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Title: Truth In Print
Keywords: mF, inc, mdom, mom, son, teen, bond
Author: Caesar

Truth In Print

by Caesar, copyright 2002

$Revision: 1.1 $ $Date: 2002/07/11 00:42:15 $

... she grasped his erect cock and turned her mature attractive
face upward, looking directly into his eyes. Moving her hand
slowly up and down its hard length, she licked a drop that appeared
at the crown. She then leaned back and stretched upward so that
the hard pointed nipples topping each small breast tickled his
teenage balls briefly. Finally, knowing what she was doing to him,
she asked thickly, "Do you want to come on mommies face or her tits master?"

I dropped the white printed sheet as if burned. My god! What the
hell was John finding on the Internet! How could he read
this... filth!

The paper had dropped onto the carpeted floor and I starred at it
almost as if it was alive. Why had my son printed out such blatant

Just as I do most mornings, since I am on Social Assistance and have
time to spare, I came into my son's room and cleaned up his discarded
clothing, dusted, and generally tidied up. Finding a single white
sheet of paper between his garbage and the desk, as I've seen a dozen
times before, I never hesitated to retrieve it from the awkward place.
My eyes, naturally, travelled to the black printed words on its

Obviously it had been a small part of a larger story and obviously it
was disgusting! Perhaps John had printed it out before he knew what
it was and had thrown it out?

The garbage next to his desk, the same refuse container that this
troublesome sheet had missed, was empty. Cleaned out. My son, the
slob, never cleaned anything out.

What should I do with that... that smut?

I couldn't just put it into his garbage, he would immediately see that
it was found. And obviously this sort of thing could damage a teenage
boy's persona. Of course John had just found this crap on the
Internet, printed it unconsciously and then realizing what it was, had
thrown it into his garbage. Then, not wanting his mom, me, to find
it, he had dealt with his garbage so that I should not read it and
come to the wrong conclusion.

What was that conclusion?

No... it is unthinkable. Disgusting.

Perhaps I should just take it down to the street and put it into the
garbage directly. There was risks there as well - someone could find
it, and I would not want a child to see this disgusting filth! Or a
neighbour could see me and investigate what was so important that I
should go to the garbage for a single sheet of paper. No, I should
just slip the paper between the desk and the garbage, just how I found

Trying very hard not too look at a single word on that page, I finally
picked it up and bent to return the paper to its original spot.


I busied myself with the laundry and then cleaning the kitchen. When
those printed words would not leave my thoughts, I scrubbed the floor
by hand and then polished my wedding silverware. The printed words
were not gone but in their place was shadowy images of what they

What the hell was wrong with me? I never advocated pornography as a
means of sexual gratification. Hell, it demeaned and humiliated the
fabric of our society - it also debased women!

Oh sure, I was aware that John my have been... lets say... checking
out such things on the Internet. The temptation was simply too great
when the supply was so easy to get. I had talked with him about
'trust' and 'being an adult' over a year ago and he promised to always
to do what was 'right'. Of course it had been awkward and
embarrassing conversation - what parent likes talking to their child
about sex. Add to that, I suspected my talk actually pointed my son
toward the very filth that I tried to segregate him from. After that
talk, he started to spend more time, alone, in his room with the door
closed. I could hear the ticking of the keyboard and when I asked
him, numerous times, he always said it was homework. My son, though a
good boy, rarely needed to do homework to get his high marks prior to
that chat.

When I blinked thickly my eyes opened to reveal my son's messy room.
I had somehow found myself standing in the open doorway and no memory
of actually taking the steps to get there.

Almost as if I did not need to consciously formulate what needed to be
done, I knew, deep down, that I needed to know!

I took a few steps into the room and turned on his computer, the best
our sparse budget could afford about fourteen months ago and then a
few upgrades from my son's earned savings.

Enter BIOS password?

I didn't really understand what that meant but it was obvious to me
that I wasn't going to get into my son's computer right at that
moment. I pressed the power button yet again and the machine turned
immediately off.

Damn. I have this need to discover what else my son was looking at on
the Internet. To find out why he... what he found desirable about
such filth?

No I'm not the prude you may think of me - had I confronted John with
my suspicions in the last year? Did I interrogate him about every, or
any, stain on his shorts or sheets? I know teenage boys - I have one!
My ex-husband had been one, a few years before I met him.

And what about my ex-husband, god-rot-his-soul, should I not just call
him and let that cheating-bastard deal with his only son?

I knew I couldn't do that. I could not do it a year ago when I tried
talking with John and I could not do it now, after finding those few
lines of smut. Pride maybe, anger at being left for a younger woman
perhaps...? Disgust at living near-poverty while my husband rose the
corporate ladder.

Standing there facing my son's monitor my eyes trailed to the side of
his disorganized and messy desk - the papers, compact disks, the
floppy disks. Make that floppy disk. There was only 1 half hidden in
a pile of other desktop items. I pulled it out and saw a clean label
with nothing else on it.

Nothing right?

My imagination was taking too much control of this situation and I
should just push the floppy disk back into the pile as I found it.

It was the correct thing to do, after all. This was my son's privacy
we were talking about!

I had my own computer, a year older than John's, but capable enough
for the little I use it. It could certainly look at the contents of a
single floppy diskette.

My old computer took forever to boot up, seemingly longer than it ever
had before.

It was nothing right?

Putting the diskette into the drive I opened a file manager and
pointed it at the floppy. There... nothing but files with names that
looked like dates, '2002jun-10.txt' etcetera.

I almost pulled the diskette out, perhaps I shall forever regret what
I did instead. I moved my mouse pointer so that it pointed at a file
in the middle of the browser and double clicked. With but a brief
grinding noise from the drive a text processor opened and the contents
of the file was there before me.

I sat frozen and read those first couple of lines.

mother In Bondage

by Master J

The forty two year old woman awoke by the light beamed directly
into her eyes. She yanked at her arms and legs to find them bound
to the four corners of her bed, her body completely bare. "What!"
She yelled an instant before she heard her son's voice,
"Comfortable mother?"

The blood flowing through my veins turned to ice and my heart was
beating incredibly fast.

Like a robot I forced myself to close the file. The next drew the
mouse and like my finger was not under my control I double clicked on
its name.

Mother, Come Slave

by Master J

She never knew that her only son had been spiking her food, almost
daily, with a dosage of his sperm. Standing over her plate
stroking his cock so that his seed would mix with her substance.
No, she only thought he was being helpful by cooking for her... '

And the next file.

The Loving and Willing mother
by Master J

The dog collar just barely fit about her thin neck as her son
attached it carefully. Her eyes followed him with love, knowing
that her Master would fuck her this evening - probably in her
virgin ass. Her son had not hidden his desire for her anal passage
in the week since they had both had the chance to meet. She was
more than ready, she was wet and almost panting for him.

Slowly, suppressing any response, I looked at the top few lines of
each story.


There he sat, my son John, rushing through his supper as he does every
night while I sit across from him staring.

Several things I discovered as I read the title and a few lines of
each of the twenty eight stories; that these stories were a product of
my son's imagination, that he had wrote them, and that... he was in
some way infatuated, sexually, with me!

My god!

Wearing a milk moustache, reminding me of his age, he set down his
empty cup and re-attacked his plate of food.

How can I describe my son? He was honest, at least I always thought
so, he was smart, which I knew even without seeing the excellent marks
on his report cards. He was also a bit of an introvert, a little
smaller than boys his own age that I felt hindered him in peer
activities. All my attempts to get him interested in sports, and yes
even girls, all failed. He always preferred to spend time in his room
with his door closed.

Well, now I knew why - didn't I?

He was not unattractive, I suppose, in an adolescent sort of way. A
few whiskers starting on his chin and the odd pimple on his forehead.
A little thin and small.

Not so unlike me.

Should I just come out and tell him what I found? To start the
dialogue up with, 'honey, I read your porn... and its OK that you find
me attractive and want me to be your slave'...! Like hell. Talking
about being aware of perverts on the Internet was different than
confronting your seventeen year-old son with proof of his infatuation
of his own mother!

His father was not an option, for the same reasons as a year ago,
coupled with the fact that the bastard would get malicious pleasure in
using this to torment me even more. His new wife, you see, has these
great big tits and a wide ass - two things that I did not. One of the
most hurtful things that bastard had said to me, as he was walking out
on his family, was that he did not found me sexy enough to fuck
anymore so he was leaving.


I had to blink twice to clear those old cobwebs up, and to try and
suppress a few new ones. "Sorry John... yes? Would you like more?"

"No mom. I just said I'll be up in my room... studying."

Yea right. "Sure John."

"Something bugging you mom, your real spacey today?" He was walking
away as he said this.

Of course I answered, "No nothing dear. You go up and study."

"Later mom!" He bounced up the stairs and across the hall until I
heard his door slam.

I knew at that moment that I had done the right thing returning the
floppy diskette to the pile on John's desk, just as I had found it
early in the day.

It was best just to ignore my son's infatuation, he will grow out of


I awoke sweaty and trembling, sitting up in my dark room, alone and

"God help me!"

I had dreamt about sex... or rather that ecstasy of sexy that was
barely a memory of the first years of my marriage. No faces, no body
parts, nothing but that barely-remembered feeling of lust fulfilled.
It had happened so rarely in my marriage, that my ex-husband actually
took the time and care to ensure I found pleasure rather than just
ride between my thighs till he left me a sticky mess. Yet it had
happened enough times that I remembered... if only in my dreams.


"Trouble sleeping mom?"

My son had his head in the fridge, his hands in the fruit drawer.

I felt sudden guilt, "What do you mean John?"

"I heard the vacuum early this morning." When it was still black out
actually the dawn had not yet appeared.

I had to do something, I felt a need to reread one of John's stories -
that I had copied to my own computer. I wanted to feel the rush of
blood to my head, and to my loins, the rare excitement that caused my
breathing to quicken - even if it came at the expense of reading more
of that smut. And that, I could not let happen, not in the fragile
state that I awoke in.

At that moment I saw John's eyes quickly glance down my body before
his head returned behind the door of the fridge.

I stood there dumbly and looked down at myself, realizing with
embarrassment that I had forgot my old terry-cloth robe that I
normally wore and stood with only my cotton knee-length nightie. My
son had been checking me out!

Red hot shame came to my cheeks and before I could retreat my son
closed the door to the fridge, much too firmly so that it shook the
wall behind, and with an apple in hand and his book bag in the other
he rushed past me without a glance. "Gotta go mom... gonna be late!"

The door to our home slammed two seconds later.

Still standing in exactly the same spot I again looked down at what my
son had seen. This time, having happened in the few seconds since I
last looked, I saw that my small nipples had hardened and pushed the
well-worn cotton of my nightie out from my chest.

My god - was this all my own fault!


When he returned that evening, he did not realize that our home was
cleaner that it had ever been. I had worked like a dog, sweating out
thoughts that were impure and just plain wrong. No, he ate quickly
and went to the living room and turned on the television - his second
favourite hobby. This one, though, I felt a little less violated

Or so I thought.

After the dishes and a few spot wipes of the kitchen walls and then
scrubbing the sink till it sparkled, I walked on tired legs into the
living room to see what was on the tube.

It was some movie that looked quite intense. "Whats this about John?"
He was sprawled across the length of the couch so that there was no
room for me - so I went over to the only other seat, a well worn ugly
red easy-chair and fell back into it.

"Some movie that was on." One thing about John, he rarely just
randomly picked a show, instead, he scheduled exactly what he wanted
to watch.

A girl, on the screen, suddenly looked up, past the camera, with tears
in her eyes and wordlessly mouthed 'no'. A sinking feeling started to
gather in the middle of my gut.

"What have I missed?"

After sighing deeply, as only teenagers can do, he finally answered,
"One of her students took pictures of her cheating on her husband and
now he is blackmailing her into having sex with him."

That sinking feeling turned to stone in a second. It turned to lava
as a harsh male voice sternly ordered the woman on the screen, "Take
off your blouse!"

My mouth was suddenly dry and I had to clear my throat twice before I
was able to say, "Is this really appropriate John?"

His eyes, for this first time since this morning, at least that I
noticed, turned to me, "What do you mean mom?" He looked a little
angry and rebellious. As if I was treating him like a child.

I could not meet his eyes but watched the terrified woman on the
screen start to unbutton her blouse, "It seems a little... intense for

He sat up and I felt his angry gaze upon me, "There's no nudity and
its on the television mom!"

The scene, thankfully, cut to a bunch of teenagers talking outside a

"Its a made-for-television movie!" I felt, rather than saw, his eyes
turn back to the screen as if that was the end of the conversation.

It was for me, I did not have the constitution to continue, what was
obviously, turning into an argument. I waited a couple of minutes
before slowly getting out of my chair and retreating, to any other
place, from the sight of that television show. I tried to look
non-chalant and calm, but my hands were trembling for some reason,
though John did not see - he was ignoring me and staring stubbornly at
the television.


The dream was cloudy and surreal but I felt the realism of it. I was
kneeling on the floor in a skirt and blouse, my black high heels
scuffing the clean floor. I was facing myself, looking down from
above as I knelt upon my tan coloured nylons and crying violently. It
was black in the room with what amounted to a single light facing me,
reflecting off my tear-stained cheeks. My eyes were filled with
shame, fear... and something else that I could not comprehend. Slowly
that light moved around my kneeling body, to look down at my well
dressed person, my face following the light. I knew I was humiliated,
treated this way, but could not refuse, could not simply stop what was
happening and stand up. A voice from the direction of the light, the
familiar voice of my son, John, ordered, "Go ahead mom, take off your
blouse!" My hands, trembling, slowly rose and began to unbutton the
satin white blouse.

I awoke sweaty and trembling - feeling the same humiliation and fear
as in dream. My god what was happening to me? Then I felt it, the
cool dampness of wet cotton against my skin and looked down to see the
dark shade of wetness circling the place over my crotch upon my

A light suddenly turned on and I lifted both arms to cover the glare
from my pain-filled eyes. I heard the steps come closer and the light
move so that it was barely a meter from me, on the side closest to
where I sat upon my bed. Someone was holding a flashlight, aimed at

"What were you dreaming about mom?" Oh god! My son, John!

I had to answer, the truth, though, too humiliating to reveal. I
mumbled thickly, "Nothing."

The light moved closer and aimed toward my lap - directly upon the
round dampness on the front of my nightie. "Then what is that? Do
you need to start wearing a diaper mom?"

The implication was more humiliating than the truth, and I answered
with the bare amount of angry defence that I could muster, "Of course

"When I came in here, it looked like you were humping your mattress -
you couldn't have been having a sexy dream were you mom?"

What could I say - so I said nothing.

"Why don't you lie back mom?" Without waiting for a response, my
son's strong teenage hand pressed upon my forehead so that I fell back
with my head upon my pillow.

The light travelled up and down my body, slowly, as if he was studying
every inch of my night-clothed body. I squinted against the light to
see why he spend much time studying my covered chest - my tiny breasts were topped by an incredibly hard thrusting nipple that was obvious in
my well-worn nightgown. The reason why he studied the cloth of my
gown above my crotch obvious, the dark stain the centre of my

I didn't move, couldn't move - frozen in fear and humiliation.

"Turn onto your stomach mom." It was said gently but left no room for

That was fine with me, as I felt this new position would hide my
embarrassingly hard nipples and the wet stain on my nightie, so
gratefully turned upon my stomach in the middle of my, normally,
lonely bed.

Then the most humiliating of things, my own son lifted the hem of my
nightie up over my buttocks and left it about my waist. I was naked
beneath and he was now looking at my exposed ass!

I remembered going to bed with a panty beneath my nightgown - what the
hell is going on!

Horror of horrors! I pressed my knees together and clenched my ass
tight, but as if powerless, did not otherwise move or say a word.

"Thats it mom, hump that bed!"

Oh god! He thought my embarrassing clench was representative of my
earlier uncontrollable nocturnal passions. Ever since I was a young teenage girl, thirteen, I had used the flat of my own bed as my
fantasy lover, pressing my pelvis repeatedly, clenching my ass,
shoving my hips downward. That was what I must have been doing when
asleep and it was now what it must have looked like laying there with
my naked bottom exposed to my only child.

Sobbing, tears now filling my eyes, I cried out, "Please John, don't
do this to me?"

Rather humorously, he answered, "Do what mother? This?" A hand came
down and struck the naked soft skin of my right ass cheek and
immediately a sharp pain, that turned to a dull hot persistent cloud,
filled my one buttock.

I had been spanked as a child, my father and my mother using a belt or
a hand upon my naked bottom, as a means to punish me until I was about
twelve. Yet, not since that time, decades ago, had I been struck.
Most certainly my ex-husband had never shown the slightest desire in
my backside.

Get up you bitch! Scream at him! He is your son, for gods sake!

The harsh white pain of the strike was not as I remembered it, having
felt it drive a hot electric shock into the depths of my sex. I bit
my bottom lip to stifle any sound.

"Or this mother?" This time I felt a hot moist tongue lick along the
other cheek, leaving a trail of saliva that felt cool in my dark room.

God help me but I could not stop the groan from escaping me. And as
deep as I can look into my psyche, I can not tell you the base of that
groan, be it desire or humiliation.

Perhaps I just did not want to look too deeply, for fear of what I
shall find.

I felt him come closer, though my face was pressed firmly into a
pillow, until his lips were but millimetres from my ear. "I love your
ass mom. Now start humping your bed and finish what you had left
incomplete or god help you, I'm going to spank your beautiful ass
until it bleeds!"

I believed him. My own son was threatening me with harm, which had
never happened before, but I heard the raw truth in his words.

Almost against my conscious will, my ass started to clench and my hips
pressed my groin into the flat surface of my mattress. Like that
prepubescent girl, with her father glaring at her to lift her skirt,
drop her panties, and lay upon his lap - I could not refuse!

"Thats it mom, hump that sexy ass!" I knew without opening my eyes or
looking up from the pillow that the light was aimed at my naked
backside. That eyes followed my intimate moments, one cheek possibly
bright red the other glistening with my son's saliva.

Another groan escaped my lips and I was conscious of my own heavy
breathing. Though I wanted to only move as order, and not to enjoy it
- it seemed as if that plan was simply a phantasm.

Heat was filling my loins, and I felt the pleasure so long forgotten
begin to fill my soul. My son moved backward on my bed, but I did not
care any more until I felt his small strong hand grasp my wet ass
cheek and fondle it generously as my passion rose rapidly.

My god, I could feel his hot breath upon the skin of my ass! Even
between... he must be inches away from my bottom hole!

Only half conscious of what he was doing, I felt the hand slip down
between the sweaty clenching cheeks of my ass until I felt a finger
touch that which had never been touched in passion before. He seemed
to tease it for a bare moment, which I may add, greatly heightened my
excitement, before it slipped lower.

My flowing sexual grease allowed his small hand to gain passage
between my clenching soft thighs and my working buttocks. It slipped,
as if naturally, into the folds of my passion until two of his fingers
were engulfed by it.

That was when the white fire blinded me to all reason and my first
orgasm in several years froze every muscle in my body. I was a statue
that distantly heard the scream of passion from my own lips as my head
was frozen upward, my back arched backward in erotic spasm.

My harsh breathing seemed to return me to the now and I lay upon my
stomach in the after glow of orgasm. My eyes opened and I realized
that my room was dark and that I was alone. I also felt my hand
behind and between my legs, two fingers immersed in my own body. I
jerked them quickly from the hot wet enveloping flesh, with a
momentary sorrow for their loss.

With nearly every muscle in my body sore, especially my thighs and
stomach muscles, I quickly sat up and tore off my soiled cotton
nightgown and the panty that lay about one ankle, forgotten. I could
smell my earlier passion in the room, so awkwardly made my way to the
window to open it so that the fresh cold air could cleanse the stench
of my minds treachery.

Stumbling I made my way to my private bathroom and turned on the water
of the shower too cold, and climbed in.

Sobbing continuously with so many emotions I willed the freezing water
to cleanse me.

I feared for my sanity.


So many thoughts rushed through me those first few hours, so many that
I am not able to regurgitate them here in print. I fought the
temptation of the pleasure of fantasy and try to suppress the images
from my, oh so real, dream.

That I orgasmed the first time in years had only given me a momentary
respite from my desires and a small deep urge, an almost painful,
throbbed in my loins for only a slice of what that dream promised.

I am so confused.

Mothers and sons do not feel this way about each other. Oh sure, some
crazy doctor, a hundred years ago, and written some theory's about
boys and their sons - but what was my excuse?

As in so many things, since my husband left me, I blamed him. His
weakness for a younger, prettier and more voluptuous woman sickened
me. His final, parting, words taken as fact, so that I never went
out, never dated, and told myself that I hated men. Mostly, though I
simply did not trust them - all except my son. Perhaps that was why
this realization of his affections, of his kinky desire for me, was so
difficult? I knew my son loved, me, and that I loved him - so this
love, lust, thing was new to me.

I had been sexual ignored for so long, months before that bastard
walked out, that I started to have suspicions of that my husband had
been having an affair. He was not a great lover, but he had always
had a steady desire to mount me once or twice a week. These
suspicions caused me to purchase some slutty lingerie and try to
seduce my own husband. Of course it worked - he is a man after all.
Just like old times, my husband spread my stocking covered thighs lay
upon me and grunted and sweated like an animal as he pumped his skinny
prick into my body. That was the first time. Then every Sunday
afternoon, he ordered me to dress that way - he would sit on the bed,
his head propped up on pillows and order me to pose about the bedroom
before yanking me down and rolling on top of me to empty his seed into
my body.

I thought it was working - my adventurous methods, as I thought of
them at the time, were enticing my husband to rekindle his interest in
his wife.

My mother would have been proud, I thought with just a little anger.

Of course I was wrong, he fucked me on a Sunday afternoon and then
packed his bag and left that same day, just before supper time. He
told me I was a boring fuck, that he could barely stand to look at my
'skinny little girl body' any more.

What woman could take that without being affected.

I had to rent this crummy townhouse and move into it, leaving our
large comfortable home and neighbourhood and friends behind. I tried
working, but could not keep a job - crummy jobs anyways. Now I was
waiting for a new semester at the local community college so I can get
a real job, and dump Social Assistance.

One thing, I realized during this trip down memory lane, was that my
husband had never looked at my ass, never touched it during sex, and
most certainly never referred to it with any sort of desire. Why had
my son, even in my dream, vocalize about this part of me?


I stayed in my room when I heard my son rise - yes, hiding from him.
I was scared that he could see what I had dreamt in my weary sad eyes.
Crazy I know but I was not exactly coherent that morning.

The normal chores for the day were ignored, the light of the sun not
even allowed to enter our home as I did not open the window shades. I
was alone, safe, in my cocoon - to think, to reflect.

It was obvious that I had been a bad mother, a bad wife as well. My
husband had left me because I could not satisfy him - the sex with his
young big-boobed girlfriend more enjoyable this his petite small-titted wife. Now John could not leave me, at least not for some
time, but I could loose him if he discovered my intrusion into his
fantasy world, his stories. I would loose him emotionally, the
thought of which pained me to even contemplate.

There in my private bathroom, the door closed and locked of course, I
stood naked before my full-sized mirror and starred.

Before me was a middle-aged woman, small of hip and breast. With
short slim legs and small feet and very small ankles. She had small
'A' cup cone breasts, with a very tiny dime-sized nipple that angled
slightly up to the ceiling. She had a tiny neck and a small round
head. Full red lips, small pointy nose and a round face which I had
never found attractive - and, in the end, neither did my ex-husband.

John found this woman attractive - had he spied upon her bathing or

See, I'm not such a prude or innocent!

Had he studied the items in her underwear drawer or perhaps straight
from the dirty clothing basket in the bathroom?

There beneath her navel was a thick curly patch of pubic hair, dark
brown and bushy, but naturally shaped into a perfect inverted
triangle. The hair the same colour as upon the top of her head, but
straight and cut short - to make maintenance easier.

How could that woman compete with girls John's age? How could she
compete with women the same age as the big-titted slut that seduced
her husband from her?

Those wide round eyes had tears in them - looking right at me with
pity and pain.

When my husband and I had first started to date, those many years
before, he had told me that all the girls did it - so I would jerk him
off in his parents car outside my home. I pretended to be
embarrassed, because that was what good girls should act like - even
with the man they wanted to marry, but I was in reality fascinated
with the penis, with what came out of it when I stroked it enough. I
wanted to learn more, do more, but that was not what good girls did.
My mothers words echoing in my brain, even now,decades later.

We had sex a month before being married, and it was hard to hide my
disappointment. I don't regret not cancelling the marriage, John was
the product of that union. My ex-husband never once cared about my
desires, what I was feeling, or if I was enjoying the tumble in bed.

The woman in the mirror had tears rolling down her cheeks now - making
her look older than her years.

Maybe it was time to start dating - to find a man who could fuck those
crazy thoughts from my dreams, who would love me as I knew I should be
loved. Well, at that point, 'love' would be a luxury.

The woman in the mirror didn't look very convinced.


Gorden was approximately my age but sounded very surprised when I
called him up and asked if he wanted to go for a walk.

Now its normally not a good idea to walk in our neighbourhood, but
that was alone and it was in the middle of the afternoon - and Gorden
was probably a good man that missed his long departed wife.

He was so much different than my ex-husband, different than my
introverted son, that I hopped he was just the thing that I needed to
purge these raging thoughts and feelings through my head and loins.

Four times in the last months, Gorden had asked me out - which I
refused each time of course. Yet, we were friendly - seeming to have
the same schedule that we often 'bumped' into each other at the

He must have run to my door, since it was only minutes after I called,
that I had to hide my amusement.

Yes, Gorden could be just the ticket to clear all these crazy thoughts
from my mind. Of that I was counting on.

The first twenty minutes of our walk were wonderful - walking together
in the afternoon sun - just talking about our separate lives and our
interests. I was genuinely sorry when Gorden told me how his wife had
died, how hurt he was - that I took his hand, which neither of us
seemed to want to let go.

There was a park with trees and little paths through it that we
eventually came too. I took the initiative, feeling young again, and
lead him into the paths. It was safe at this time of day, I assumed,
as the drug dealers and whores did not come out till near dark.

He let go of my hand and placed it on my back, almost about my waist.
I was thrilled to feel his big strong hand on me - the first man to do
so in a very long time. I lead him deeper into the woods and then
stopped when the path I was on came to a dead end rather abruptly.

Gorden chuckled, making me think he though I had planned this hidden dead-end among the trees, and his hand slid gently down to my ass and

The first thought that came to my mind was that my son, yes I know it
was only a dream, had said how much he enjoyed my bottom. The memory
caused me to be defenceless when Gorden grabbed me with his other hand
and pulled me back into him. Lips kissed my thin neck and I angled my
head to help him reach it with ease.

"We should go." I had such hopes for Gorden and I, so this time I
didn't want to fuck up this relationship and wanted to be the 'good
girl', as my mother always said.

He whispered between kisses, "We are adults and no one can see us!"
His free hand came around and grasped my small breast and squeezed.

This time a moan escaped me and I could feel a weakness in my knees.
No one has touched me like this for oh so long. Yes, perhaps this was
what I needed!

His hand left my breast and guided my own behind me to his crotch,
"Take it out!" Gorden sounded desperate for me to do as he asked.
Well I had always done what my man wanted - always wanting to please -
his penis easily came out of his pants.

It was the first penis I had held in a very long time - a longer time
than you may imagine. My ex-husband didn't need my hand when he could
just have me lie back and spread my legs. Do you want to know
something - Gordon's penis felt really good - even better as it
swelled in my grasp. I've always marvelled at the the male sexual
organ, how it seemed to swell in lust and deplete when sated.

It may startle you that I again thought of John at that moment,
praising my choice in Gorden in leading me away from that incestuous
darkness that clouded my thoughts and soul. I would not dream about
John again, I had a grown man, one that found me desirable and would
be good to me, for me.

His hand slipped up under my sweater and roughly yanked my thin
brassier below my left breast, so that he could tweak my hard nipple.
It was not as pleasant has his earlier grasping, as it was rough and
demanding, but I knew men sometimes became rough when they got
impassioned. The hand behind me drew more of my attention and I found
great pleasure - so much that I arched my back out so that it caused
my denim covered bottom to be easily fondled.

My hand, though, had not lost its expertise in stoking a man, giving
him pleasure through his penis. Gorden was already pumping his hips
so that his penis stroked fully in and out of my hand. He was gasping
for air beneath my ear, having forgotten my neck, so that I thought I
had misheard when said, "Make me come you fucking slut!"

Now, my ex-husband had never used foul language while we copulated -
in fact he rarely even moaned. So it came as a surprise when I
realized what was said and that the 'slut' Gorden had been talking
about was me. In fact, I felt some thrill at those bawdy words used
in conjunction with my actions. This man whom I was stroking thought
me desirable and thrilling!

Gorden was grunting regular now and I was enjoying his pleasure. When
his seed suddenly erupted from his penis, spilling to the ground and
down the outside of my jean-covered-thigh. I listened and felt this
pleasure in my hand, in the hands that touched me.

When, suddenly, Gorden stood back a few feet from me. I turned to see
him tucking his shrinking penis back into his pants. "Thanks... that
was great." The passion was gone in his voice.

It amused me - this was what a woman was supposed to do for the man she wanted for her own. "Your welcome."

He came forward and placed his big hand behind my head and pulled me
toward him so that my head was laying back and he was suddenly kissing
me, brutishly. My ex-husband never kissed me like this, but I had to
admit it was not very pleasurable. Well, Gorden and I had time to

I endured the oral mauling for a few seconds before I was released.

"Same time next week?"

"Pardon me?" For a walk?

"I'd like a blow job this time." Gone from his face was that
gentlemanly look, the soft gaze and sweet smile.

My happiness started to quickly evaporate. Dumbly I repeated,

"You don't have a problem with that do you? I don't have much but if
it costs extra...?"

"What?" As a teenager, with my future husbands penis in hand, I had
desired to wrap my lips around it - but never had the nerve to try, to
even enquire. It was simply forbidden - good girls would never do

So it was not that I was against the idea of giving a man that I
wanted to please, oral sex, just that the method of his asking. And
then there was the matter of his offer of money. I knew what he was
making me out to be and it nearly made me sick.

"I'm a realist OK? I didn't think this was going to be totally free.
I'm willing to pay... but for something more than just a hand job!"

"What?" I was frozen, wide-eyed and mortified at what Gorden had
though of me, of us.

He seemed suddenly embarrassed, and I clutched at the possibility that
this was all some stupid mistake, "Your starting to get a little old",
he could not meet my eye, "and I know for a fact that younger girls sometimes offer some incentive for the promise of a regular customer?"
He must have misunderstood my obvious disgust, "So I'm willing to do
this regular but this time was free OK?"

Gorden was negotiating.

I could barely say the one word, "Leave."

He just stood there and I'll be damned if I was going to let him see
my tears, so I slipped past him and quickly walked away.


I wandered for some time around the neighbourhood before I came to my
townhouse, finding my son standing in the door before I could open it,
looking worried. "Mom, where have you been?" It was getting dark and
neither of us went out of our home after dark.

My tears had long ago dried up but the shame of what had happened
filled me - perhaps my husband had been right all along. "Walking."
I could not meet John's puzzled eyes and he turned aside so I could
walk into our home.

It was paramount, to me, that nothing seemed out of sorts to my son,
so I began to prepare supper while he sat at the table and simply
watched me with a concerned look on his face.

Twice I caught him looking with a long gaze at my snug jeans as they
hugged my ass through the side of the reflective surface of the

Damn him!

Here I was in pain and he was stealing looks at his mothers ass! men are all the same - his father only used me until he found something
else and then Gorden only wanted a cheap regular whore - they are all
selfish bastards!

"Mom, did a you get bird poop on your leg?"

I looked behind me to follow his gaze down to my left thigh. There
was a white crusty path down my blue denim that instantly caused me to
blush to what had to be a deep red and stammer, "I... I don't know
what that is!" Quickly, I reached for a damp washcloth.


It was black but I knew it was artificial - a cloth around my head or
a black mask over my eyes. My limbs would not move, seeming to be
bound wrist and ankle so that I was spread wide.

I heard movement, "John?" Somehow I just knew who was in the room
with me. Whom else could it be?

"Your awake mother!" He never called me 'mother'. I knew something
was wrong... or different. "Good, we can start."

Start - start what?

A small body climbed up onto what was obviously my bed and moved
toward me. John came closer so that I felt his skinny leg lay upon
the top of my own, his hand crossing my body and grasping my waist.

I knew I was naked, suddenly realizing that I could feel the chill
night air upon my exposed skin.

Oh god!

This was a dream - I knew it had to be a dream!

Then my son pulled himself into my side, spooning into my spread
powerless body. I felt him, his smooth skin, the hardness from his
groin as he pressed into me. His head lay upon my shoulder with his
lips next to my ear.

"Tell me you love me mom?" He was serious - he lays here in my bed,
after binding me naked and wants me to tell him I love him. Some of
the frustrated hurt, from earlier in the day, rose within me and I
never even opened my lips.

The hand that was holding my side slipped down my soft smooth skin to
suddenly cup that which lay between my legs. At first it just
squeezed slowly and gently, using his full hand upon my tender flesh.

"If you tell me you love me, this is not rape." That was the word
that I had been avoiding but now that it was spoken... it seemed to
raise my bodies awareness to a new level. I was trying very hard not
to hate my son as I hated my ex-husband or, more recently, Gorden.

A finger seemed to be rubbing expertly along the still-closed meaty
outer lips softly, perfectly, so that it started to feel wonderful. I
touch myself this way, infrequently, using only my fingers to build my
passion up. So I knew what John could feel the heat building down
there, feel the moisture start to lubricate the soft wrinkled flesh
between the two outer hairy lips.


John started to lick my ear, then down my neck, and then down toward
my nipple! Lips took my nipple in and sucked firmly but gently,
engulfing it completely.

I was started to feel the sexual energy build and knew he would feel
the inner labia inflate with excitement, pushing the outer labia wide
so that I flowered open naturally.

The lips suddenly stopped sucking me, and the air chilled my already
painfully-hard nipple. He returned to my neck. "Tell me you love

Two fingers spread my meaty outer lips wide as the middle finger
became more aggressive in its up and down movement. I knew his middle
finger was lost in my folds, feeling my hot wet flesh, the desire
building within me which I was not able to hide.

"Turn your head toward me and kiss me mom." I turned my head away
from him and pressed my lips firmly together in defiance.

His strong hand left my loins and in a second I felt damp fingers
grasp my chin and turn my head firmly toward him. John held my face
in place and the scent of my own sexual musk drifted to my nostrils
from his soiled fingers. Evidence of my bodies enjoyment filled my
nostrils and left a slimy path upon my chin.

Warm moist lips kissed me but my own lips were still pressed firmly
together. I would deny him anything that was in my power - how could
he tie me up like this, while I slept? John started to lick my lips,
ignoring my stubborn determination to defy him. The hand returned
between my legs and, god help me, I pressed my hips up in pleasure as
he again started to stroke me.

"You like that don't you mom?" The middle finger slipped between the
folds of my sex and I could feel it moving up and down my dripping wet
crevice, teasing my vaginal hole but ignoring my clitoris.

How my hips started to move up and down, my loins pressing up, trying
to get my son's finger to plunge into my body. My breathing was
getting deeper and faster, the sound of it loud in my ears and I had
to open my mouth to get enough oxygen.

I hated my bodies lack of control, years of emotional abuse and sexual
ignorance was taking its toll and I could not even stop the pleasure
from rising while my own child took me against my will.

"You are my slut mom - when are you going to accept that?"

Again profanity - and just like when Gorden called me a slut, it was
not totally disagreeable. In fact, I felt a slight twitch of pleasure
at the sound of my own calling me a 'slut'.

His finger slid lower and I felt it teasing the ring of my virgin anus
and I tensed in fear. "Relax mom. I love your ass and I promise that
you will love all the attention I give it!"

Moist lips again kissed me and I opened my mouth willingly this time.
Even as that single finger gently pressed upward, as if trying to
enter my bowel, John kissed me like no one has ever kissed me before.

It was the kiss of my fantasies - how I had always imagined a man should kiss a women. It was dominant and confident, while being
passionate and gentle all at the same time.

I was swooning with pleasure at the same time that I realized I had my
son's finger up my backside. Suddenly I wanted him to be in that
forbidden passage, and as he began to move it up and down inside me I
moved my hips, yet again, in pleasurable symphony.

His lips pulled back and John said, "Thats it mom, fuck that finger
with your tight ass!"

Gorden had been bawdy, treating me like some whore - yet he had not
bound me against my will and forced his finger up my bum. To top
that, this was my own son - and it went against everything that I
believed in, what I was taught from the moment I was born.

You want to know something, something that hit me like a brick - I was
enjoying it!

The finger suddenly left my ass and I felt it quickly press deep into
my vagina. It was pulled out just as quick, with but a whimper of
loss from me it came up and I felt it cover my dry lips with my own
sexual spend.

"Kiss me mom."

I knew my son's face was just before me and I lifted my head willingly
and opened my mouth to try and give the oral pleasure that he had just
given me. I could taste my own juices, upon our grappling lips, for
the first time and it added to my heightened excitement.

One part of me, deep inside, that knew I would enjoy anything my son
did with me, while also fearing that same.

John's kisses became rougher and my head was pressed back into the
pillow as I simply enjoyed the pleasure of the moment. His tongue
began to spear into my mouth about the same second that two fingers
plunged into my sex and the heel of his hand ground against my
clitoris. It was masterfully done, probably better than my own

From that moment my pleasure accelerated and I knew heights that I had
never felt before. Never. Not even in my fantasies.

I thought he would stop, pull his mouth and hand from me - leaving me
panting and frustrated. It was my learnt experience with men - how
they acted with me, how they used me.

Distantly I felt his hardness against my hip and thigh, pressing into
me with the same speed as his fingers, and it thrilled me that I could
excite him like this. He was using me for his pleasure, but that did
not dispel the opportunity for my own pleasure to be included in his

The orgasm, when it came, flushed through my body without shame and
took my senses to a distant happy place where I languished in stupor.

Grunting returned me to this surreal consciousness, realizing my
blindfold was gone.

Above my still-bound body was my son John, straddling my waist and
doing the impossible. He was grunting with exertion as one of his
hands moved up and down his long hard penis.

No, it was not a penis... but a cock. And I swear I have never seen a
harder, more beautiful testimony to any mans desire as John allowed me
to see above me.

That John felt desire for me, was obvious, that he used me like all
men in my past had used me, truthful, but even bound and staring up at
a masturbating young man, I knew without a doubt he loved me.

With a low growl, my son froze a mere second before I saw that first
blast of come shoot out of his cock. It hit my forehead with a
physical punch, before the next, and the next, blast pumped onto my
sensitive breasts, the nipples seeming to reach upward to that
tribute. My body having never felt the boiling hot sperm upon it,
thrilled my every sense. It was depraved but the height of my sexual
person up to that point in time in my life.

Gasping for air, he was almost doubling over in exhaustion and
pleasure when I caught his eye and said the words with more conviction
than I believe I have ever said before, "I love you honey."

Those words carried my whispers of love, but also of my willingness to
submit and enjoy.

With a small triumphant smile he slid down next to me and with me
still bound and soiled, curled up against my body and promptly brought
his lips to my mouth. His tongue did not need to fight past my lips
as I groaned with pleasure at the intimacy and sucked him as I
imagined I desired to suck his cock.

Then finally, his head fell to my shoulder and while the drops of
sperm dried upon my exposed skin we both fell into a peaceful sleep.


I am cursed. That much was obvious.

That dream, that long beautiful dream, was just that - a figment of my
imagination. Well, not totally, it echoed a story that my son had
wrote, one that I had read briefly - how a mother wakes to find her
son dominating and using her body. It amazed me that I suddenly found
pleasure in those written words, seeing wisdom in the truth of the

I woke late in the morning... not bound, with my nightie still upon my
body and not a drop of dried evidence of either of our pleasures.

It had to be real - it was so... beautiful... that I can not bear to
imagine it was but a dream.

That whole day moved slowly forward and my mind relived every second
of last evenings dream. It was delicious and I no longer worried that
I was a mother fantasizing about her child. If I had played devils
advocate and cursed my lack of self control, to berate my own immoral
lusty desires, as I had the days before - I would only reply in anger.
At no time in my life had I felt the erotic joy that I had only, now,
felt in a dream. Even with but that single taste, I was addicted with
the idea of more.

I lingered throughout the day, pampering my body, my skin. A long hot
bath followed by a long cold shower. Lotion, doubly applied, to every
inch of my skin. Then the most amazing thing, looking into the mirror
and not seeing the old woman with the weary sad eyes looking back but
the petite attractive woman that my dream son found pleasure in.

As my hands rolled about my naked body, I was pleasantly surprised
when I found pleasure in the intimate touches that I had only enjoyed
in dream. My back passage, my anus, the biggest surprise of my
explorations, was highly sensitive and brought instant pleasure at the
proper touch.

I longed for sleep... to dream...!


When it came, I knew it had to be real - wanted it to be real. But
knew I was in dreamland and was somehow saddened by the fact.

My face was hanging down, and I felt the hot flush of blood turning my
cheeks red. The top of my head was almost touching the seat of the
hardwood kitchen chair, bound wrist and ankle to the four legs. My
body was dressed in white stockings, black high heels and I could feel
a leather collar about my throat.

I was dressed the part of the submissive slut, my body bound for my
dream lovers pleasure, and the bawdy knowledge of the setting caused a
wave of hot lust to roll through my person.

The approaching footsteps and then the familiar voice came as no
surprise, "I found something mom." John was approaching from behind
me, knowing that nothing was hidden.

I felt my sex clench at the sound of my son calling me 'mom'. A
mother so sordid that I was exposed and helpless for my only child - I
loved it!

John pulled a chair around behind me, and with a little turn of my
head I could see that he was naked as well, my son's cock was hard and
already dripping with excitement for me! The groan of my expectant
pleasure loud in our little kitchen.

John laughed heartily, as he sat directly behind me, "Slow down mom -
we have as long as we want!"

What my son did next was not slow and romantic - as he pressed his
face between the cheeks of my ass and I felt his thick wet tongue
press into my rectum. It did not tease me, to fondle my anus, but
forced itself, without mercy or respite, into my virgin passage.

I had not noticed but I had stopped breathing, so gulped in the air
even as I felt my son's tongue begin to move in and out of my ass. It
should have disgusted me, turned me off - but it energized me. I was
dressed for his pleasure, bound for his pleasure and now used for his
pleasure. It felt as if my body held an electrical charge, just
waiting to explode in a blinding flash simply by his use of me.

Something cold and wet was fumbling around just below my son's chin,
about the folds of my vagina. Gently it was eased into my body until
it felt as if a long merciless penis had slipped into me. My
passion-filled moan filled the room and passionate clouds began to fog
my mind.

The mouth came off me, and the loss was tragic, when I felt two
fingers press roughly into my back passage. John was seated just
behind me, watching me as I've never been exposed before - seeing my
pleasure without the veil of pretended honesty. I could not hold
back, there was no need, my whole person was eroticism and for the
first time in my life I felt as if I could simply 'enjoy'.

The fingers in my ass and the thick fake-penis in my vagina moved in
unison - as if I was getting the first double-fuck of my life.
Distantly I could hear my own voice, praising my son, begging him to
release the pent up electric charge that was building to catastrophic

The delicious movements within me stopped and my son's voice could be
heard across the void of my passion, "After you orgasm mom - you have
to eat the carrot." A carrot - that was what it was, one of the large
orange vegetables that I often carved up for our meals.

My mouth began to water and I wanted nothing more to sit on my bare
ass, on the floor, and eat the cunt-juice-covered carrot while my son
sat before me like a king before his slave, watching.


There was knocking and I jerked my head from the pillow.

"Mom, you OK? I heard you calling out my name?"

Oh my god! It was late afternoon, and my son was outside my bedroom
door. How much had he heard? I yanked two fingers from either hand
from my ass and cunt.

"No", I was feeling parched and the words did not come easily, "I am
fine. Thank you honey!"


At supper, my son was acting normal. He ate quickly and rushed up to
his room, slammed his door, and that was the last I saw him for the

As I cleaned the dishes, I could not hide my disappointment from
myself. When I had woken up only an hour before, the humiliation of
my dream and the question of John hearing the evidence of my
incestuous thoughts, almost too painful to bear. I had dressed
quickly, though I realized with surprising disappointment through the
meal that my son had not noticed that I wore no bra beneath the plain
white tee-shirt. There had not been even enough time to wash - and I
could faintly smell my own pleasure upon my body and wondered if John
realized that the thick scent in the air was the proof of his mothers

Perhaps if my incestuous thoughts stayed within the dream-world - it
would be a lesser, and an acceptable, evil.

No more watching my son anxiously to see if he noticed his mothers
hard nipples beneath her tee-shirt. Or watching anxiously to see if
he peeked at the roundness of her ass beneath the too-tight jeans. My
actions were like some teenage schoolgirl trying to discover her own
sexuality, using the boy of her dreams as a platform for her answers.

With the dishes put away, I checked the clock - wondering when I could
go to bed... and dream!


"Mom can you come here please!" My son's voice from his room, a
bellow really.

My body wore only the white stockings and the leather collar of my
willing submission and I rushed to the closed doorway of my son's
room. Of course I knocked first.

"Come in mom."

John sat before his computer, the monitor giving the darkened room a
strange glow. I came in and stood just at my son's flank, waiting for
his command.

Without looking at me, he simply said, "I need a blow job mom." His
fingers typing furiously.

A little disappointed that he had not looked up, so that I may see the
lust for my body in his eyes. As well, the realization that his
selfish command to service him was reminiscent of the other men in my
life. It all amounted to a strange degrading feeling - that fought
against the submissive love I felt for him.

I knelt upon the carpeted floor without hesitation, and crawled
between his knees.

I wanted to do this, to suck my son to completion. In fact I wanted
to give the best blow job of my life, of his life. I wanted to drive
him to the heights of passion, as he does to me, and hear him call my
name even as his seed empties down my throat.

This was the slaves job, a slut - her son's whore. Me.

John was half hard already, and his loose boxer shorts pushed easily
to the side so that his penis lay out along the length of his thigh.
I leaned in and licked the circumcised crown slowly, luxuriously,
savouring the moment.

The cock began to rise, as if magical, from the thigh and as soon as
it lifted enough, I opened my mouth and took him in. Within my
tightly closed lips and upon my exploring tongue, I could feel him
grow inside my mouth. It was so... magical... and it was for me,
because of me.

I felt a flush of heat and wetness between my legs but tried to deny
its advance - I would not allow my own pleasure to take precedent.

I began to move, as if naturally, as I made slow passionate love to
the man-meat between my lips.

I did not, not with the normal disappointment of my marriage years, to
give pleasure but to ignore my own - but with such a feeling of love
and caring that I almost felt like crying. This was how to prove my
love for John, and wanted to do it often - to show my love for him, my
willingness to submit.

Then there was the fact that I had a hard cock moving in and out of my
mouth. It was more than just submissive love - but the slut in me
rose to the surface. It dominated me, took over my normally demure
personality and I loved it! I was sucking of my son's cock and did
not care to be anywhere else in the world, with anyone else.

Sometime in the past seconds, he had stopped typing and from the
hardness of his cock, knew my ministrations to be working. Call me
your whore, your slut, your cunt-meat - my darling son! Tell me how
you will spank me later - fuck my ass - tie me up and use me!

"Oh... oh, mom!"

Yes darling, yes!

Two hands grasped my small round head and began to force my face to
speed up - thrusting rapidly up and down before him.

God I loved it!

The cock moving in and out of my mouth felt as if was getting harder,
if that was possible, enlarging to nearly double its size.

Above me my son was grunting out with a futile attempt at holding in
the flood that I so dearly desired!

That first blast confirmed my son's love and his lust for his mother,
for his mother's mouth. It was bliss, as I could hear my loud gulps
as I swallowed the thick sperm to the beat of my son's panting and


The mesh over the eyes of the hood allowed her to look out over
the hungry teenage eyes that looked upon her. They waited,
panting for the show to start.

A tug of the leash dragged her further into the centre of the

"Who is she?" Asked one pimply-faced teenager, his pants already
straining with his undersized anxious cock.

She heard her son say off-handedly, "A slut that lives in the

A girl that could not have been more than sixteen asked with a
stutter, "She will do anything you tell her too?"


A chorus of 'slut' and 'whore' was echoed through the room.

Her Master, her son, jerked her leash so that her collar bit into
the flesh of her neck... the mature-slave was forced to drop to
her knees before the crowd. Like the ring-master at a circus her
son proudly proclaimed, "This is my slut and she'll do anything I
tell her." This was true after all. "Each of you will get a
chance to use her,", the silence was thick and not an eye blinked,
"in one of her three holes."

The chill air caused goose-bumps of excitement to rise upon her
skin, her completely naked body. It was obvious to the woman that
not one of the teenagers present had ever been exposed to such a
blatant sexual spectacle as an older woman with a collar and leash
held by a teenage boy.

Her son turned to the girl that had asked the last question and
said, "You first." With a jerk of the leash the slut began to
crawl toward the excited and nervous teenager.

My orgasm came with a rush of fluid from my sex and with a rough
shiver of delight through every muscle of my body that left me
panting, staring at the glow of the story on my monitor.

I had woke nearly an hour earlier from that delicious dream of oral
devotion, but it had left me a physical wreck and my own hands did
what my dream had not allowed - a hard and fast orgasm within seconds
of starting. I had lain within my own exhausted sweaty person, before
I sat up and started my computer.

If my dreams were only sporadic, perhaps some of the stories I had
copied from my son's computer, help with this throbbing in my loins.

Like some crazed woman, I was naked within the privacy of my room -
with my erotic scent filling it like a cloud. My body was naked, not
bothering with my traditional nightie as I went to bed, and soiled
from sweat, saliva and the cunt-juices from between my legs.

Never before had I felt so powerless to my desires - my body
responding in ways that was both exciting and new.

I was undergoing a transition - from reserved adult to a brazen woman.

For the first time in my life I was beginning to understand the heat
of lust that I've only heard about in whispers.


How much did John know? Could he see how his mother had changed into
an energized slut? When we were together, usually in the kitchen - I
could barely tear my eyes from him. It was as if I was awaiting my
dream-fantasy to suddenly change the reality of my life.

When my boy stole a glance at my naked thighs, my knees almost gave
out. I had worn only a over-sized mans shirt, and plain white cotton
panties. Initially when I had dressed, before coming to make supper,
I had told myself I was dressing for myself, lazy or uncouth, but as
soon as I saw my son, I knew I had worn this new uniform for his sake.
I wanted him to look at me like that woman in my dreams gets looked

Twice I noticed him checking the motion of my small breasts, the
second time had a hard nipple topping for his viewing pleasure. I
regretted not wearing something tight below the waist - in my
dream-world, John could not get enough of my ass and I was ecstatic
that that knowledge should be true.

Knowing he was going to run up to his room, yet again, my brow broke
out into a sweat as I contemplated spreading my legs at the right
angle for John to see up to my white panty. I'm sure he would like
that. Yet, before I worked up the nerve, having never played the
seductress or exhibitionist, John disappeared from the table.


The next morning - only a handful since I had found those kinky
stories that John had wrote - I forced myself to pick up the phone and
dial. My hands trembled as I listened to the ring of the receiving
phone - a large part of me wanted it never to be answered.


I could not speak for several seconds and the thick male voice on the
other end asked again, "Hello?"

"Hi... Gorden."

His voice immediately brightened. "Well, hello!" Since I could not
say a word, he continued with his adolescent male bravado. "So, do
you want to make another 'date'?" I can almost see his wide
shit-eating grin as he asked that.

With a dry raspy voice I replied, "Yes." As to reaffirm my feeble
position, "I'm not a whore Gorden!"

"No! Of course your not baby!"

I felt my stomach heave with disgust and could almost hear my mother warning me to be a 'good girl' and do whatever my man wanted to make
him happy. That advice had lead me to my ex-husband, and the heat of
my dreams were pushing me to this man so that I shall not descend to
the depths of my fantasies.

That sexual submissive, in my fantasies, started to rise to the
surface - by choice - and I used that new power to lick my lips and
strengthen the path I had chosen earlier in the day.

"Am I going to get that blow job I asked for baby?"

It was why I was phoning him, to direct my sexual appetite toward
anything but the dementia that my dreams promised. "Yes."

There was a long pause and I could almost see Gorden's chest broaden
and his shoulders straighten - this was any mans dream, a woman to
deliver all that he wanted. It was my sacrifice for choosing this

He chuckled loudly and then said, "Wear something sexy... stockings and a skirt... no underwear."

It was a small price to pay, to submit willingly to this pig of a man,
"Yes, I understand." The alternative, when my mind was clear of lust
and passion, was too terrible to contemplate.

"Tonight then?"

"If you wish."

"Damn right I 'wish'." He told me his address and a time. "Your hot
for it aren't ya baby?"

The woman within me, the one I hated, the years that I felt were
wasted, was required yet again and I answered the only way I could,
"Yes." Could Gorden not hear the disgust in my voice.

The stories that my son wrote, his written fantasies rolled through my
mind and I remembered one particular.

Whispering into her ear her Master ordered, "Spread your legs
mom!" While the man on the other end, someone she worked with and
was trying to become familiar with, he was asking her for a date,
knew not that the woman he was talking too was watching her son
kneel before her.

Once upon his knees, with calm resolve, her son placed a palm upon
both her bare inner thighs and gently spread her legs. There was
no resistance, not with her son, with her Master. There never

He could see that she wore nothing beneath her short skirt, as his
standing instructions, and that she was already wet in
anticipation for what must come next.

She watched as he leaned in - but just before he must surely come
in contact with her pulsating hot cunt, he lifted his head and
instructed her in whispers.

As the tongue slide expertly into her hungry hole, she bit her
bottom lip so as not to let the man on the other end of the phone
know of her intimate position. Her mind though, tried to
comprehend why she was ordered to agree to go out with the man on
the phone - to 'suck his dick till is dry' but not let him near
her ass or cunt.

Her Master continued to surprise her.


It had been years since I had worn these things - a black leather
skirt that came to mid thigh, black nylon stockings that had elastic
stay-ups just above the hem of her skirt, black heels, and the
semi-transparent black blouse that I was sure everyone would be able
to tell I had no bra on.

The woman in the mirror was the tramp my mother warned me about -
while also forcing that same path within me. Gorden wanted me like
this, looking like some slut - but I knew my son, if he saw me, would
find me agreeable as well. That knowledge gave me a little solace.

I was going out to suck a cock and probably get fucked. If it was not
Gorden, and I had no emotion for the pig, it would be any other man.
Any man but my son, I reminded myself - again. In fact there was only
one other man that I had considered phoning, rather than call Gorden,
but he was married and I detested becoming that 'other woman' for any

Would my actions tonight quell the dreams, the images that flooded
constantly through my consciousness? Before the tears started, I told
myself it would. It had too. It was my last chance at sanity!

It was the complexity of life - I wanted what my dreams promised with
an ache throughout my body while I feared that it may become so!

I applied my makeup conservatively - as the woman in those stories written by Master J. My hair was pulled up off my neck, just like the
slave in those stories. Everything that woman in the mirror did,
prepared for, was just as her dream-fantasy lover would have wanted.


John was home, in front of the television, and I cursed as I had hoped
he would either be out late or in his room, behind his locked door -
typing out another mother-son fuck fantasy while I had to dress like a
tramp and submit to the first fat fuck that would lower himself to
fuck me!

Stop it!

This was nonsense. I'll just walk past my son with but a nod and a
'bye John'. I was starting to feel like an adolescent. Certainly he
had never seen me dressed like this - well, only in the fantasies that
made it to his computer. I was his mother for gods sake, I should not
care what my son thought about his parent dressed like a street

With a deep breath I started toward the door.


"Yes John?" I spun and looked down at the astonished gaze of my son.
Cursing my own lack of self-control, knowing that in reality this
young man had me totally under his control. I had to escape my own
house tonight to fuck some pig just so that I would have some
semblance of self control for future moments just like this.

I felt my knees start to tremble and sweat began to bead my back,
sticking the thin black blouse to my skin. Let me go, just let me
leave John, I silently whispered.

Then his eyes slowly strolled down my body, slowing at the rising hard
nipples thrusting beneath my blouse, to my thin thighs encased in
black nylon with the dark elastic band peaking from beneath the hem of
my skirt. It was a look that a man has never given me and it was
obvious to me, a virgin when it came to being noticed by a man, that
John liked what he saw.

It was like an old alter-reality movie, where dreams become life. Or,
for me, that my reality was fading and leaving me in that fantasy
world that I have obsessed with these last few days. In that world, I
was a slave to the young man seated before me - in all ways. That it
was my son only heightened the eroticism of my submission, the
kink-factor was high.

I was locked in position before him, between my son and the
television. I was on display for his inspection, and view me he did
until I was violently trembling so that it had to be obvious that
there was something wrong. The minutes crawled past and John's
increasing surprise at my silence, at my willingness to stand before
his obvious review.

If only I could turn and run from my home, I would be fine. I promise
to suck Gorden's boring cock like he had never been sucked before -
only let me out from beneath the power of my son's gaze dear lord!

Finally John asked, "Where are you going mom?" His eyes were locked
onto my chest, my thrusting hard nipples and the obvious dark shade
that my semi-transparent blouse revealed.

Tell him to mind his own fucking business, that I was allowed a life
outside of this dump of a home! Of course I could not - that fantasy
woman would never say any such thing to her Master. Barely a whisper,
I managed to say slowly, "I have a date".

The smell hit my nostrils and I cursed god as well as prayed to him,
that my son would not notice that his mothers uncovered sex was
bubbling with juices, the heady aroma filling the room from the open
path of my skirt. I could feel my hot wet excitement, better than any
fantasy had revealed, and knew my inside thighs were slick with it -
the tops of the stockings turning coal black as it soaked in.

John looked surprised as he asked, "With who mom?"

What was that pigs name - my mind was clouding over when I watched as
my son's chest broadened deeply as he inhaled. He knew, he could
smell my excitement. Humiliation and pleasure rolled through me, my
face flushing hotly.

Then it seemed that my son thought of something, realization came to
him and he furled his brow and asked sharply, "You know about my

Anxiously I answered, "Yes."

The truth was out and I held my breath not daring to guess the future!

His face went through a torrent of emotions, from humiliation to
excitement. My young man finally smirked and asked, "Your not wearing
panties are you mom?"

With a little more difficulty, though I knew he already had the
answer, "No", the scent and sight of my juices were proof enough.

"Would you mind skipping your date for me mom?" John was smiling, as
if he already had the answer.

We both knew he indeed had. My heart sored and my soul bottomed out -
this was the thing of fantasy, the horror of my dreams. This was the
stuff right out of the printed fantasies of my child.

John leaned forward and with only his forefinger ran it from my
stocking-clad knee up to the hem of my black leather skirt. I held my
breath and froze my person as if this was my first touch by a man, and
I the helpless virgin. That was how I felt, a teenage virgin with the
most powerful man in the world. It was wonderful.

I had no idea what was coming next, but desired for my son to reach
beneath my skirt and touch the furnace of my excitement, to plunge
that same forefinger into my body!

John took his hand, though, and instead, gently grasped my own sweaty
palm. Firmly he pulled me toward him, downward until I awkwardly
dropped to my knees before him. I was kneeling between his knees and
my eyes anxiously gazed hungrily down at the bulge in his jeans. A
small orgasm hit my cunt and I groaned at the proof of my son's desire
for me. Here was the only man that I could love unconditionally, who
I could trust impeccably and who could do anything he wants with me.
I wanted nothing more than to give him pleasure, to prove to him that
his fantasies could be reality that my own pleasure would come
submissively behind.

Long minutes ticked by and I awkwardly looked back up at my son and
saw his embarrassment and his uncertainly. It shook me, the Master in
the stories never felt either. But of course, the man in fantasy had
a woman that would do anything for her, and one that he had used to
his pleasure again and again. Before me, my virgin son, knew not the
next step - could not simply take my nipples between his thumbs and
fingers and twist, could not stick his tongue down my throat, could
not tell me to hump my naked loins against his bare foot until orgasm.

No, my Master, and that was what he truly was to me now, had no
physical knowledge of a woman. He had been raised to respect women,
to treat them like fine china and, most of all, to love his mother.
His fantasy world was hitting a brick wall, that was reality. His
mother was not there to prevent his descent, rather a woman than only
wanted to be his slave.

Never before had I felt such overwhelming love for any man, could
never had thought it possible to feel such passion mixed with it.
Here he was, truly, the man of my dreams - the one that I had been
waiting my whole life.

We will learn together, to be like the truth in print.

Trembling sweaty hands rose and reached inward. John watched
silently, nervously until I began to fumble with the buttons of his
jeans. I was no expert in men's slacks, and it was probably comic if
not for the two actors heightened awareness.

With the final button undone, a beautiful rock-hard cock shot out of
my son's pants and stood straight up, the dark hole at the tip of its
pink helmet aimed directly at me. It was different than my fantasy,
but it was better as I knew all of this new reality would be better
than dreams or stories.

Knowing with a certainly, like at no other time in my life, I knew the
course for the rest of my life. I would love and submit to my son
without ever denying him, but it was that gorgeous teenage cock before
me that would be the way I would worship, to show my devotion.

John's eyes looked hard into my own, as he watched wide eyed, as I
descended toward his lap and his hard manhood. My eyes finally closed
as I felt the thick man-muscle press my lips wide and I began to make
oral love to my son, my love, my Master.


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