Mother and Son Share a Bathroom

The divorce had hit me hard, not because I still loved her, but because she took me to the cleaners. I was a clever person, and I had the academic qualifications to prove it, but I still couldn't understand why I'd been left with so little. I'd hired the best lawyers that I could afford, and I thought that they'd done a good job, but despite that, she ended up with the lion's share.

That's why, aged thirty, I was back to living with my Mother, while she was still in our luxurious marital home. It wasn't fair.

Fortunately for me, my Mother was very supportive.

"Arthur, this is just a bump in the road. You're still young. Now that you're rid of that dumb bitch you can start again, and while you're doing that you can stay here as long as you want. My home is your home."

That was sweet of her, and I appreciated her saying it, but as soon as I could get back on my feet I would be moving out. Being able to afford my own place was my top priority. And I might not have to wait too long for that to happen, because I was due a promotion at work. My boss had promised it me by the end of the year. The extra money from it would be a big help, perhaps enough for me to be able to be on my own again.

The house that I'd moved out of was big. Five bedrooms, all en-suite, and three large rooms downstairs. It was our dream house. But my Mother's place was small, and now there were two people living in it. It only had two bedrooms and one bathroom. We were going to be under each other's feet.

It was Sunday, our first day together, and we were having our evening meal. To welcome me home she'd cooked my favourite meal, steak with all the trimmings. It had been a long time since I'd had such a good home-cooked meal, so I was filling my boots.

"We're going to have to come to some arrangement for the bathroom."

What did she mean? She must have noticed my confusion, because she said more.

"We don't have the luxury of having five bathrooms, we just have one. Both of us work, so in the morning we'll be fighting over it."

She had a point, and for the next ten minutes we discussed it.

Both of us wanted it at seven thirty, and we would have it then, but only on alternate days.

"Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, are your days. The other two are mine. Are you OK with that?"

I was. Unlike my ex-wife, she'd been generous!

The first two days ran like clockwork, but on Wednesday there was a mix-up. I was in the bathroom, naked, because I was about to get into the shower, when she burst in. She was in such a hurry that she nearly collided with me.

"Sorry, I forgot you were living with me."

Then she surprised me, by looking down, and not in a subtle way. My Mother was checking me out, only briefly, but she must have had a good look at my cock, because her face was now flushed. She shouldn't have done it, but I wasn't offended. In fact, it amused me. I'm proud of what I have dangling between my legs, so I'm happy to show it off, even to my Mother!

While grinning, I said, "You can shower with me if you want."

I was only joking, and she knew it. It made her giggle, and that was nice to hear.

In the afternoon, while I was at work, surprisingly, I managed to get some free time. I made myself a coffee and then I put my feet up. I had a lot to think about. Top of the list was trying to understand why it had all gone wrong.

Three years ago, after meeting Candy, I was in heaven. She was a waitress in a topless bar, and it was obvious that she'd been hired for her two impressive assets. Her magnificent breasts. For me, it was love at first sight. Six months later we were married.

At first, it was wonderful. Our life together was perfect. The sex was amazing, and we did it at every opportunity, sometimes even twice a day. But then we started to argue, mostly over trivial things. Over time, the arguments got more heated, and eventually they became nasty. It wasn't unusual for a week to pass without us speaking to each other. The sex, that had once been regular, was almost non-existent, and when we did do it, it wasn't worth the effort. That's when we'd talked seriously about divorcing. It wasn't a long conversation.

We should never have married, because we weren't compatible. My Mother had told me that soon after I'd met Candy, but I'd refused to believe her, probably because her big tits had mesmerised me. It was laughable. I now realized that I hadn't married her because I was in love with her, and that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, I'd married her because her bra size was off the scale!

If only she was more like my darling Mother. Not physically, but with her personality.

They couldn't be more different in appearance, though my Mother still had a respectable pair of tits. Candy was tall, with exaggerated curves, but my Mother was small, and her curves were subtle. However, both were attractive, and you'd have difficulty finding a woman that was more beautiful than them.

And they had very different personalities. With only one of them being desirable, my Mother's.

Candy is self-centred, always wanting her own way. She often acts like a spoiled child. My Mother is the complete opposite, always putting others first, sometimes more than she should. And she is always calm, whereas Candy is quick to anger. Living with her wasn't easy, and the last few months before we separated, were a nightmare.

Yes, if only she was more like my Mother, then we'd still be married!

That evening, our meal was simpler, but it was still highly enjoyable. I was beginning to appreciate that there were some advantages to living with my Mother. The food was definitely one of them.

After finishing off a second helping, I patted my stomach, and then I loudly declared that I was stuffed. That made her laugh. Then I remembered what had happened this morning.

"At the weekend I'm going to put a lock on the bathroom door. That should solve the problem."

As promised, I did do that, and I was pleased with myself. It hadn't been easy, and there'd been a lot of swearing, but eventually I'd managed it. However, it only works if you remember to turn the key!

It was a Friday night and I'd just returned home after spending a few hours in the pub with my mates. I was desperate to use the toilet. I'd unzipped myself as I was rushing up the stairs, and when I entered the bathroom I was already pulling it out. When I saw her I stopped dead in my tracks. I was startled but she was composed.

After pointing to what I had in my hand, she cheekily declared, "Is that all for me?"

While she was laughing at her own joke, I said, "Sorry I can't wait."

I only just got to the toilet in time, then, with her only in her underwear, and with her eyes looking where they shouldn't, I had a long satisfying piss. When I'd finished, I tugged on it to get rid of the drops.

While I was out with my friends I'd had more beers than I would normally have. I wasn't drunk, but I was tipsy. And that was my excuse for what I did next.

A couple of tugs was enough. The python was now drained, but I didn't stop there, and while I was continuing to do it, I turned to the side so that she could get a better look. I had to smile. Rather than look away, her eyes were fixed on it. The drink had made me mischievous, and I was waiting for her to make another funny remark, but she wasn't saying anything. Then the inevitable happened. It started to grow, and at an alarming rate. I tried to stop it, but it had a mind of its own.

If I'd had a pound for every time my hand had been on my cock in that way, then I'd be rich, perhaps even a millionaire! So I should have known that this was going to happen, but it still surprised me.

When I quickly removed my hand, it didn't stop, the blood continued to flow into it. I looked at her. She was wide-eyed, and she was even licking her lips. That shocked me. I hadn't expected her to react in that way.

The look on her face said it all, my Mother wanted my cock!

I turned my back on her, and then I said, "I'm going to have to add another bathroom to this house."

She replied, but only after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"You could, or I could just remember to lock the door."

The next day we had breakfast together. I thought that she might say something about what had happened in the bathroom, perhaps make a joke of it, but nothing was said. And that was probably for the best.

I think of myself as being clever, but now I'm not so sure, because it took me several days to realize what was going on. The signs weren't subtle, and there were a lot of them, but for some reason, that I was struggling to understand, I'd missed them. How could I have been so stupid?

My Mother was coming onto me!

While we were having breakfast she always wears a dressing gown. It used to be fastened tightly, but now it's always loose. So what's wrong with that? Nothing, if she didn't keep leaning over when she was near to me. In the last few days I've seen more of her breasts than I should have. And the bra that's covering them is always small, so there's a lot of cleavage being displayed. Until now I hadn't given it much thought.

If it was just that, then it could be thought of as innocent, but there was more.

When you drop something you bend over to pick it up. That's what my Mother did when we were together, because a cup had slipped out of her hand. However, she didn't need to bend over as far as she had, and to stay like that for such a long time. Her dress had been short, and her legs were far enough apart so that I'd got a bird's-eye view of her most intimate area. I could have looked away, but I was weak-willed. I was enjoying the view of my Mother's pussy, covered by a skimpy pair of panties, so much, that I couldn't take my eyes off it. That was OK at the time, because I'd thought that she hadn't known that she was exposed, and that I was seeing so much. But now I knew differently. She'd put on a show for me.

Bending over deliberately in an inappropriate way was a one-off. But her making innuendos, wasn't.

"We should have an early night."

I'd taken it at face value. We'd done that, going to our own bedroom, but had she really wanted us to be in the same bed?

"Enough for you?"

It had been said when she was handing me my breakfast, and while her dressing gown was open. It was just after she'd glanced down at her exposed breasts, so I knew that was what she was referring too. I'd smiled, because I'd thought that it was a joke. Now I wasn't so sure. And to answer her question, it was a firm yes. They weren't the twin peaks that Candy had, but they were indeed enough for me, and if she wasn't my Mother then my hands, and mouth, would have been all over them.

"A woman needs more meat than that to fill her up. A lot more."

For a change, I'd cooked a meal, my famous sausages and mash. If she wanted more then she could have it. I gave her another sausage. At the time it went over my head. Now it was obvious. She was telling me that her pussy liked a big cock!

And there was one that was just too much, and that was the one that had tipped me off to what she was doing.

We were together, and I was in a melancholy mood. My life was at a low and I couldn't see it getting any better. I thought that a stiff whisky would make me feel better. It didn't, if anything, it made me feel worse.

"I'm never going to find a woman. Somebody who can make me happy."

I got a big smile from her, and then, to cheer me up, she said, "You don't need anybody else, you have me."

She was as good a Mother as a Son could ever wish for, and I loved her dearly, but there were some things that she couldn't do for me. She couldn't keep me warm at night while we were in bed together. And as for anything sexual, that was out of the question because we were Mother and Son. Then she said more, and that's when the penny dropped.

"I'm willing to do anything for you to make you happy. And when I say anything, I mean ANYTHING."

Now that I knew what her intentions were, what should I do? It was a difficult subject, one that needed to be handled gently, with tact. And I would deal with it, but I'd wait a while longer. Hopefully, she would stop of her own accord, and so I wouldn't have to have that difficult conversation.

Three days later I breathed a huge sigh of relief. During that time she had behaved herself. Thankfully, it was over. But I soon found out that it wasn't. However, it might have been, if I hadn't forgotten to lock the bathroom door!

When it was the weekend we had no fixed time for using the bathroom. If it was unoccupied then it was yours. On the Saturday I was up early because I was playing tennis with my good friend Liam.

I was at the sink, brushing my teeth, when I heard footsteps behind me. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I quickly turned around. My Mother was there, and she was grinning.

"Sorry, but the door was open."

It was my fault, but there was no need for her to sneak up on me.

"Aren't you going to give your Mother a kiss?"

I'd sometimes do that when I returned home from work, but never in the morning. And when I did, she was always fully clothed. Now she was just in her underwear. A small bra, and an even smaller pair of panties.

"I'm waiting."

She was, with her chest thrust out so that I could have a good look at her tits. They looked as if they were going to burst out of her bra. Could a bra be any smaller than the one she was wearing? Probably not. It was only just covering her nipples.

When I kissed her it was a quick peck on the cheek. Her frown told me that I hadn't done it properly.

After giving a deep sigh, she said, "You can do better than that."

I was going to have to do it again. When I did, it was in the same place as before, but this time it was for longer. And before I could finish, she surprised me, by putting her arms around my waist and pulling me close to her.

"It feels good having a man hold me tight."

It was her that was doing all the holding, but to make her happy I joined in. My arms were now around her as well. I'll admit that it also felt good being so close to her. She was twenty years older than me, and she was my Mother, but to my cock she was just a woman, and she was desirable.

When it started to grow I could easily have ended our embrace. She was holding me tight, but I was a lot stronger than her. I would have had no trouble getting free. However, Instead, I didn't move away. But my hands did move, down towards her bottom. When she did the same to me, I knew that we were playing a dangerous game.

Her big breasts were tight against my chest, and I could see them heaving because she was excited. And she would know that I was also aroused because my cock was poking into her. The time to stop was now, but we didn't. For both of us, it wasn't an option.

When I moved my right leg, so that I could put it between her legs, she helped me by moving her feet. I rewarded her by pushing it against her crotch. That got a low moan from her. Hearing it sent a surge of excitement through my body.

My leg was still, and she was grinding her pussy against it. And my hands that were on her bottom, were fondling it. It had been a long time since I'd been as excited as I was now.

Then suddenly, without any warning, she stopped.

"Oh no!"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her body went rigid. The expression on her face said pain, but I knew that it was really pleasure. When it was over she was unsteady on her feet, and I had to hold her up.

"I'm OK, I was just feeling a bit dizzy."

When I released her she stepped back, and then, for what seemed like minutes, but what was only seconds, we locked eyes. Both of us not knowing what to say next.

I broke the silence by saying, "I'm going to be late for my tennis match with Liam."

As I was leaving the bathroom, her parting words were, "I know that you're going to win."

But she was wrong. I didn't just lose, he thrashed me. It was a humiliating defeat. My worst one ever. The last set was six love, and I'd only managed to win two games in the first one. I couldn't concentrate, all I could think about was my Mother. I was a loving Son, and over the years I'd done lots of things for her, but that was the first time that I'd made her come!

"Arthur, are you OK? Today I could have beaten you with my eyes closed."

"Sorry, next time I'll give you a better match."

If it wasn't for guilt then the world would be a lot more enjoyable. You could indulge yourself, by doing things that you shouldn't do, and afterwards there would be no anxiety. Guilt was created to make us behave. And on my way home I was wallowing in it.

Yes, I'd enjoyed it, but it was wrong. She was my Mother, so she could never be my lover. That was the ultimate taboo. By the time I was parking the car outside our house, I'd made a decision. I was going to put a stop to it. And to help me to do that, I was going to be more careful when using the bathroom.

However, when I entered the house and I saw her, my resolve was tested. She was now fully dressed, but in a provocative way. The top three buttons of her top were open and her skirt was extremely short. When the knife 'accidentally' slipped from her hand, I had to leave the room. Staying, and watching her bend over while she slowly picked it up, would be too much for me. I'd be unable to keep my hands off her.

For the rest of the day I kept away from her, spending most of the time in my room. And she must have got the message, because the next day, while we were having breakfast together, her dressing gown wasn't loose. And there were no more suggestive remarks from her. I could relax. It was over. We'd shared an intimate moment, one that would never be repeated. It had been enjoyable, but eventually it would become a distant memory.

This time it wasn't my fault, and it also wasn't hers. It was the person who'd made the lock. They should have done a better job.

If I hadn't been in such a hurry, because I had another tennis match and I was running late, then I wouldn't have put so much force on the handle to make it open quickly. But even so, something inside it shouldn't have snapped. I was going to complain to the manufacturer.

When she saw me she was shocked.

"I locked the door."

"You did, but I've just broken it."

I was annoyed, I'd have to fit another lock. But this time I'd buy a better quality one.

She'd just come out of the shower and she was drying herself. The towel that was wrapped around her was only covering her top half, so her body from the waist down was exposed. When I looked down I could see her bush, and surprisingly, it was wild.

When she realized that I was looking at it, she grinned mischievously, and then she spoke.

"It's out of control. It needs a good trim."

I nodded. Candy always kept hers neat and tidy. She should as well.

"Will you please do it for me?"

It took me a few seconds to understand what she wanted me to do. I'd done it lots of times for Candy, but that was different, we were married. And every time that I'd done it for her, it had always ended with my fingers deep up her pussy and my tongue furiously lapping on her clit.

"No, you're my Mother."

The look I got from her told me that she thought the fact that we were related, was irrelevant. But it wasn't, even if I didn't touch her pussy, I would be seeing it close up, and therefore in great detail, and that would be crossing a line. A line that I wasn't willing to cross.

The frown I could ignore, and that was the same when she pouted a couple of times. The look of disappointment was challenging, but I wasn't going to change my mind. However, the single tear that fell onto her cheek was a game changer. It was just too much for me. It broke my heart.

I would do it for her. A trim, and nothing else. Hopefully, I had the willpower to stick to that.