foot ... if you remember such things). The point being she no longer appeared attractive or feminine in any way. I remember noting to myself I'd have to find a way to change that look. After all even her breasts failed to stick out significantly like they usually did. The sweater was one lumpy mess around her chest area, and hid from sight one of life's most important visual experiences. How could anyone allow a woman with breasts like that to hide them away? Even the uplifting mould and shaping of her fifties bra failed to push them significantly through the foggy clouds of that damn sweater. (If only I'd known how the future would pan out, with all women's brassieres reducing in shape and size to mouldy old bits of virtually non-existent nylon. What a life!). My heart was beating fast, but I confess I wasn't feeling exactly confident. In fact I felt like an impotent fool, trying to take on something way beyond his current years and experience. After a moment mother noticed me and turned to look at me. "What's the matter?" she asked with a quizzical look. "Can ... can I have a word, Mum?" She gave me a suspicious look. "Why? What's the matter?" I thought back to that night several weeks ago when it had all been so different. Then she was smiling, encouraging me to come forward and talk - now all I could see was hostility. But I walked into middle of the room, took a deep breath, and launched into my pre-planned speech. "I've got a problem Mum, and I really need to talk to you about it. I know you won't like it ... you won't like me for mentioning it ... but I have to talk to you. I have to or I shall go mad!" She looked intently at me, still suspicious. But with a resigned sigh she finally said. "OK, come on then." I went over and sat on the sofa, tactfully keeping to the opposite end so she wouldn't start off too defensive. I sat there silent for a moment, until she raised her eyebrows inviting me to begin. "What happened, what we did on ... that night. It has affected me I think." Nice start, I thought to myself, seemingly innocent but with an implicit accusation. "Affected you?" she whispered. "How? How has it affected you?" "I'm not sure," I was trying to keep it all as vague as possible. "I seem to have become obsessed with ..." "With what?" "... With you Mum. I ... I can't stop thinking about you. I dream about you every night. All I want to do is hold you close to me ... and kiss you and caress you ... and love you." OK, I thought, that's good, keep it sweet and innocent sounding. "Oh," she said almost to herself. Then she looked at me for a long time without saying anything. She looked so sad and, as a tear began to form in to corner of each eye, I almost decided to call it quits and go back to my memories and my dirty books ... but I didn't. At last she said. "I'm sorry. I must have been mad to do what I did. I can't believe it. I thought I was helping, but all I did was abuse my own son. Dear God, forgive me. What can I do, how can I make things right. Or is it too late?" I wanted to say something like, 'well, you could show me your tits for a start', but decided maybe that wasn't quite appropriate yet, so I kept silent "There's no way back is there?" she mused, still seeming to be talking to herself rather than me. "You can't unmake yesterday. I only wish I could. I would give anything to go back and make things right again between us." "Are things wrong ... between us?" I asked, not sure if I was being too innocent or too daring. "Of course they're wrong. You shouldn't have these ... these ... sexual feelings towards your own mother. It's wrong, it's bad ... it's unhealthy. And it's all my fault!" She ended with a lame sob. I had an overwhelming desire to go over and give her a cuddle. It was an innocent desire (well almost innocent), but I thought it better to keep my distance for the time being. I'd lost a lot of credibility recently by using any excuse I could to get near enough to give her tits a quick grope, so I thought it best not to undermine the good work I'd done so far. "I'm sorry Mum, I can't help the way I feel," I said in a sympathetic voice, but knowing full well I was rubbing it in. "I know, I know," she whispered. "I ..." She stopped suddenly. For some reason I had a premonition she'd been about to say, 'I feel the same way', but dismissed the notion as wishful thinking. She was weeping softly now, and after a couple of minutes of loaded silence she finally said. "So ... so what are we going to do?" "I ... I don't know," I said. Then, taking a predetermined leap, I added. "Maybe it's not such a bad thing. Maybe we could sort of ... sort of work it through?" "Work it through?" she repeated with a puzzled voice. "What do you mean, 'work it through'?" She was silent for a moment, clearly thinking about what I'd said ... and then the shit hit the fan. She leapt up from the sofa and screamed at me. "PETER! PETER! YOU STUPID STUPID CHILD! Have you heard nothing I've said? Don't you understand what we've done ... what I've done? How can you say such a thing? What's the matter with you ... are you mad!? How can you suggest that we ..." She spluttered as she ran out of words, and her face started to go red and blotchy. For a moment I thought she was going to explode! "INCEST!" she shouted at last. "I've committed incest with my own son! I will be damned forever ... I could go to prison! Your life is ruined; you're never never going to get over it! And what's your solution for Christ's sake!? What's your solution? You want me to fucking WORK IT THROUGH!!!" 'So what's wrong with that?' I thought to myself, but wisely I kept silent. "I don't believe you!" she went on, still ranting at me. "You just don't understand, do you? All you want is to touch me ... to get your filthy hands on my breasts! You can't think of anything else. Nothing else at all. You're totally obsessed with sex. You've no idea of the enormity of what we've done. No fucking idea at all ..." I have to admit I was a bit startled by her anger (and her language). I felt like I'd lost my chance in a big way. I confess I was even starting to feel just the tiniest bit guilty (if you can believe it!). Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. I had no idea what to say or how to respond, and mentally I began to wave goodbye to ever getting a chance to finish what she'd started. I had a sudden vision of her legs, dressed in those magnificent stockings, fading into the distance. I felt disappointed, gutted ... and then somewhere deep inside I began to feel just a little bit angry. What right had she to take away such a fantastic experience? Suddenly, all by itself, my brain slipped into gear. "You're right I am obsessed," I hissed at her. "Of course I'm bloody obsessed! That's why we're having this conversation, remember?" To my surprise she went quiet and flopped back down again onto the sofa. "Yes ..." she murmured vaguely. "Yes, of course, you're right. I ... I'm sorry. I feel so bad about what I've done. I feel so guilty. But I shouldn't take it out on you, should I? Of course you're obsessed with me and my body ... that's the whole damn problem isn't it?" IV As we sat there in the lounge in silence, I realised my over-simplistic 'therapy' plan was never going to work. However I didn't feel entirely deflated. My unexpected success in calming her down made me feel stronger somehow. I no longer felt like a child who has no power and has to do exactly what he's told by the adult. Mother was clearly at a loss. Confused, racked with personal guilt, she simply didn't know what to do or say. As I sat there watching her, I could see pain and uncertainty mirrored in the expressions flickering across her face. She was clearly tearing herself to bits inside her head. Eventually she began to cry, and as she stared blankly ahead, tears rolled down her cheeks in ever increasing rivers of sorrow and distress. Now those of you who've followed my story so far will know I'm not necessarily the nicest person in the world. I'd taken advantage of Mother on more than one occasion. Indeed it could be argued I was as much to blame for this situation as she was. You'd think, however, given her current broken state of mind, I would take this opportunity to help her. You'd think I'd want to make her feel better - that I'd want to reassure her, and relieve the doubt and fear and uncertainty tearing her apart. I was her only son after all.