Accidental PMV with Son

Author's Note: Although their ages aren't explicitly stated in the story itself, both protagonists (who are also the only people involved in any sexual activity in this story) are over the age of 18, with Mary being 42 and Tyler being 21.

So, I was watching Eminem's new MV where he has that girl licking a basketball, that got me thinking about the crazy shit some people do to get quick money, and so this story was born.

Incest (Mother/Son) with mild elements of reluctance and voyeurism, if that is not your forte, or you just flat out dislike those types of stories, you've been warned.

Please, don't forget to comment, rate and if you like it, favorite the story. Constructive critique and feedback is always welcomed.

***

Mary Thompson mindlessly scrolled through the litany of news articles the homepage of her Internet browser showed her. A catastrophe there, a celebrity baby there, impending apocalypse all over. Who even cared?

She sure didn't.

She had a lot of her own problems.

And what a bunch of problems it was! Unpaid rent for the last few months, unpaid heating and electricity for the last month, car getting repossessed next week, her son about to be kicked out of university due to not being able to afford it anymore, etc., etc.

She was pretty much finished financially. She knew that. She needed a job. Hell, she was well past the point of needing a job, now she just flat-out needed someone to take pity on her and get her out of the deep hole she found herself in.

Not that she was waiting for some savior on a white horse to swoop in and save her, though. For the last few weeks, she answered an ad for every job she could reasonably expect to get, called all of her friends and their friends to see if there was something, anything that she could use, any job she could worm her way into, anything that could help her. She found nothing so far.

Getting more and more desperate, she turned to trying to use her attractive body to save herself.

Of course, she didn't join the half-dead, zombie-resembling, drug-addicted streetwalkers that seemed to cluster around every second gas station at night, she was simply too proud to ever do something like that, some part of her mind simply forced her to hold herself to a certain standard whether she liked it or not.

Nor did she start inviting men to her home or took them to some motel for an hour of fun with her for 20 dollars each, at least so far.

She simply wasn't that kind of a woman. Though, she knew she could very well end up being just that kind of a woman very soon anyway if she didn't quickly find a way out of the situation she found herself in. After all, she didn't think she would ever be in such an utterly desperate situation, looking for any way to save herself, and here she was.

As the days went by and her desperation rose while her job hunting efforts went nowhere, she came up with a new strategy. If she couldn't get money by herself, she could get money out of someone else. For the last two weeks, she managed to see at least two different men every day, hoping to get at least one to help pay her bills. Former coworkers, old friends she almost forgot about, friends of friends who looked at her a little too suggestively a few times, even middle school classmates.

At the cost of not sleeping longer than five hours per day for the last two weeks, she managed to get a "romantic date" with every man she remembered as having been at least slightly infatuated with her, hoping to find at least one who could help her now, in her darkest hour.

Unfortunately, she found none. She did find some sexual satisfaction, as a few of them turned out to be much hotter than she remembered them (Or she was just much hornier than average when she met them.) and she needed all the relief she could get, but ultimately, it didn't help her in any way.

A few nights ago, she started praying before going to sleep, just like she did when she was a little girl.

As the phone laying next to the computer screen started ringing, some part of her mind immediately started screaming that her prayers were answered.

They were. But not exactly in a way she'd expect.

"Hi Kylie," she said as she picked up the phone.

"Hi Mary," Kylie, her former coworker answered.

"Please, please, please Kylie, please tell me you have some good news for me," Mary blabbered into the phone, her heart racing. She felt like getting a heart attack. If this turned out to be nothing...

"Well, I think so," Kylie replied, unsure.

"What is it!?" Mary asked immediately.

"I talked a lot with Jenny about whether I should even tell you this, you'll probably say no anyway," she said, something in her voice making Mary nervous. After a short pause to take a few breaths, she continued "There's one guy. A rapper, or rather, well, tries to be a rapper. Calls himself 'Blazed'. You probably never heard about him, it's some forty-something-year-old rich dude who got a major case of mid-life crisis and decided to be 'Cool' again or something, trying to be the next Eminem pretty much."

"What about him?" Mary asked as Kylie stopped talking.

"Well, the thing is, he needs extras for his music videos, females especially, and he offers a lot. You see, he's a serious provocateur, and believes that the way to become famous is for his MVs to be as shocking as possible," she stopped talking again, though this time Mary did not interject. After taking a few deep breaths, Kylie continued "From what I know, there's a lot of nudity in his videos, it's really softcore porn basically. But, he does offer a lot, I don't know if it's enough to pay all of your bills, but it would help you."

"How much nudity?" Mary replied, "I can handle a lot, but..."

"Well, expect your breasts to be bare and filmed. Possibly even your vagina. No, you know what, change that possibly to probably. Same with your ass. Look, I'm sorry I'm even offering you this, you must think I think you are some kind of a whore or something, but Jenny insisted I tell you just so you'll know all of the possibilities to get out of your situation, you know how weirdly protective she always was of you and how much she likes to help and..." she didn't get a chance to finish her frenzied monologue as Mary interjected.

"I'll take it," she said resolutely.

"You do???" was the confused, and perhaps slightly terrified, reply.

"Yes, I do. It's just a one-off after all, isn't it? They won't stalk me or something to appear in more videos, right?" Mary asked.

"Y-Yes, I mean, no, I mean, yes to the first question, no to the second. They only offer the possibility to be in their MVs, they don't actively search for talent or people to appear there," Kylie replied.

"And there are going to be more women on the set, right?" Mary asked, already sure of the answer.

"Yes, there should be," was the reply.

"OK. Give me his contact information or whatever I need to get there, I'm going to do this," she said resolutely as she opened a new text file on her computer, writing in everything Kylie dictated to her, hanging up the phone later.

Surprisingly, the shooting was this very night.

Although Kylie told her not to worry too much about timing and that those people would take her even if she introduced herself at their doorstep, she quickly sent an e-mail about who she was and what she wanted on the address Kylie gave her. The sooner the better.

After Googling the address she was sent and finding out it was just under half an hour's worth of driving from her home at most, she relaxed for some time, thinking. Then, she went to her bedroom to choose what to wear to doll herself up for the shooting.

As she looked at her collection of clothes, she was coldly reminded of the reality of her situation as a desperate woman on the brink of a financial collapse who never before had to show skin on camera for money. She had quite a set of stylish clothes for semi-formal occasions, which she fully used for her dates with her once suitors, now possible saviors, for the last weeks. Apart from reminding her she needed to cancel three dates today, the sight of them did nothing but depress her. Those weren't the clothes to wear for the shooting of a softcore porn music video.

Neither, though, was anything else she owned. She had a lot of casual clothes to wear at home, lots of formal and semi-formal for work and social events, but almost nothing slutty for showing off her body in an erotic way, as a sexual object.

After a few minutes of digging through her cupboard, she eventually settled on wearing the only things she found appropriate for the occasion, which were a seriously tight and short miniskirt and a small tank top that covered so little of her skin it just barely avoided being an overgrown bikini top.

She didn't even remember she owned those things, and if she ever wore them she was likely still a teenager then, not to mention they seemed a little too extreme probably even for this occasion, but they were the only choice she had nevertheless.

As she undressed and looked at her naked figure in the mirror, she laughed to herself as she was reminded of why the last weeks of her life happened, and why Jenny and Kylie thought this opportunity was something she could use.

She was attractive, there was no doubt about it. Quite so, beautiful maybe even.

Soft, hairless skin uglied only by a few stretch marks. Large, full breasts which still did a great job self-supporting and resisting gravity even in her 40s. Firm, round, slappable ass. A youthful, cute face with red lips and full cheeks, which made her look at least 10 years younger than she was.

"Good genetics, the very best, trust me," she said while looking in the mirror, imitating Donald Trump's voice, giggling afterward. She lucked out in the looks department and she knew it.

So did her son, in fact. For the last few years, it was a miracle for any of her friends to look at her more than at him. Tall and muscular with beautiful eyes and smile, he was all of their, and hers, teenage dreams come true.

As she put on the tank top and miniskirt she chose to be her "uniform" for this mission to save her crumbling life, the prideful musings over her appearance running through her mind turned into near-bewilderment as she stared at her image in the mirror, seeing just how well her 5 feet 4 inches, 130 pounds body could be transformed into a pure sex object.

"Damn girl," she said under her breath "You sure still got it."

Indecipherable thoughts flooded through her mind as she gawked at her half-naked body, taking in every inch of every curve, while feeling herself up and groping her breasts absent-mindedly, finishing her personal self-presentation by playfully slapping her ass.

As she went to take the tank top off, her body suddenly froze, the indecipherable thoughts flooding her mind crystallizing into feelings of disgust.

"This thing comes off once, and after it does," she said to herself as her heart froze and stomach fell to the ground "It will never get back on." she finished, as all of the delight at her beauty disappeared from her mind and the feeling of disgust started overwhelming her.

Disgust. Revulsion. Anger.

Those feelings now flooded her mind, aimed at everything and nothing in particular, brought forth by her rising understanding of the reality of her situation.

By the fact that she was likely going to have to strip on camera, which will forever immortalize her as a woman who had to strip for cash. By the image of herself in the mirror, looking like a sex doll ready to be used. By the thoughts of her friends, family, maybe even her parents or her son, stumbling upon said video and seeing, exactly, what was the way she saved herself from financial ruin.

"Fuck you, Kylie," she said to herself, infuriated "And you too, Jenny."

Then she took another look at herself and added, with a defeated sigh "But I have to do this."

Stumbling into the kitchen, she grabbed a bottle of vodka out of the refrigerator. After downing a good quarter of the bottle, she went back to the living room, turned the TV on and sat herself to watch, feeling the alcohol get to her brain.

"Fuck it," she muttered to herself after a couple of minutes, realizing that for today, she'll need a lot more. After going back to the kitchen to drain the bottle some more, leaving it only half-filled when she returned it to the fridge, she felt her body get heavy as she stumbled back on the couch.

Feeling like crap and with no desire to do anything, she needed to get the time to pass quickly, and as long as she didn't overdo it, which she was sure she didn't, she knew the thirteen hours until she'll have to get going will be more than enough for her to sober up.

Her mind barely registered the passage of time as her brain was clouded by an alcoholic fog, the movies and TV shows fusing with the images of her eating, drinking orange juice and walking around the house, into a hazy, dream-like display which she watched rather than participated in.

Before she noticed, it was dark and the moon was shining in the sky. Just as she expected, she was finally coming back to her senses. Checking the clock, she saw that it was almost 9 PM. The shooting was starting in about an hour and a half, meaning she had an hour to get going.

Quickly sweeping into the bathroom to put her make-up on, she felt her heart skip a beat as she looked in the mirror and saw how greasy and unkempt her hair was.

"Fuck!" she swore loudly. In her drunken state, she completely forgot to wash it as she planned to do before the first of her dates she was supposed to go on.

Quickly turning the water on, opening a bottle of shampoo, grabbing the showerhead and bending over the bathtub, she washed her hair with insane speed. As she moved the towel through her hair, frenzied enough to look like she was ripping her hair out, she glanced at the screen of her phone.

She lost less than five minutes doing this.

"Nice," she thought as she went back to choosing her make-up.

After a quick deliberation, she decided to go with the simple option of a bright red lipstick, purposefully overdone, to go along with her red nails, combined with a basic black eyeliner/black eyeshadow combo.

A little simpler look than she'd usually choose, but one she believed to be just about perfect for what she was about to do, as the overdone lipstick made her look whorish and the black make-up made her look like an inexperienced, emo teenager, a combination which, in her experience, men tended to like more than they'd like to admit.

Finishing her "Inexperienced hoe" look by putting on large hoop earrings, she strode, almost instinctively, back to her bedroom to find if there was anything more she could use, a journey which stopped abruptly as she froze in the middle of the hallway, shocked, realizing her son had not yet returned home.

"Where the hell is he now?!" she thought to herself, furious, even though she knew the answer. Getting drunk with his friends, of course. Like usual.

Not that she could blame him, she, herself, still wasn't completely sober. In their situation, it was understandable.

She reached for the phone in her pocket, before freezing and letting her hand go. He won't answer now, he likely won't even see it, and it will just annoy him if he will.

Instead, she just went to the living room for a paper and a pen, scribbled a message for him to contact her when he'll come home, and put it near the screen of his TV, ensuring that he'll see it.

Finishing her interrupted journey back to her bedroom, she, after a prolonged search of her drawers, found what she was almost instinctually searching for. A pair of fishnets and long black heels, parts of her french maid costume which she wore when she wanted to be especially dirty with her sex partners.

Putting the fishnets and the long heels on, followed by a warm coat, she was finally ready to go.

As she got out of her apartment, into her car, and drove for half an hour, half-sober, into the location of the shooting, she didn't think much, except for being slightly surprised by how well she could drive in her state. But then, that could have been an illusion, maybe it was like in The Wolf Of Wall Street and she was about to have a rude awakening when she was about to look at her car sober.

"Just don't let me drive a totaled car to that shooting, please," she said to no one in particular as she was nearing the destination.

As she got out of the car, she got her first good look at the location of the shooting. A derelict, broken-looking building that looked exactly like one would imagine a recording studio built in the 80s and not once renovated since then.

"Well, that's a bummer," she thought "Guess this guy wanted to record there since he was a kid. Dunno what I expected."

She went to knock on the door three times, pushing it open when no one opened after an uncomfortably long time waiting. Inside, she stepped into a long, dimly lit hallway, with a bland, red door at the end.

"Ahhh, Miss Thompson I believe!" she heard a chipper voice call out and almost jumped in surprise. Looking in the direction of the voice, she found a small desk she didn't discover before due to the darkness of the room, with a perky, goth looking girl with multiple piercings and multicolored hair sitting behind it, her eyes locked on her, apparently waiting for an answer.

"Y-Yes," the still-surprised Mary forced out.

"Blazed is already waiting for you, I can tell you, he really liked your photo," she said sincerely "Just go, well, you can't miss it," she said as she giggled and pointed to the red door at the end of the hallway "Blazed will tell you what to do, it likely won't be much, you'll meet there with the other extras, shooting should be over in a couple of hours, then you and all the others are leaving with your checks, and that's it," she explained.

"OK. Thanks, I get it," Mary replied as she waved her goodbye and went for the red door.

The room behind the red door was also, rather unsurprisingly, red. Red walls, red carpets, red stools, the whole package. Apart from her, there were three other women there, one around her age though probably younger, the others both at least ten years younger than her, all dressed and made-up similarly to her. For some reason, she didn't like this balance of power, but on the flip side, none of them seemed anywhere near as busty as she was, so she wasn't an obvious outlier there. She sat on one of the red stools and waited with the others for what will happen.

"Was he already there?" she asked.

"Don't know, I just got there," one of the young women said, with the second older woman repeating the answer.

"No, he wasn't," the other young woman replied.

Then, the sound of a door slamming open filled the room.

"But now!" Blazed yelled as he stormed into the red room, capturing all of their gazes "I am here!"

Mary looked him up-and-down.

He looked exactly as she imagined.

A forty-something dude dressed like a teenage hipster, with annoyingly short jean shorts on his legs, sunglasses on his eyes, and tattoos seemingly all over his body. She was sure he was about her age, but he could have passed for even older, with his hair, at least what was left of it, apparently already greying and with the numerous wrinkles on his face.

"Now that Miss Thompson has come here, I believe all of us are finally here," he said, looking at Mary "Well, let's quickly get to work, we have a lot of things to go through before the shooting begins."

Mary started to get nervous. What kind of things to go through did this guy mean? It's obvious he wants them to get naked later, so what could he want now?