tagIncest/TabooLacey's Story Pt. 02

Lacey's Story Pt. 02


I took a nice, long, hot bath when I got back home that afternoon. Lots of bubbles, candles, some soft music. My body and soul were aching and tired. My jaws hurt, my back, my bottom, smarting from my whipping and sore from my orgasms as I tend to clench when I cum. I lay in the tub and had a good cry and all the while I could not chase from my mind the sight of Gretchen sitting at Michael's feet, and how intensely she watched his cock slide in and out of his mother's pussy. What a very nasty girl my son had met at college! I mean, what kind of person would demand to see such a thing and go to such daring and desperate lengths to see it? A degenerate. A pervert and sicko. You don't live to be my age without learning such people exist in the world, the kind of people who indulge in the most shocking and disgusting kind of perversions. In my church, we had a word for it and that word was evil. Pure and simple. Gretchen was wicked. And what had happened today only bound Michael tighter to her. She knew his terrible secret and could hold it over him forever. Soaking in the warm bath, I wept not for myself but for my son. Poor Michael. What was a mother to do?

I called him the next day to make sure he was okay.

"I'm okay," he said unconvincingly.

"Now, Michael, this is your mother you're talking to. You can tell me anything."

He took a deep breath. "She keeps asking when we're going to do it again. It's all she talks about."

"Oh, my. What did you tell her?"

"That yesterday was a one time thing, Mom. I don't have any interested in putting on a show for my girlfriend."

"Have you thought about her not being your girlfriend? I'm sure there are other, nicer and prettier girls who would love . . ."

"Come on, Mom. You know I'm really shy. It took me a month just to get up the nerve to ask her out."

"Michael, you know the last thing I would ever do is meddle in your life, but I'm just not sure Gretchen is the right girl for you."

"Right. Because according to you there's only one girl who's right for me."

I was genuinely puzzled. "Who?"

He laughed. "You, Mom."

I blushed. "There are girls, my darling, and then there is your mother. Two different things."

"Yeah." He sighed. "That's the problem, I guess."

I felt so badly for him that I wanted to jump in my car and race to his dorm just to hold him, stroke his hair, tell him that everything would be all right. He seemed so far away and he needed the comfort and love only a mother can provide. I simply ached for him.

"I would just ignore it when she brings it up. Change the subject," I advised him. "Put her off. Eventually she'll drop it, when she realizes you aren't interested."

He agreed to try, but I could tell he wasn't convinced. Neither was I. But I knew I couldn't interfere. That's a mistake too many parents make, rushing in to fix their kids' problems when what their kids need is space to figure it out on their own. That's my philosophy anyway. Otherwise, how will they ever truly grow up?

Hubby noticed my distress. That surprised me. He usually didn't notice anything having to do with me.

"Oh, it's nothing," I said. "A little headache."

"Hmm." Then back to his stupid cop show.

That night I had the most vivid dream. There was a great crowd of people in the middle of this muddy field, gathered around a kind of bullring, and in the center of the ring was Michael with a long, thin cane, and he was smacking that cane against the back of my legs as I tried to get away, but the crowd pressed in from all sides, laughing and jeering and pointing at me. I was completely naked and covered in mud, ugly red welts on my calves and thighs and buttocks where Michael had struck me. The crowd cheered with each blow, clapping and whistling and urging Michael on. I woke up drenched in sweat and extremely aroused. I put my fingers between my legs and rubbed my aching clit. Oh, I was covered from head to toe in that filthy mud and it stung so badly when Michael popped me with that cane! And all those people, men and women, pointing at me and laughing. What could it mean?

After I orgasmed, I began to drift off to sleep again. My mind wandered from the dream to the shopping mall. There I was with Michael. We were holding hands like any normal couple, laughing and talking, watching people as one does in malls, and they were watching us and whispering what an attractive couple we were. I had dressed my best for the outing, my highest heels, my lowest cut dress, my long hair piled atop my head, the way Michael likes it. We went into a couple of stores, browsing the lingerie racks, and I giggled like a young girl at the naughty little outfits. Neither of us was aware how aroused we were until we sat in the food court and our eyes met. Michael leaned forward and kissed me, right on the mouth, right there in the middle of the food court. I pushed him gently back into his chair and told him how inappropriate he was behaving and he needed to wait until we got home, where he could do anything he liked with me. He told me he didn't feel like waiting and with no further ado pulled the straps off my shoulders and hauled my dress down, exposing my breasts for all the mall to see. I sat there in complete shock. What did my son think he was doing? I started to pull the dress back up to hide my naked breasts, but Michael ordered me to stop, so I stopped. I waited for the mall police to rush in and arrest me for indecent exposure, but it didn't happen. Instead, people went on about their business as if it was the most natural thing in the world for a son to expose his mother in the food court on a Wednesday afternoon. Michael dragged his chair around to sit right beside me. I looked down and gasped. He had pulled his hard penis from his pants. His eyes told me what he'd like; he didn't need to say the words. His strong fingers caressed the back of my neck and he only had to apply the slightest of pressure and I lowered my head and licked the head of his cock. A man sitting across the court stood up for a better view, and then he slowly started to clap, and soon other people were standing and they were clapping too and softly calling encouragement. I sucked my son until he came hard in my mouth. By that point, several hundred people had gathered around our table. A young woman smiled at me when I sat up, Michael's cum shining on my bruised lips. She nodded her approval. She walked over to me and kissed me, right on the lips! Then I felt her tongue push into my mouth to taste Michael's seed and my head swam with the delicate aroma of her perfume. After our kiss, this beautiful young woman told me how lucky I was to have such a well-endowed son, and what a lucky couple we were to have each other. It was so vivid! So real!

I thought about my dream and the strange, semi-conscious fantasy for several days afterwards. What did they mean?

I talked to Michael that weekend. I waited until his father had fallen asleep in front of the TV and snuck off into our bedroom for some privacy.

"What are you doing next week?" I asked him.

"Going to class. I'm in college, Mom, remember?"

"What about Wednesday afternoon? Around noon, at that same hotel."

He didn't say anything.

"I need to see you, Michael."

"I know, Mom. I understand, but I got a ton of stuff going on right now."

"I understand. Of course."

"What? Are you mad at me?"

"No. I just miss you. Just . . . hoping that you missed me . . . a little."

"You know I miss you, Mom."

"Are you sure, honey? About the hotel? I could wear something special for you. Anything you like . . . or nothing at all." I giggled like a school-girl.

"You really are nasty, you know that, Mom?"

"I just miss my handsome young man. I miss . . . everything." It was on the tip of my tongue, my story about the dream and the strange fantasy about the mall. But I just couldn't bring myself to tell him. What would he think of me, having dreams and thoughts like that? "Your father doesn't know how to use me like you do, Michael."

"I know."

"Oh, he uses me to relieve himself, the way he uses a toilet."

"Okay, that's a little too much information, okay?"

"It's true, though. He doesn't know how to properly use a woman for his pleasure, how to make her his . . . his possession. You possess me, Michael."

"Have you thought about maybe having an affair? You know, maybe somebody around my age that you could, um, teach how to use you?"

I became very angry. "What?! I'm shocked you would even suggest such a thing! Dear Lord, Michael, what kind of woman do you think I am? I'm not some . . . some cougar looking to get laid by some random young stud. I am a Christian woman who believes in the sanctity of marriage."

"Okay, okay, jeez, it was just a suggestion."

"Well, don't you ever talk to me like that again. I am your mother, after all."

He was breathing heavily into the phone. I thought I had made him angry for chiding him. But Michael wasn't angry.

"God, I'm so fucking turned on right now," he growled into my ear. "If you were here . . ."

"Yes, Michael? If I was there what?"

"I'd take you over my knee . . ."

"And . . .?"

"Spank the living hell out of you. Spank you so hard you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week."

I sighed. "Oh, Michael. Oh, my baby."

"When did you say? Wednesday? Yeah. Okay. Right. Okay, I'll be there."

My heart leapt. I had trouble catching my breath. "Just you? I want it to be just the two of us."

"Yeah. Just me."

"And my outfit? What would you like your mother to wear for you?"

"Surprise me," he said gruffly and hung up.

Oh, did that week drag by! I went shopping on Monday. I wanted to find just the perfect thing for him, something that would please him, make him dream about me later. Make him look at that wretched Gretchen and compare her flat-chested body to his mother's. Something to accentuate my breasts and hips but that also showed off my long legs. Michael adored my legs. Should I go elegant or slutty? Provocative or demur? Was less more? Or should I leave a little to the imagination? Choices, choices! One of the loveliest encounters we'd ever had was the time I wore a pair of white thigh-highs, pale lavender stilettos, and a push-up bra. After my whipping, he dragged me into the bathroom and took me from behind while I watched him pounding me mercilessly in the mirror. His young face was so beautiful, the way his lips twisted with uncontained lust. We cuddled on the bed for a long time after that encounter, curled up in each other's arms, and Michael gently stroked my burning bottom, our legs entwined. It still made me tingle to think of that.

I finally decided to go against expectations I thought he may have for the outfit. I picked up a short, sheer, lacy little white nightie, a bit young and girlish and a bit too small. My breasts stretched the material very tight and my bottom was half-exposed. I almost didn't buy it, but looking at myself in the mirror made my breath short and my nipples very hard. It aroused me to wear it. I hoped it would arouse him to see me aroused in it.

The morning of our rendezvous, I took a nice long bath, shaved my legs and pussy (Michael preferred me hairless), and took extra time applying my make-up.

I was at the hotel promptly at noon, wearing the nightie beneath my dress. I didn't want to change in that filthy place. God knows what kind of sick practices went on there. Honestly, it never fails to shock me the perversions otherwise normal people will commit. I also thought it would be nice to treat Michael to a slow, sensuous strip-tease. I had tried that once and he had rammed me so hard I had trouble walking afterwards.

He opened the door before I could even knock. He must have been pressing his eager little eye against the peephole. His arm shot out, his fingers locked around my wrist, and he pulled me roughly inside and slammed the door. It was a bright day, and for a moment I couldn't see anything in the darkened room. Michael cupped my face in his hands and gave me a long, lingering kiss.

"Hi, Mom." He hugged me tight. Oh, it felt so nice to be in his arms again! He was so strong, so powerful, and the thought that all this strength and power had come from inside me filled me with joy and a fierce, maternal pride.

I glanced over his shoulder at the bed. It was empty. I looked around the room. No Gretchen in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God! He would have me all to himself. It would be just like old times.

"You look beautiful," he said.

"Why, thank you, kind sir," I murmured demurely.

"Is that a new shade of lipstick?" he asked. How sweet of him to notice.

He flopped onto the bed. He had already taken off his shirt. He was wearing just his skinny jeans, barefooted. He looked so sexy, one arm thrown over his head, a man in the prime of his youth, dark eyes alight with desire. I cannot think of anything more exciting than a man looking at me with such naked lust. I slowly peeled out of my dress, turning this way and that as I wiggled free to reveal the nightie. That familiar ache and tingle had already begun. I was a bit nervous about the nightie. I wanted him to like it as much as I did. The thought that he might be disappointed mortified me.

"Well?" I asked, gathering my long, dark hair over my head and giving my son a sexy pout. "What do you think of your ol' mom?"

"Oh. My. God." He whispered. "You look amazing in that."

"Do you think so, baby?" I turned around, showing him my bare rump, running my hand down my ass cheek and giving him a coquettish glance over my shoulder. "Do you think your momma looks pretty in this naughty little thing?"

A sound reverberated through the thin walls. Someone flushing the toilet in the next room, I thought. You can hear every little sound in these cheap hotels. But it wasn't the toilet next door, because the next thing I knew the bathroom door open and a stranger stepped into the room.

He was young, around Michael's age, on the shorter side, a bit slight of frame with a mop of dirty blond hair and a rather pinched face. He was wearing jeans and an old T-shirt. I cried out and covered myself immediately with my arms across my chest. I yanked my dress from the table beside the door and draped it over my front.

"Michael!" I cried.

"Oh, sorry, Mom. Mom, this is Gary. Gary, this is my mom, Lacey."

"Hi, Mrs. Coleman," Gary said, dropping his eyes shyly. His face was beet red, as if he was embarrassed to walk in on us like this.

I looked over at Michael. What the dickens is going on? Michael cleared his throat.

"So I have to tell you something, Mom."

"I guess you do!"

"Gretchen kind of let it slip to Gary about, um, about our relationship or whatever, and one thing led to another . . ."

"I won't tell anyone, I swear!" Gary blurted out. "I just wanted to . . ."

"At first I said no way," Michael said. "Find your kicks somewhere else. I swear that's what I said, Mom. But Gary's promised . . ."

"I'm not going to do anything," Gary interrupted. "I just want to . . ."

"Watch," Michael finished for him. "He wants to watch us, Mom. That's all. He won't touch you. I told him if he touches you, I'll kill him."

"But why would anyone want to watch such a thing?" I wondered. It seemed the worst kind of perversion.

"Tell her, Gary." But Gary kept his mouth shut, blushing furiously and staring at the floor. Michael sighed and went on, "Gary has this thing for his mom. Since puberty. Spying on in the shower, hiding in her closet while she got dressed. They never did anything, ever, but . . ."

"She doesn't know," Gary said. "She'd kill me if she ever found out."

"At first he was like, I'll hide somewhere in the room, Mike. She'll never know I was there. But that's unfair to you, Mom. I would never let a friend spy on you like that. That's . . . that's sick, you know?"

"It's very sick," I said. "I'm disgusted by the very thought!"

"I just . . ." Michael shrugged. "I don't know. I feel sorry for him. Don't you feel sorry for him, Mom? I mean, he's never gonna know what it's like, what it's really like to be with his mom. It's pitiful, you know?"

"And I swear it's just this one time, Mrs. Coleman," Gary put in. "I won't tell anyone. I swear on my life I won't."

"I don't understand," I said to Michael. "Why did Gretchen tell this person?"

"I guess because the bitch just can't keep a secret."

"Don't call her by that name," I scolded him. "You know I don't like that."

Well, now I was in some kind of pickle! The idea of this college boy watching Michael play with me did not appeal to me at all. It was deeply embarrassing. I am not one to indulge in such kinky behavior as I consider myself pretty average as far as sexual adventuring goes. Then another thought occurred to me, and I said to Michael, "How far does this go? Who else did she tell?"

Michael shrugged. "When I found out about Gary, I made her swear not to tell anyone else. But what can I do, Mom?"

Well, I didn't know the answer to that question, but I certainly knew what I was going to do! I flicked a finger at Gary and said to him, "Turn around, young man."

He complied at once, and I quickly slipped my dress over the nightie.

"You might have told me about this two days ago, Michael," I said angrily. "Not spring something on me in the moment."

"Would you still have come?" he asked.

"Of course not! What kind of mother do you think I am? I am not going to display myself for my son's friends and I am no sex-show worker. I am your mother. This is a very disrespectful act, and I'm not sure what I'm going to do about it." For reasons I still do not understand, suddenly the image of the muddy bullring popped into my head. All those people laughing and cheering. And then the lovely young girl in the mall food court, kissing me, tasting Michael on my tongue, telling me what a wonderful mother I was.

"Look, I said I was sorry," Michael said. He still had not moved from the bed, which hurt my feelings a bit. I expected more from him, to get up and try in some way to soothe me. Perhaps he didn't realize how truly upsetting this was. "Maybe you should get out of your own head a little and think about Gary's feelings."

I was shocked. "Why in the world would I think about his feelings?"

"He'll never know, Mom. Gary is going to live the rest of his life and never know what we have, the thing he wants the most he can never have. Think about that."

From across the room, Gary said, "I can't even get it up with other girls."

"You hear that, Mom? Jesus, how pitiful is that? He's got it so bad for his mom he can't even get it up. Man, when I heard that, it blew my mind."

"That is quite bad," I said. It was truly a terrible thing for anyone to confess, especially to a mother and her son who enjoyed the carnal pleasures. "Perhaps you should date older women, Gary. Find someone who reminds you of your mother."

Gary said to Michael, "See, I told you she'd say no. It's no good, Mike." He looked at me with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Coleman. This was a stupid idea. It was very nice to meet you and I hope you and Michael have a very happy life together. It's something most guys my age only dream about, and Michael has it."

He looked so lost, so young and vulnerable, humiliated in front of his friend and his mother. I truly did feel sorry for him. Michael was right: I needed to get out of my head more and stop thinking so much about myself. This boy was clearly in agony and there was nothing underhanded or sneaky in his attitude. He would never have his mother the way Michael had me and all he asked was a little peek, a slight indulgence, a way to live out his fantasy vicariously through us. The idea of him watching us really did nothing for me, but perhaps not everything needed to be about me.

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