by J ©
Inspired by A Shamed Son
What a way for a forty year old man to spend a Saturday afternoon, I thought. There I was, sitting at one end of the couch, my Mother at the opposite end, and a pile of playing cards in between us.
'Gin', she announced in a triumphant manner. Then Mother picked up the cards and began the shuffle that indicated the game was to continue.
Saturday afternoons had been this way for about as long as I could remember. Saturday evenings weren't much better either. I'd cook dinner, which we'd eat in silence accompanied by a bottle of wine. Then it would be some TV or reading, and to bed by eleven thirty at the latest. While the world's other men of my age and younger were out having a good time, I felt locked away in here like a prisoner. I can't even remember the last time I was intimate with a woman. Well, to be honest, the even sadder thing is that I can remember it to the very day; May 5 1997. It wasn't that she was that memorable, in fact she was an ugly old whore. It's just that my experiences are so few and far between that I tend to note them down for posterity.
You see, I am, and always have been, awkward around women. I blame Mother for that. I was twelve before I found out that my twenty seven year old sister was, in fact, my Mother. She took me in when the person who I had thought was my mother, my Grandmother, died of a heart attack. It took me a long time to get used to calling her Mother, but she insisted that I did and would beat me on those occasions when I forgot, and referred to her by name. Mother had a deep distrust of people in general, and the opposite sex in particular, which she instilled in me during those early years. Even now, whenever I talk to a woman, I find my face heating up to a bright red. So it's hardly surprising that my conquests are rare.
And so, apart from my excursions to work, Mother and I are tucked away here in our little house, ten miles from town and three from our nearest neighbour. Reclusive from the outside world and miserable in each others company. Mind you, Mother is worse than me, she won't even go past the garden gate without me to accompany her, and will not even talk to the mailman if I'm not here. But I am trapped here as much as she is. Without my salary to provide her with a place to live and food to eat, I don't know what she'd do. In fact, it was this notion of my own indispensability, and a remark I overheard by two guys at work, that first gave me the germ of the idea.
I had been sitting at my desk in work, two weeks earlier, when I eavesdropped a conversation between two of my younger colleagues who were discussing sex. One of them said he could get his hands on some of the pills at the weekend. The other asked if they really worked as well as he had heard. The first guy said you just dropped it in the girl's drink, apparently alcohol was better but not essential, and she went out like a light. Her eyes would be open, but her mind wouldn't be able to distinguish reality from dream. You could do what the hell you liked to her, and the next day she wouldn't know whether it really happened or whether it had all been her imagination. And if she was convinced that her experiences were real, you could tell her that she had been a drunken, yet willing, participant. It was a cinch. The second guy was still not entirely sure and asked if it would work on anyone. Just don't give it to your mother was the reply, not unless you want to be called Oedipus.
It was that off the cuff remark that kept on nagging me the rest of the day. When I got home, I looked at Mother the way a man would eye up a woman in a bar. Mother was still very attractive. She was about five four and skinny as a rake, which only served to make her boobs look full and round. Her black hair was without a trace of grey and was shoulder length. Her skin was as white and translucent as fine porcelain and did not sag anywhere that I could see. In short, she looked a lot younger than she was and eminently desirable.
I had tried to make a pass at Mother once before, but my nerve failed me. Now, with the news of this knock out pill, and the fact that I was more desperate than the last time, I was determined to go through with it. I mean, what could she do even if she did realise what had happened? If she went to the authorities and I was put away, then the house would be repossessed, and Mother would be homeless. Neither one of us had a relative anywhere in the world, or even a friend to whom she could turn. It looked to me like it was a failsafe idea.
The next week, I approached the guy in work and told him that I'd like to buy one of his pills. He told me that they didn't come cheap, but, if he'd known how strong my lust was, he would have realised that I'd have paid a lot more than he asked. He told me that they take about twenty seconds to dissolve completely in liquid, or they could be crushed up and sprinkled over food. Either way there was no taste, and the effects lasted for about six to eight hours. He advised that if the victim woke up and accused me of any impropriety, then I just had to stick to my story of he or she being a willing participant. I didn't care about that too much, because as I've said, Mother would have no alternative but to let her complaint drop.
So, now I sat looking at her at the opposite end of the couch, as she scrutinised her cards. Every time Mother turned to pick one up from the deck in between us, her knees would part slightly and cause the hem of her knee length skirt to ride up a little. She would normally adjust herself whenever it rode more than an inch higher than it should, but now, with the excitement of her last win, Mother's skirt was mid thigh and rising. I stared intently at her nylon covered legs, and longed to just run my hands all over them. It was not a tight skirt, and there was a tantalising gap at the side made by some loose folds that I could easily have hooked a finger into to touch her leg, had I been sitting nearer. I realised that she had been calling me to take my turn for a few seconds and came back to my senses. Mother, realising where her son's eyes were focused, looked down at the expanse of flesh below her skirt and quickly re-arranged it to its proper length. No matter, I thought, I'd be seeing a lot more of Mother tonight.
At around four thirty, I made my opening move. I wanted Mother to be dressed up for my seduction, so I suggested that we have dinner at the best restaurant in town. I knew that I'd have to beat Mother's fear of crowds, so I countered her negative remarks with the fact that the restaurant would be quiet if we got there before eight, and besides, we deserved a good night out on the town. Mother's reluctance was on the wane but she had one more card up her sleeve, and said that she couldn't possibly go as she had nothing to wear. She said all of her cocktail dresses were at least twenty years old.
This was my chance to dress Mother how I wanted, so I took hold of her hand and pulled her up the stairs, announcing that I was sure I'd be able to find something suitable. She stood next to me as I opened the door to her wardrobe. As I racked through the clothes, I made a mental note of the things I'd like to see her in if my plans for the future came off. At last, I came to a dress that almost made me cream just looking at it. It was a black halter neck with a cheeky, low fastening back, falling tight over the hips and ending about an inch above the knee. I pulled it out on its hanger to show to Mother. She balked at the idea of wearing it, especially as she knew that it would be impossible to wear a bra with that bare back, but I told her that I would not take no for an answer and that I would go and make reservations straight away.
I shouted up to Mother that we had a table booked for eight and that if we got there for seven fifteen, we could have a couple of cocktails first. Well, I'd only be having one, not only because I was driving, but also because I didn't want to have an alcohol induced limp dick tonight of all nights.
I showered and shaved at around six thirty and by seven I was back in the living room, dressed in a tuxedo, awaiting Mother's entrance. I called up for her to get a move on and Mother shouted that she'd be right down. I checked my inside pocket to confirm that the little white pill was still there; it was. Almost immediately, I heard the distinctive click, click of stiletto heels coming down the wooden staircase. My anticipation had given me a bit of a hard on, and I positioned myself behind a chair so that Mother would not notice. As her footfalls got nearer and nearer, my mouth got drier and drier. Man, I was so excited about what I was about to do that I cursed myself for not doing it sooner. At last I heard Mother crossing the hall towards the living room. This was it, I couldn't wait to set eyes upon my prey.
Her naked left arm was the first thing I saw as she pushed the living room door further open. I tried to look at her bit by bit, the way you might eat a steak from the outside, working your way into the juicy middle, but all at once Mother was right there in front of me, parading herself to the son who was about to seduce her. I was glad that I was hiding my lower half behind a chair, because at that first sight, my dick almost burst my pants. The dress may have been twenty years old, but it still fitted Mother in all the right places. She twirled around without being asked, to reveal a completely bare back right down to her slim waist.
Whilst Mother blushed at the wolf whistle I blew her, I took the time to eye her from head to toe. She had parted her hair to one side and it dangled teasingly over her right eye. Her face was radiant and her lips full and red. Mother's bosom heaved in the tight confines of her dress, and her legs were wrapped in barely black, sheer hose with a seam up the back, which I hoped meant that they were either stockings or hold ups. On her feet was a pair of black patent stilettos. Walking towards Mother, I didn't care now if she did see how excited she had made me. I took the mink stole that she held in her hand, and draped it around her bare white shoulders. Then, placing my hand on her naked waist, I led her out to the car.
We arrived at the restaurant at about seven twenty. The waiter was surprised when I said that we'd take cocktails at the table rather than in the lounge bar, and even more surprised when I chose to sit next to Mother rather than opposite her. Both of these decisions were purely selfish; I wanted to be able to get a good look at Mother during dinner, and I didn't want anyone else to have that privilege.
I ordered a couple of dry martinis and then helped remove the stole from around Mother's shoulders. Close up, I could see that she had the skin of somebody thirty years younger, and I longed to get my hands on her. I encouraged Mother to drink up and ordered her another. By the time the first course arrived, with an accompanying bottle of white wine, she had had three martinis and I could tell she was light headed already. As I kept on refilling her glass, her voice began to slur and I wondered whether I could seduce her without the pill. Then, I thought, why take the risk? I'd bought it, so I might as well use it. And if all went to plan, I'd never have to buy another.
Each time Mother leaned forward to take a bite of food or pick up her glass, the material of her dress would sag, giving me a tantalising glimpse of the curvature of the side of her left breast. It would have been so easy to just slip my hand beneath the material and cup her ripe, round melon; but there would be time aplenty for that. As the night wore on, and Mother became distinctly squiffy, I noticed that her nipples were becoming harder. Maybe the alcohol was making her randy too, I thought.
As we came to the end of the entrée, Mother was down to the last glass of wine. She had said that she didn't want any dessert, and I just wanted to get her home as quickly as I could and start fucking her. Mother agreed with my suggestion that she go to the ladies' room before we left. As I watched her teeter unsteadily on her high heels towards the lobby, I slipped the knockout pill out of my jacket. When I was sure that nobody was looking, I dropped it into her glass of wine. The little pill sank to the bottom and began to dissolve immediately. It made a few bubbles as it did so, but by the time Mother returned, there was no trace of it whatsoever.
As Mother took her seat next to me, the alcohol caused her to fall slightly into my lap. She apologised for being slightly drunk, but I used her clumsiness to put my hands on her bare shoulders to steady her. I rubbed her skin for as long as I dared, before she settled properly into her seat. I ordered Mother to drink her wine so that we could leave. I watched closely as her red lips parted to allow the intoxicating drug to enter her mouth. Mother drained half the glass in one swallow. She began talking about some TV programme that she had been watching the day before. I couldn't tell you what she was on about, because all I was concerned with was watching for the effects of the pill. Mother took another long pull on her wine, leaving just a small amount left at the bottom of the glass. I held it up to her mouth, encouraging her to finish every last drop, and then I called for the bill. As I tried to signal the waiter, all I could hear was Mother bleating on about some poor man who had lost everything in a hurricane or flood or some such disaster. Eventually, I caught the waiter's eye and indicated for him to bring me the check. As he turned away, I suddenly became aware that Mother's incessant drivel had stopped mid sentence. I turned, very slowly to face her.
I couldn't believe my eyes. Mother was still upright in her seat, but her eyes were half closed and the expression on her face was like that of a zombie. I asked her if she was OK. It was as if she didn't even hear me. She just sat, mesmerised, staring blankly through half closed lids straight ahead. It had worked, holy smoke, it had worked.
I paid the check pronto and then wrapped the stole around Mother's shoulders. I wondered if she would be able to walk. Man, I hoped I wouldn't have to carry her.
I stood up and went to her other side. I put my hands around Mother's waist and hauled her to her feet. I apologised to the waiter for how drunk she was. The look he gave me made me think that he had seen men spike a woman's drink many times before, and he knew exactly what my motives were. As I took my first step from the table, I prayed that Mother would follow. Somehow, although she looked like a coma victim, Mother managed to put one foot in front of the other and I guided her to the car park.
I leaned Mother against the car while I opened the door. I moved her towards the seat and pressed her down with my hands on top of her head. When she was seated, I took hold of her ankles and swung them into the footwell. It was time to test what I could do. All evening I had longed to know what type of hose Mother was wearing. Carefully, I placed my hands on the hem of her dress. I looked at Mother's face as I slowly pushed the dress higher up her legs. No movement. Her half open eyes just kept staring through the windscreen. I remember grinning with self satisfaction as I confidently pushed the hem further up Mother's thighs until, at last, I could see that she was wearing stockings and suspenders. I crossed her right leg over her left to give me something to feel and look at as we drove home. This was going to be a night to remember.
I caressed Mother's nylon clad thighs all the way home. She looked down as my hand touched the bare flesh at the top of her stockings, but I thought that it was probably just gravity acting on the weight of her head. After about a ten minute drive, I pulled the car up as near to the front door as possible. I helped Mother into the house as I had helped her from the restaurant; her legs still managing to move one at a time. Once inside, I turned on the lights at the foot of the stairs and leaned Mother against the wall. She looked at me through the slits of her eyes and I wondered if she was aware of what her son was doing to her. Maybe it was like one of those bad dreams when you're half awake and desperate to wake up, but the screams just don't come.
When I was sure that Mother was perfectly balanced, I let my hands wander up her milky white arms towards her shoulders. My dick was bursting through the seams of my trousers. My hands met at the back of her neck and I felt for the clasp that held her dress together. I found what I was looking for and as I began to undo it, I looked down into her eyes to see if there was any reaction. Mother's expression was still blank. I felt the button come undone and the halter straps became loose in my hands. Slowly, the black material fell away from Mother's body, and at last I found myself staring at her naked breasts.
As I said earlier, Mother was so skinny that it made her tits look so much larger. I slowly raised a hand and began to rub her left nipple gently. She offered no facial reaction whatsoever. As her teat got harder, I became more and more aroused by the thought of my omnipotent power over her. I took her nipple between my thumb and forefinger and began to squeeze it sadistically, hoping that the pain might cause Mother to give me a sign that she was aware of what was happening. But, as I stared into her half open eyes, there was not a trace of life.
Still holding Mother against the wall at the bottom of the staircase, I bent my head and touched her naked shoulders with my tongue. The smell and taste of her perfume was intoxicating, and it caused me to start the process of licking her skin from her neck on down. I cupped her full, ripe breasts in my hands and ran her swollen nipples between my teeth. I must have carried on biting and licking Mother for a full five minutes before I decided it was time to let her dress fall off her completely. I undid the small zipper at the side, and the dress fell to the floor. Mother stood in front of me now, wearing just her suspender belt, seamed stockings, panties, and high heels. It was only by her tummy that the first signs of slightly sagging flesh appeared. But as I caressed her waist and hips, I realised that with a little exercise, I could get even this part of her nice and firm. Mother had great legs though, and made to look even better by her high pumps. I bent down in front of her and let my hands wander over her nylon clad pins.
Soon, I could stand no more. So, lifting Mother in my arms, I carried her up the stairs, into her bedroom and lay her down on top of the bed. Two things pleasantly surprised me as I roughly pulled down Mother's panties; firstly, that her pussy was neatly trimmed so that her pubic hair formed a small 'V' shape. I had expected her to have a large, overgrown black bush. And secondly, that the moisture around her pink pussy lips indicated that I wouldn't need to use any other lubrication.
I spread Mother's legs and undressed as quickly as I could. I let my clothes fall into a heap on the floor. I didn't mind what she realised when she eventually comes to and sees her own son's tuxedo lying by her bed. She would know soon enough anyway.
As I prised my shorts over my dick, I realised that I had never before seen it so big. I walked over to the bed and climbed in between Mother's inviting legs. Her eyes were still slits as I took hold of my meat and moved it towards her cunny. As it touched her pussy lips for that first time, and I began to gently rub it up and down, feeling Mother's moistness mingling with my own juices, a voice in my head was saying, 'Go on, fuck her, fuck your Mother just like she really wants you to do'. Then, loudly answering my silent conscious with a 'Yesssssss', I mercilessly rammed my weapon deep into Mother's womb. I forced it in right up to the root and looked for any flicker or change of expression from her face; there was none. With gritted teeth, I let go of years of pent up frustration and anger, as I piston like fucked her. Mother's snatch was warm, wet and tighter than I had imagined.
As I looked down to see my own prick sliding quickly in and out of my Mother's love box, its glistening, throbbing, blue veined hardness made me even more horny. I continued banging her like this for over twenty minutes and I couldn't believe it myself; I felt like a superman. I could see the bite marks I'd made earlier over Mother's tits were now beginning to turn to bruises and I wanted her to wake up and see what her son was doing to her. But her expression was still that of a zombie. When I felt my juices start to flow from my balls, I clenched my buttocks together in an effort to delay ejaculation. I ground my hips against Mother's in the hope that I could get even deeper inside her as I stabbed her pussy with my meat. At last, I could hold back no longer. My nails made runs in Mother's stockings as I fought to stop my dick exploding. Then, gripping her butt cheeks with my vice like hands, my face contorted like a demon's, I felt my white hot semen pump its way into Mother's belly. I had never known such an amount to come out of me.
As my dick went limp in Mother's snatch, I let it slide out and sat up in between her legs trying to recover my breathing. Easily aroused by the sight of her lying stretched out, helpless and half naked, I fucked Mother twice more with equal enthusiasm. On the first occasion shooting my sperm over her tits and on the second over her face and hair. At about 3am, although my mind was willing to carry on, my dick looked like a piece of raw liver and felt as tender as a bruised toe. So, reluctantly, I realised that that was my screwing over for the night. I consoled myself by thinking of the many more times yet to come.
Earlier that week, I had bought a few yards of quarter inch, white nylon rope from the hardware store. I fetched it from my room and returned to Mother's. I turned her over onto her stomach and brought her arms around behind her back. With one end of the rope, I bound Mother's wrists tightly together and then, bending her legs as far as they would go, wrapped the rope around her ankles and made a secure knot. I turned Mother onto her side and stood back to admire my handiwork. Looking down at her, hog tied and covered in my semen, I admit that I was extremely unhappy that my body had failed me. I hoped that my prick wouldn't be too tender come morning.
It was Mother screaming my name that finally woke me the next morning at about 8am. I let her continue wailing after me for a few minutes, knowing full well that we were too far removed from the beaten track for anyone to hear her. At last, I casually put on a toweling robe and entered Mother's room. Her eyes were wild with anger; she was too hard a woman to cry about something like this. She asked me what I had done to her, so I explained how I had drugged her at the restaurant and then brought her home to ravish her. Mother said that if I was to let her go now then she would forget that this had ever happened and that she would never tell the authorities about what I had done. I laughed at that one, and explained to her the predicament that she was in. I asked how she would fancy going out into the big wide world to work for a living, since I wouldn't be around to provide for her. I pointed out that she would have to rent a small, dingy apartment that would probably be infested with all kinds of horrible insects and vermin. I also stated that she wasn't getting any younger, so how would she cope, all alone in the world, during her old age.
I let Mother ponder on these thoughts for a couple of minutes. In a voice that was filled with defeat, she asked me what the alternative was. I had been practising a speech for just such an occasion for many days, but I never really thought things would turn out so well that I actually got to say it. I told Mother that our relationship would remain that of a normal mother and son Monday through Friday. But from the moment I woke up on Saturday to the point I fell asleep on Sunday, she would be my whore. I explained to Mother that she would wear what I told her to wear, and do any sexual act that I desired. If she didn't like the terms, then she knew what the consequences would be. When she started to call me names like rat-bastard, I knew what decision she had made.
Mother agreed to my conditions and demanded to be untied. I told her that as today was Sunday, she was now my whore and in no position to make anything other than requests. Mother relented, and asked me politely if I would free her from her bonds. Seeing her struggling against the rope had started to get me aroused again. I told Mother that I still wanted to see an act of good will on her part towards the deal. So I told her that I would only untie her hands for the time being. As I did so, she waved her arms around to get her circulation moving again. Whilst she did this, I moved a chair into the tight space between the bed and the dressing table. I bent down and put my hands around Mother's waist to get her to her feet. She cringed at my touch, but I told her that she had better get used to me feeling her body. I shuffled her over to the chair and sat her down in it. I untied the rope holding her ankles together so that I could reposition the bonds. When I had finished, Mother's hands were free but her legs were strapped to the corresponding front legs of the chair.
Mother gazed at my feet as I let my robe fall to the floor. I commanded her to look at me and see how aroused she had made her son. Slowly, reluctantly, her eyes moved up from the floor towards my fully recovered, fully erect penis. I searched for some hint of desire in Mother's eyes, but as there was none to be found, I ordered her to tell me that she wanted my dick. Mother repeated her lines but without conviction. No matter; Rome wasn't built in a day.
I moved closer until I could feel Mother's breath against my skin. I put my hand under her chin and forced her to look into my eyes. I told her how aroused I had been last night and how, after fucking her three times, my prick had become tender and sore. I stared at her mouth, still covered with last night's lipstick. Mother's lips were full and inviting and I knew what I wanted to do next. I put my right foot on the bed and pushed myself up so that my left foot rested on the dressing table. Leaning against the wall, I looked down at Mother and said:
'Kiss it better, there's a good girl'.
Mother made no effort to assist, so I told her that it might be more uncomfortable for her if I had to force it into her, that's why I had untied her hands. I told Mother to take hold of my prick and put it in her mouth. Very slowly, her right hand came up from where it had been resting at her side. My dick twitched as it came closer and then, boy oh boy, what a feeling to have your own Mother's hand tightly clenching your throbbing tool. With a soft groan, I moved my hips closer to Mother's face. I could see that her eyes were closed as the tip of my bell end gently brushed against her lips. As she moved it back away from her mouth, a strand of precum formed like a delicate spider's silk bridge between her lips and my dick. I repeated my order and thrust my hips more forcefully towards Mother's face. At last, I saw her lips part, and Mother guided my knob slowly into her hot, wet mouth. I groaned loudly at the first touch of her tongue against the slit in my dick. As I began to rock back and forth, I instructed Mother to move her hand further down my shaft so that I could get more of my meat into her mouth. Soon, she was taking about four inches of me between her ruby lips.
I turned my hips so that on each inward thrust of my penis, it would force Mother's cheek to bulge out. The sight of Mother taking me like this made me realise that I was not going to last as long as I had last night. In fact, after only about two minutes, I could feel myself ready to cum. Between panting breaths, I told Mother that she'd better not let any of my semen escape, as I wanted her to swallow every last drop. When I was very close to cumming, I told her to raise her eyes towards me and to pull me faster. I tried to hold back for as long as possible, but with Mother's doe like eyes staring at me, and the sight of my weapon moving quickly in and out of her mouth, I just had to let it cum. Wow, what a sweet feeling it was to feel the juice flow up my prick and shoot out into Mother's gaping throat. I had wanted her eyes to remain open as she swallowed me but now they were shut tight. I must have pumped my fluid into her for about twenty seconds before it reduced to a trickle. I asked Mother if she had taken it all down, and she nodded her head. Slowly, I pulled my flaccid dick from between her lips and stepped back down onto the floor. I told Mother to open her mouth. She had been telling the truth, there was no cum in there.
When I had recovered my breath, I untied Mother's ankles and told her to take a shower. By the time she stepped back into her bedroom, I had selected some dresses that I told her she could shorten during the week. For the rest of the day I told her to wear nothing but underwear, stockings and high heels. When she had dried her hair, I told Mother to make her face up as she had done the night before and to apply plenty of lipstick.
I fucked Mother on two further occasions that day, once doggy style and once up the ass. But all of that was some months ago. Our relationship now is precisely as I had told her it would be. Sometimes when I think about what I've done I feel ashamed. But then, when I wake up on Saturday morning...