Title: Hardly Any Persuasion
Keywords: mF, mdom, mom, son, cheat, mat
Author: Caesar
Summary: Having ended up sleeping with her son, the mother tries to deny her lust.










 
I dined with Lord Hughing Fitz-Bluing
Who said, "Do you squirm when you're screwing?"
        I replied, "Simple shagging
        Without any wagging
Is only for screwing canoeing."




Hardly Any Persuasion

by Caesar, copyright 2002

$Revision: 1.11 $ $Date: 2007-12-02 07:47:45 $

Mom turned into a ball away from me and sobbed loudly, "What have I
done", she repeated over and over.  She was hiding her face in her
hands, as if hiding from the reality of my bed.

Me, I was breathing deeply, trying to relax my sweaty quivering body
after such a surprising and enjoyable fuck.  I was looking down at my
slimy wet exhausted cock and then over to the glistening white flesh
of my mothers bare ass - remembering with clarity, the pleasure we had
found together.

Through a dry mouth I croaked tentatively, "Mom...?"

Her reaction was very confusing - she had seduced me, she had screamed
out for me to fuck her harder and faster, she had even orgasmed again
and again.  Had she not enjoyed it?

God damn it!  Women, yes, even my own mother, were so god damned
confusing!

"Mom, its OK!"  I put a hand upon the top of her soft raised hip,
which caused her body to freeze and she wiggled another few
centimetres away from me.  I pulled it back, knowing my touch was no
longer welcomed.

I had allowed it, of course.  Her seduction and our eventual
intercourse I mean.

This was the first visit to my apartment for mom, hours away from home
by train or car but still close enough to my University for a visit.
It was obvious to me, even before she arrived, that she missed me.
After she arrived she told me she wanted to go and see everywhere her
son 'hanged out' - if you can believe that.  Well I could not take her
looking middle-aged and very much like a suburban mother.  It was
embarrassing!  Laughingly, she agreed for me to make minor
adjustments; suggesting she change her hair, loose her old coat,
forget the nylons and unbutton a few buttons on her blouse.  With
gusto she did all that I asked without even a characteristic negative
comment. The end result was startling; she did not look like a twenty
year old - nothing could do that - but she did look amazingly better.
And I thought nothing about telling her how great she looked, heaping
praise upon her; how that skirt showed off her sexy curves that the
open blouse was suggestive without being frank about it.

Mother ate it up - each compliment seemed to empower me to mold her
more to an image that should not embarrass me too much.

So there we were, the second afternoon of mom's visit - tromping
through campus showing her my lecture halls, the library, even
stopping to chat with a few of the people in my classes.  I saw the
appraising looks of my male peers, admiring the handiwork that was now
my mother - mom saw it, that way, as well.

As innocent as it seems now, I was proud of her, proud to be with her.
She was looking great and was not acting in the dominant maternal role
- in fact she seemed anxious to do everything I asked.

Before we even hit the off-campus bar and grill she was flushed and
giddy like a teenager, hanging off my arm as if afraid this was all a
dream and she should wake up with my dad snoring next to her and a
sink full of dishes to clean.

Well, after a few wine coolers and then a beer, some finger food and
then two shots, mother was much more relaxed.  In retrospect, probably
too much.  She drank willingly, and after that first wine cooler, much
more than I had ever seen her do at home.  She still clung to me -
usually just holding my hand.  I thought it irritating that I had to
baby-sit her to the point that she nearly panicked when I got up to go
take a leak or the flushed pleasure at my return.  We were in constant
contact, so much that I was embarrassed to be holding my mothers
sweaty small hand constantly, so I removed it and would wrap my arm
about her shoulders or place my hand on her mid-thigh.  All
innocently, of course.  Mother seemed to enjoy these new touches more
so than holding hands.

A year ago she would have yelled from the top of the stairs for me to
turn this type of music off - now, after several drinks, she was
wiggling in the bench seat next to me, constantly looking at me for
approval - as if afraid I should tell her that she was embarrassing
me, my mother acting so loose.  Or as my father would probably say,
"Act your age!"  When her head was turned I could not help but laugh
at how her visit was turning out - how easy I discovered that a little
compliment and positive reenforcement seemed to change her from the
woman I have known all my life.

The place was emptying out - there was not that many people to start
with, as it was a long weekend - so I thought it safe to dance in
public with my drunk mother.  She tried, I will give you that, but she
could not get her body to bump and grind to the beat of the music that
played.  So I was thankful when another song came on and she wrapped
her arms about my neck and pressed her soft curvy body, I thought it
innocently at the time, against my own.  Naturally, I wrapped my arms
about her waist which seemed to lock ourselves against the other.

She had to reach up on her toes to tell me, across the loudness of the
music, "I have not been dancing in years honey!"  Mom caught my eye
and I could see that she was thinking about something before she again
leaned toward my ear, "I don't remember the last time I felt
so... sexy."

Her use of that word startled me and I turned my head to look into her
eyes, her face held an impish embarrassment.  Mothers are not supposed
to be, or feel, sexy... are they?

Then I felt it.  And again.

Mother was pressing her groin into my thigh, which I realized with
small humour, was still out of tune with the beat of the music.

She saw my comprehension to her movement and she leaned up yet again.
"You would not believe how wet your mother is honey!"  And before the
shock of that statement sunk in she followed up with, "I want you to
take me back to your apartment and fuck me!"  She pulled back her face
so that we were looking into each others eyes, I saw only a very
nervous but very serious middle-aged woman.

Drunk or not she had just past a barrier that I did not even
contemplate - I kid you not.  As an early adolescent I had realized
mother was a woman, with legs, breasts and ass that I enjoyed looking
upon.  Those thoughts disintegrated immediately after my first kiss
with a girl my own age, and I had all but forgotten them after my
first time with a girl.

Mom was wiggling out of time with the music, mostly so that she could
grind and rub against me I now realized.  Her face was looking into my
own and saw my hesitation and I saw that spark of fear that that
caused.  If I spurn her now, here in public, I would harm her, harm
our relationship as well.  And of course I could not do what she
desired, it was only a drunks hazy concept of reality.  Wasn't it?

I leaned down to say into her ear, "Lets go back to my place mom."

Her face brightened immediately up, the fear gone, and a new twinkle
existed within her eye.  I knew what she thought and it embarrassed me
terribly.

All I wanted to do was get her back to my place, get her to lay down
and god help me, prayed she would pass out and wake up forgetting this
crazy night.

As you know, it was not to be.

For one, getting mom out of there, even off the dance floor was
tougher than I imagined.  She started to kiss, with plenty of saliva
and tongue I assure you, my neck and chin.  It was embarrassing and I
tried hard so that she could not find my lips in any close proximity
to her own.  The rubbing against me was now obvious to any that should
look that the woman was in heat.  Hell I had to pull her hand from
between us four times, as it moved toward my zipper.

I half dragged her off the dance floor and back to our table, finally.
Before I could curse her for embarrassing me, for acting so lewdly she
suddenly dropped onto my lap facing me, straddling my legs.  Her loose
skirt had risen and I could feel the damp heat even through my jeans
as it ground against my crotch.  Mother leaned against me and
whispered non too quietly, "I want you to make me scream tonight
honey!  Make me do things I have never tried with your father.  Fuck
my cunt until I can't stand!"  She then said in a little girl voice,
"Would you do that for your mommy?"

Pushing her roughly off me, partially because I was embarrassed that
my cock was starting to harden with the direct attention it was
getting and knowing she could feel every centimetre of it, she mistook
my actions for my anxious rush to get home and between her legs.

Mother giggled as I dragged her from the bar and grill, she would not
shut up the three blocks to my apartment, giddy like a school girl.  I
learnt way too much about her on that short walk; about her lack of
sex with dad these last years, that he was the only man that she had
ever had, that she often masturbated thinking about me, that she
wished we had done 'this' years ago, that she could already tell that
my 'cock is bigger' than my fathers and was bigger than even in her
dreams - having felt it through her wet panties for about a minute at
the table in the bar.

Just as we walked up the two flights of stairs to my floor, she kept
wiggling her ass and teasing that I could do more than look now with
her bottom.  Even giggling as I unlocked my door that she knew some
women liked having a man fuck their asses, and she would do that, and
anything else I wanted to do to her, if I wanted too.

Now, so you don't think I'm some type of statue - that I did not
notice the opportunity here, something I had never contemplated.  Yet
now that it was so openly offered, I realized that I got a mental
rush, and another a bit lower down as well, when I thought about how
nasty and kinky it would be if only I gave in and fucked my mom.  It
had to be the ultimate sexual adventure I could think of.  I mean I've
lost my cherry years ago, had countless blow jobs, fucked numerous
girls in the ass, bound them up, spanked some very sexy asses, even
tried peeing on a couple.  But my drunk giggling mother would surpass
all that wouldn't she?

The door closed and I turned to see mother already half undressed,
naked from the waist down and now fumbling with the buttons of her
blouse.  The expectant pleasure on her face was obvious as she did not
take her eyes from me.

I should think, after diagnosing that gaze and the rest of our day,
that mother may have some incestuous fantasies that I had never
thought of.  A private kink within her own mind that surpassed my own
experiences as well as my own imagination about her.  This was my
mother for gods sake.  She had near-silver hair, loosely bound thanks
to me, shapely legs but with fleshy upper thighs, a generous round ass
and wide hips, large pronounced breasts, small of bone, nearly ten
centimetres shorter than I and several kilograms.

When the blouse and white lace bra fell to the floor my naked mother
gave me no more time for thought as she rushed me, wrapping her arms
about my neck and drawing my lips down to hers.  The kiss, sloppy wet,
desperate and very passionate.

 -*-

Her sobbing was getting louder, probably proportional to her
soberness.  We had fucked like mad animals I recalled with a wide
smile; with enthusiasm that I do not believe I had ever encountered,
in all the ladies that I mounted before.  She seemed to like when I
took control; when I roughly commanded her pleasure.

Mothers orgasms were numerous, I had not even tried to count, two to
one of my own, at the very least.  Hell, I had not even softened
between.  We had fucked standing by the door to my tiny apartment,
then with her kneeling on my bed with me behind, which she seemed
particularly fond of, and then with me on my back and she bouncing
wildly above me.  I had emptied my seed in her in that position and
she had collapsed upon me - but before she had time to, perhaps,
contemplate what we had done, I had spun her onto her back, placed her
heels on my shoulders and started to pile-drive like a maniac into her
again and again.  She had clawed at her own nipples, one sporting my
teeth marks from earlier in the hallway, had tried to pull my face
down to kiss me, unsuccessfully, had screamed out vile very
un-motherly words and phrases as I fucked her till we both collapsed
upon my soiled bed, exhausted and dripping with sweat.

Mother slowly sat up, and I could see the lack of strength in her
tired and abused body.  She was still crying and I was still laying
there naked and soiled watching her, trying to figure out what the
hell was wrong with her.  All day she had been another person, and
then her bawdy actions at the bar and then the wild, hours long, ride
with my prick buried in her body.  Now this.

Sighing, I sat up and placed a hand upon her trembling shoulder,
ignoring her attempts to shrug me off.  "Mother?"

"Leave me alone... don't you know what we have done here!"  It was not
a question that I think she wanted answered just at that time.

The sobs became louder and my soft and gentle attempts to sooth her
were starting to grate upon my nerves, particularly as they were not
working.  It was nearly four in the morning, mother and I had fucked
like animals, probably waking most of my neighbours, and she was
sitting there full of guilt and blame.  Had I not tried, and endured
more than most men could endure, to stop her fires?  To ignore those
bawdy offers from my own mother?

My anger started to rise - not so much from mothers emotional pain,
but from my own realization that I had given in to her drunken lust
and now we found ourselves in this mess.

I pulled my hand back and growled rather loudly, "Then get the fuck
out!"

Mother jumped at the harsh sound of my voice and spun around to look
at me with red tear-filled eyes, fearful surprise evident in her look.
It was the first time I had ever talked to her in this manner.

"Just get out mom!  Go back home and pretend this never happened if
that is what you want?"

She sniffled and reached a hand for my leg, which I roughly pulled
away. "Honey...?"

"No!  I said get out!  Put your hair back up into a bun, dress like a
grandmother and go back to your dirty dishes, your vacuuming and your
bridge night mother."  I almost said it but I bit my tongue at the
last second, for her to go back to dad.  Perhaps him most of all, had
been hurt the most - and he did not even know it.

She opened her mouth but I wasn't finished venting my anger, so I
jumped off the bed, standing over her, "You come here, let me think
you're having a good time, get drunk, embarrass me in front of my
friends like some drunk old lady," actually there was no one at the
bar and grill that I knew but it didn't seem prudent at that moment to
mention the truth, "stagger back here and get naked barely before the
door was closed."  I took a deep breath, seeing her tears running
anew.  "Do you want to know something?  I was actually having fun with
you - then you start acting like some slut at the bar.  Want to know
what I was going to do when I got you home... do you?  I was going to
put you to bed and hope you slept the booze off and forgot how fucking
nuts you had been acting."  Again I didn't think to mention that I had
actually enjoyed the thought of fucking my mother, another notch in my
male bravado belt, and gave in to her offers.

She had brought up her hands half ways through my emotionally
destructive outburst but suddenly let one drop and reached toward me.
It was almost as an offer of peace, an atonement of her own emotional
outburst that she wrapped her tear-wet palm about my soft soiled cock.
I hesitated in my anger as she started to lean forward, about to do
that which I knew she had never done, from the educational walk back
from the bar a few hours earlier.  In fact, she had admitted to me
earlier, that it was one of her favourite fantasies, sucking me, me
fucking her face, tasting my come, even hosing down her skin with my
cream.

That I should have mothers lips wrapped about my cock, knowing she
would be tasting both of our juices upon me, as another notch to my
male ego, was enticing.  I also know my cock has had enough for the
night.

I quickly pulled from her grasp, her lips having just touched my
circumcised head before yanking it from her.  "No mother!  When I want
a blow job I'll tell you!"

I stormed out of my room, slamming the door behind me.

 -*-

I awoke upon my second-hand couch with an aching head and a cold chill
down my spin as I remembered all.  Even my childish outburst at the
end.  Slowly I sat up, seeing mothers and my hastily discarded
clothing by the door to my apartment.

Wrapping the thin blanket about me I stumbled to my room, looking for
mother, prepared to apologize to her, to promise to attempt to get
past the things we did last night.  My room, though messy, was empty.
Mothers suitcase was gone as well.

It wasn't a very large apartment, only a single bedroom, and standing
there in the doorway I knew she had left after I half-passed out on
the couch after screaming at her.  Oh god, the things I had said!

All that she had left was the clothing she had worn the night before,
probably because she did not want something to remember last night by,
the stains upon my white sheets, and the very thick smell of our
pleasure within my bedroom, evidence.

I found her note after my long cold shower:

    Honey, I am sorry to leave like this but I think it best.  I know
    you will agree.  I had let myself go last night, something I had
    never done, but I assure you it will never happen again.  I do
    love you, with all my heart.  Please forgive me.  Mom

 -*-

The reason I made the trip back home Thanksgiving weekend was simply
to see mom.  No!  Not to taste another sample of the incestuous
pleasures we had before - but something in her note that I felt real
pain toward her.

That her one time for letting go had ended in such a disaster.  That
my mother should always live with her true feelings and character
forced down insider herself was a hurtful thing to me, now that I know
about it.  I did not mean to recommend this form of 'letting go' to
her, but that under controlled conditions, it was probably a good
thing to let ones self 'go'.

What my trip meant to her, though, I had no idea.  I knew that mother
had desired me for many years, she had said so several times that one
fateful evening.  That was something I would try very hard to ignore,
the memories of our pleasure, her screams of passion and the touch and
taste of her.  It could not happen again, the first time had been
tough, an emotional roller coaster.

My younger sister came to the door before I even stepped up to it - a
big hug, then a firm handshake with dad, whom I could barely look in
the eye, and then a distant wave from my older sister and her husband.

You see, our home-life was not some back hills shack where booze, fear
and barely-contained lust lay below the surface.  I had never seen my
mother naked before that night.  My younger sister and I used to
practise kissing - but I had stopped that when I found a steady girl,
that was not my sister, to practise with.  Sure I knew she was a
little hurt at the time, having romantic and sexual thoughts about her
sexy big brother - but we had talked about it only recently, before I
left school, and she thanked me for not taking advantage of the
'situation'.  That was as crazy as it ever got in our home.

I found her, my mom, in the kitchen, of course, cooking.  I dare not
touch her, for fears of my own resolve and not her own, instead called
from across the wide room, "Hi mom."

She turned and sweetly said, "Oh hi honey."  Though most would think
it was perfectly normal, I saw a hidden embarrassment within her eye
that she quickly turned away else I should discover it.  "I'm glad you
came home for the long weekend."

I said with more meaning that I intended, "Do you?"

Her head turned slowly and I saw that she was about to say something,
when my older sister came bounding in the room to help mom with the
vegetables.  I simply turned and left her to her work.

 -*-

After supper, and a huge feast it had been too, my older sister and
her husband had left for home, my younger sister excitedly left the
house on a date with her steady boyfriend, leaving dad and I to finish
the game on the television and mom doing the final touches cleaning up
the kitchen.

I knew she was hiding from me - whenever I was in a room she was in,
she never made eye contact and barely said two words, to anyone, let
alone me.  As if asking if anyone wanted more mashed potatoes would
give away the night of hard sloppy sex she had with her only son.

When dad was snoring before the buzzer ended the game I stood up and
entered the kitchen.  Gone was the organized mess from our feast and
mother seemed to be cleaning a clean patch of the counter.

Mother turned and looked, only at my feet, to see whom had entered the
kitchen and I saw her redouble her effort on the clean patch of
counter.

Taking the few steps to stand beside her I placed a hand upon hers,
the one doing circles on the counter.  "Mom?"  She froze which gave me
time to look quickly at her.  She was a mess, after a long sweaty day
of hard work feeding her family and then cleaning up after them.  I
never realized how hard she worked to give us our home, our 'normal'
family.  I also realized how much strength it must have taken to let
herself go and take the chance with her fantasy, knowing that if the
truth came out, if her attempt had failed, she took a chance with her
whole life and the relationships of all the people in her life.  The
realization of her extreme wish for that fantasy hit me.

Perhaps that set the tone for the next several minutes, and perhaps
the rest of our lives in fact.

Her near-silver hair was tied back into a bun, as per normal, but
after her day was loose with many strands hanging down.  I lifted my
other hand to pull some strands back to tuck behind her ear.

"Please stop."

I didn't.

I took the rag from her hand and threw it into the sink and then
turned her two shoulders so that she was facing me.  Like a rag-doll,
neither helping or resisting, she moved as instructed.

Stepping forward I wrapped both my arms about her torso and gave her a
loving firm hug.  With much emotion I whispered into the top of her
head of messy hair, "I'm sorry mom!"

And I was.

Her body started to tremble before a sob burst from her and her arms
suddenly wrapped about my waist in a possessive thankful grip.  I
wanted to tell her that I was sorry for all the stupid things I had
said, why I had gotten angry that night had nothing to do with her,
that I thought was was a very attractive woman that should learn to
let go once in a while, but not with me.  Instead I said nothing and
just held her as she cried into my chest.

Many minutes later, after her violent sobs had subsided and her crying
had nearly dried up I released her and moved her to a seat at the
breakfast table.  I sat across from her, our knees almost touching, in
front of that table.

"Mom," I wanted to tell her so much but it would not come out, instead
I noticed that she wore those big ugly knit slippers that she had made
at least a dozen years before.  Instead I laughed softly and nodded
with my chin between us at the ugly slippers on her small feet, "can
you take off those ugly things!"  I used to tease her about them when
I lived at home, and that fond memory and my gently teasing words
caused a bubble of a laugh to escape her.

She looked in my eyes for a brief second and then surprised me by
leaning to each side and pulling off the slippers, leaving them
forgotten beneath the table.  Mother sat looking at her hands, clasped
together, on her lap as I sat a little surprised that she had just
done what I had jokingly asked.

Perhaps this was no joking matter to her, I thought?

Mother was wearing her normal home dress, very old and very out of
date that did nothing for her figure.  The bottom of her dress was a
pleated skirt and I saw that she wore her normal tan coloured nylons
that did nothing for her shapely legs.  I remembered weeks before when
I had gotten her to got out with me without any nylons on and I saw
the girl-like pleasure at such a small thing as going in public with
her legs bare.

My hand again came up and pushed strands of hair from her forehead I
reached down and lifted mothers face by her chin till our eyes locked.

This was a dangerous game I was playing, being here, alone with her.
I may think whatever I might - but to mother that one night of passion
between us was both a fantasy come-true and a glimpse into another
life that she could never have.

Mustering a light tone to my voice I gently said, "You're such an
attractive woman mother, I have no idea why you wear things that make
you look so old!"  For effect, I pinched, with my free hand, her skirt
upon her thigh and lifted it till the hem came above her knees,
settling half ways up her soft thighs.  The sight was a visual
pleasure that brought back the sounds, smells, tastes and feelings of
that one night between us.

When my eyes looked back to hers, I saw that they were wide and
doe-like watching and waiting for my next move, her cheeks now how a
flush of colour to them.  "You should wear short skirts mom - you have
very sexy legs."  It was an exaggeration but I felt it timely.

She didn't say anything nor did she even blink - though I may have
imagined the reason for the added hue on her cheeks of her face - so
that it was making me feel rather uncomfortable, and I knew not what I
was doing there.  I had treated her very poorly at our last parting
and now she was sitting before me so demurely that I knew she
needed... what?  My love - she must know I have that for her, always.

I placed my open palm down just above her knee on her nylon covered
leg which caused an immediate tremor to run through her body.  I saw
in her eyes what she needed; what she dare not ask for, beg for even,
else I deny her as venomously as I had weeks before.

Softly, in small circles, I teased her leg while gently pushing away
from the other - spreading her knees forcing enticing sighs and
trembling to come from her person.  My hand was inching upward until
it was beneath the bunched up skirt and still no sign of denial from
her, no sign of stopping her son from moving up beneath her skirt.
Yet she finally mumbled in such a whisper that I almost missed it, in
fact I pretended to not even hear, "We shouldn't be doing this honey?"
Maybe so but I was past any doubts as my mind was being directed by
the bulge in my jeans.

The tips of my fingers rubbed against the seam of her nylon and panty
covered crotch and I could feel the heat already emulating through
that and the panty beneath.  She moaned again and spread her legs on
her own initiative until she was nearly straddling her kitchen chair.

"Damn you're so sexy mom!"  She groaned and let her head fall back on
her shoulders with her eyes closed.  It seemed she liked my
appreciation for her willingness to submit to my wishes.

I leaned forward in my chair and spoke mere centimetres from her face,
"No more nylons when I'm around mom."  She simply moaned her
agreement.  My fingers were becoming more insistent, firmer, as they
pressed inward feeling for the natural crevice of her sex.

I yanked my hand from between her thighs and gasped, "God damned
you're making me hard mom!"  I thrust both my hands along her hips and
grasped her nylons and panties roughly and started to yank them down.
She helped by lifting her ass from the hard chair until her
undergarments lay bundled about her calves.  As soon as she was able,
mother anxiously pressed her knees apart, though hindered greatly by
her ankles being constrained.

Mom wanted this, wanted me to violate her right here in her kitchen
with dad snoring in the next room.  Had she fantasized about this at
some time in her past?

My fingers found her hot and wet and open and ready for my fingers.  I
slipped two up inside her and pressed my thumb to the erotic button at
the top.  I had learnt to finger-bang girls in my junker of a car back
in high school and mother reacted as anticipated - very positively.
She had to bite the bottom of her lip to quell her pleasure.  Her body
though, went through spasms and jerks as I quickly brought her off
with my fingers.

When mother opened her eyes and brought her head up from her shoulders
she saw her son licking and sucking the juices from one of my fingers.
"You taste delicious mom."  I smiled and offered her the second soiled
finger.  "Nothing is sexier than a woman that likes the taste of her
own cunt!"  She smiled softly and then leaned forward and took my
second finger into her mouth to suck as if she thought it was a small
cock - amateurishly blowing my digit.  Mother was doing it for effect,
watching me watch her - wanting to please me.

Nothing makes a woman want to please her man more than being sexual
satisfied, I knew from experience.

I suddenly stood and drew my finger from her mouth and gently
instructed, "Get cleaned up mom and then help dad to bed.  I'll see
you in the morning."

"Honey...?"

I turned back to see a middle-aged woman looking very bawdy with her
panties and nylons around her ankles while her knees where spread so
that her thick gray pussy and spread wet lips were exposed.  The look
on her face was suppressed joy and a little embarrassed expectation.

"...may I come to you tonight?"  She intentionally looked down at the
obvious bulge in my jeans.  I could see that she really wanted this
that she would beg if that is what it took, that she was willing to do
anything for this request.

I so wanted to agree - to enjoy a muffled coupling to ease this
tension between my legs.  But there was dad in the next room - and my
younger sister would return by then.  No, with luck, dad will go to
the office tomorrow and sis will go to the mall with some friends or
something.

I smiled softly and said, "No mom... maybe tomorrow."  I ignored her
disappointment and retreated from the kitchen.

 -*-

Dad did go to the office that next day but my younger sister had a
girlfriend over to the house so mother and I were never alone for the
rest of that weekend.

This was ultimately good, I thought, because I had a lot of doubts
about what I was doing to and with mom.  On the train ride back to my
apartment, I had time to seriously consider the risks that I was
playing with.  To mother, this was not just another fuck not a notch
in her bedpost, as it was for me.  This was serious; love, lust,
fantasy and sex.

I did not have the excuse of booze when I fingered her to orgasm after
our Thanksgiving meal.  There was no pretence now about her desires,
her intentions.

Only doubt about my own.

In the four weeks after I got back to school I banged six different
girls.  One a forty year-old divorcee that was nearly as good a fuck
as mom had been.  Perhaps there was something to the older ladies that
was missing in the ones my own age?

When the phone rang I jumped out of bed, startled out of a deep sleep
and half-ran half-stumbled to the other room where my single phone was
located by the couch.

"Hello?"

"Honey?  Its mom."

What the hell?  I looked at the luminescent clock on the oven, I told
you it was a small apartment, to see that it was nearly two in the
morning.  "Mom?  Whats wrong?"  Calls in the middle of the night
become a dread to any adult person - my initiation to this being when
my fathers dad, my grandfather, passed away.

A short pause.  "Nothing honey... I just wanted to hear your voice."
She sounded strange.

"Where are you mom?"

"Home."  She seemed to think a more detailed explanation was in order,
"Your father and sister are sleeping upstairs so I'm in the basement."

I didn't know what to say, I have made great attempts to not be in
contact with mom since Thanksgiving.  Nothing overt, just that when I
called I did so when I knew my younger sister or my father would
answer and mom was not at home.

"Honey?"  It was a long pause.

"Sorry mom.  I'm here."

"I... I can't stop thinking about you honey."  She paused, "In that
way!"

"I've been thinking a lot about you too mom."  I sat down on my old
ratty couch and took a deep breath, it was going to be a difficult
call.

"Really?"  Her voice had changed ever so slightly - like I was talking
to a teenage girl than a middle-aged parent.

There was another long pause before she stated, "I am doing something
naughty honey."

I sighed and resolved to play this game, "What are you doing mom?"  My
own voice sounded hollow to my ear.

She did not hesitate, but the little girl voice still existed, "I am
playing with my pussy."

I tried, and failed, to picture her in the cold cement basement with
her hand up her old flannel nightie.  "What are you wearing mom?"

"My white flannel nightie."  Told you so.  "But I am sitting on the
work bench with it around my waist."  A heard some movement before she
added, "I miss you honey."

I physically winced.  God, what the hell am I going to do?  I knew
what I had to do right now, I had to play the game.  "Are you wet
mom?"

Giggling, "Oh yes!"

"Do you really miss me - or do you just miss how I can make you feel."

Another girlish giggle, which was getting irritating, "Both!"

"Have you come yet today mom?"

Her voice changed back to that familiar one that I grew up with,
"Women orgasm honey, men 'come'."

I lost my patience slightly, and regretted as soon as I barked, "Don't
you ever talk to me like that again mom!  Do you hear me?"

I thought she would be turned off, return to that cold distant parent
and end our conversation.  In fact I was hoping that was what was
going to happen.  Instead I could hear her swallow loudly across the
phone and then very submissively say, "Yes honey.  I'm sorry."

My anger was nearly gone but I re-asked the original question,
"Well... have you come today or not mom?"

"Yes honey.  I finished minutes before calling you."

And she still called me; had not her orgasm helped with her erotic
fires?  God, she must have it bad.

"Mom, why don't you get a finger nice and juicy and then suck it
clean?"

A giggle, "OK."  Nothing for a few seconds before I heard her moaning
near the phone, evidently she was sucking her cunt-juice-covered
finger clean.

I looked down to see my cock was sitting straight up in the air.

"Mom?"

"Yes honey?"

"Now I want you to put the phone next to your cunt and finger it so I
can hear how wet you are."  I remembered how the word 'hell' was
forbidden in our home when I was growing up and thought with a chuckle
that mom now loved to hear me use such blatant and dirty words.

A giggle and then some movement before the definite, and rather loud,
bawdy sounds of squishing and squelching.  Some of this helped me
return to that drunken night weeks before, at least in memory.

The sounds lasted for newly two minutes before they stopped and I
heard mother whine into the phone, "I am so horny honey!"

"Thats good - I like you horny."  I realized with a start that it was
true.  "Only one more thing mom... keep the phone up by your head but
I want you to finish for me.  Jerk that hot cunt of yours off while I
listen to you orgasm."

"Oh yes... god yes honey!"

And she did.

 -*-

Like the last visit mother showed up at my door with suitcase in hand
- having taken a taxi from the train depot.  Her cheeks were bright
red when I took the bag from her and lead her into my small apartment.

"Thanks for coming mom."

She just turned brighter red and could not meet my eyes.  We both
understood why she had come for another 'visit'.

I took her suitcase into the single small bedroom and then came back
to see her standing where I had left her.  Mother was wearing her old
worn out coat and beneath, her usual attire.

"Give me your coat mom?"

She did, and I promptly hung it up.

"You're wearing panty hose aren't you mom?"

She seemed embarrassed suddenly, "Yes honey."

"Well take it off mom - right now!  No panty hose when I am around."
I smugly watched as my mother nervously reached beneath the hem of her
pleated wool skirt and with a little wiggling brought down the tanned
panty hose to her ankles.  Her large well-worn brown shoes were in the
way and before she asked I ordered, "Those shoes as well mom."  The
shoes were placed by the closet neatly while the hose was forgotten on
the floor by the front door.

"Mom? Mom, look at me when I talk to you!"

She jerked her head up so that her eyes could look into my own.  She
was very nervous.  "Sorry honey."

"Thats better - you look so much better without them.  Now tell me,
mom, when did I start to make an appearance in your fantasies?"

Just when I thought her bright cheeks could not get any deeper shade
of red, her embarrassment added a deeper rouge to them.  "When you
were a teenager honey."

"When exactly mom?"

She shuffled on her bare feet, consciously trying not to hide her face
and eyes from me, "When I realized you were looking at me as a woman
and not as a mother."

Mother must mean the time in my early puberty when I looked upon
mothers curves in a more erotic light - about thirteen or fourteen
years of age I think.  Instead of being flattered at this bit of
information, I felt pity that my own mother needed to build upon the
innocent looks of her teenage son in fantasy to counter the life she
was leading.

The topic was only depressing to me so I changed the subject, "While
you're here mom there are is only one rule?"

She nodded in agreement, as if she already knew what it was.

"You do everything I say, OK mom?"

Without hesitation but in a small shy voice, "OK honey."

Something occurred to me, "You had already agreed to this a thousand
times in fantasy haven't you mom?"

"Yes honey."

"Ordered to suck my cock?"

"Yes."

"Let me use your ass hole?"

"Yes."

"Let me tie you up?"

"Yes."  Mother was starting to shiver violently.

"Spank you?"

"Yes."

"Jerked off on your face?"

"Yes."  Shivering was now accompanied by deep rushed panting and she
looked ready to collapse to the floor.

"Share you with my friends?"

It seemed as if a switch was turned off and mother's boiling passion
suddenly calmed and she said firmly, "No!"  Her face started to return
back to its pale pink complexion.

I wasn't expecting the answer or the reaction and dumbly echoed, "No?"

In a stern voice, one that reminded me of being a teenager again and
getting caught doing something wrong mother said, "No.  I have never
wanted any other but you."  Now that she said it, and sober as well,
her cheeks reddened yet again.

With that admission I started to feel the power of this relationship
flow back into my veins.  "What about my one rule mom?"

She had to pause and collect herself before answer, "Please
honey... you're the only one I want."  Now that she said it, we both
knew it to be true.  I had full control over this woman, my mother, by
her consent.  And it was not erotic game where we played our roles -
for mom, this was real.  She needed this!  Mother was getting too old
to play juvenile stupid sex games, she needed the real thing!

The next command was easy, "Get naked mom!"

She smiled privately and then brought her hands up to begin disrobing.
In minutes her boring middle-aged clothing was forgotten on the floor
and she stood unashamed before me.

"Very nice mom... sexy!"  I meant it - and she could not take her eyes
from my pulsating bulge in my pants for more than a few seconds, while
licking her lips as if starving for what was between my legs.  "In my
house you go naked - or wear only what I order you to wear - got that
mom?"

"Yes honey."  She was smiling proudly now, this was the stuff of her
dreams.

I thought of something that would be enjoyable, "Tomorrow we can go
shopping", it was Saturday and with my parents inflated bank account,
she would pay, "I think you would look damn sexy in some stockings -
what do you think honey?"

Her smile was very wide, "I would like that honey."

"And maybe we could get some sex toys as well - a dildo and a butt
plug huh?  Then you could put on a little show for me?"  Her smiled
disappeared for only a second but the quivering returned.

I took two steps forward and took one nipple between my thumb and
forefinger, pinching it mercilessly until mother winched.  "I asked
you a question mother?"

She swallowed loudly and then answered cautiously, "Yes honey, I would
like that."

"Like what mom?"  My hand had disengaged from her nipple and was now
rubbing up and down her well curved waist and hip.

I was starting to enjoy this game - here was a woman who could help me
fulfil my every fantasy.  I have never seen a woman masturbate, let
alone use a dildo, and mother would - I could see her lust in her
eyes, for me, anything.

"I would like to put on a show for you."  She didn't look too sure -
but I passed that off as nerves.

My hand had rubbed over her soft smooth white skin until it
encountered a virtual jungle, a new thought came to me.  "Ever shave
this all off mom?"  I had taken a small handful of pubic hair and
tugged on it till mother winced - there could be no mistaking the
intent of my question.

She nodded negatively and then cautiously answered, "No I haven't
honey."

"But you will - won't you mom?"

She didn't hesitate, "Yes honey, I will do that if you wish me too."
That pleased look was starting to return.

"Good.  I'll give you before this time tomorrow to have the deed done!
Besides, this", I gave her hair another painful tug, "will look a lot
better in some of the underwear I think we should get you tomorrow."

She was smiling widely now - in simpatico to my own I should add.

When my hand slipped lower, her smile instantly disappeared and she
again looked nervous.  "My god - you're so fucking wet!"

And she was, wet and very hot.  It was practically flowing, much more
so than at any of our other encounters.  There was no comparison to
any of my other triumphs - no other lady had ever felt so fucking hot
and wet... and this was the first touch!

"You really get off on this don't you mom?"  She didn't say anything
but her eyes could not look into my own any longer.  "You have been
waiting for a man your whole life to treat you like the slut you
fantasied to be - isn't that right mother?"

She tried to look stern, but it was unbelievable as I as stroking her
pouting inner labia to perfection.  "I'm... no slut...!"

I brought my spare hand up and pushed mother by her neck till she fell
back against the door to my apartment - she suddenly looked scared as
I squeezed her neck.  "You are what I want you to be mom!"  I was
yelling my inflated anger directly into her face, my hot breath
blowing a few strands of hair away from her cheeks.  "What other woman
gets drunk and seduces her son!"

My other hand slipped down and I pushed two fingers into her sex which
caused a guttural groan to escape from mothers lips.

"What type of fucking cunt calls up her son in the middle of the night
and jerks off while he listens!"

Tears were in her eyes now and I realized that I was being cruel but I
could not stop.

"And you came here to do what mom?  What did you tell dad why you were
returning to visit me?  To do my laundry and make me fucking supper?"

If anything I was getting louder.  While mother was sobbing and
groaning from both my violent cruel words and the plunging fingers in
her sex.

For our new relationship to continue she had to learn that she was
mine - and if I wanted to call her a whore and sell her ass to my
friends, she will do it!  She knew it as well - what defiance she was
now showing was simply the remnants of her middle-class middle-aged
values.

"No!  You came here to get fucked - to be the woman of your fantasies
- the woman you could never before be!"  I changed tactics - saying
the things I had thought of since I had told her to come back to
'visit'.  "You're getting old mom!  I bet dad barely even looks at you
any more.  Your ass is getting big, your tits are beginning to hang
and your face starting to wrinkle!  Who else is going to treat you
like the slut in your dreams mom?  Who else is going to treat you like
the lowest most-common slut and use you like you want to be used?"

Her crying was getting near violent and I don't think mother had ever
been treated so commonly before, "Me that is who.  You seduced me and
now I don't want any other woman but you!  But only under my terms -
do you hear?  You're a slut when and how I tell you mother!"

My voice softened and after a lengthy pause I asked, "Tell me you love
me mom?"

The tears were flowing almost as much as her cunt was dripping off my
wrist but she said haltingly, "I... love... you... honey."

Gently now, "Tell me you'll be my slut mother?"

"I... want to be... your... slut... honey."

This was getting almost too easy, it took hardly any persuasion.

I stole my dripping hand from between her legs, let go of her neck and
softly instructed, "Do you need a good fuck mom?"

After a lengthy time, filled with sobs and brushing of tears from her
cheeks, she finally asked in the proper submissive way, "I need you
honey... please... I need you to fuck me?"

--

