Mother Changed Her Mind

Mother Changed Her Mind

By

Promithius

One Saturday morning about eighteen months ago, whilst tidying up my son's bedroom, and collecting his laundry, I noticed he had left his computer on. Normally I wouldn't have taken much notice, but something caught my eye. The screen looked as though it was displaying a document, and when I looked more closely, there was a line of upper case letters which said. "COME AND FUCK ME". I couldn't believe it, so I carried on reading. The part of the document I read suggested that a son was seducing his mother. Curiosity got the better of me, resulting in me sitting at my son's desk and scrolling back to the beginning of the document. Not before checking the page number, and position of the last line of text being displayed on the screen, so that I could return the screen to its original position.

The document, which referred to the incestuous relationship between mother and son, was un-titled and without the authors name. It began with a mother tidying up her son's bedroom. According to the story, the forty three year old woman named Eva had been divorced for seven years. She was an extremely attractive natural blonde, with an hour glass figure, and magnificent breasts. The story's text didn't actually use the word breast, it used a more derogatory term. The woman's description fitted me exactly. Only my name, Laura, had been changed. I assumed Mark, my son, was writing the story using my description for his character.

The mother in the story, whilst tidying up her son bedroom opened his night stand drawer and discovered a manuscript, beneath which she found a box of condoms. I open the drawer in Mark's night stand, half expecting to find a manuscript, but there wasn't one, there was however, a box of condoms. Mark at that point was twenty two and had just finished college. I always knew he was a careful and responsible person and obviously had been practicing safe sex with his lady friends at college. I opened the box expecting to find some of its contents missing. But it was full, and when I counted them they were all there.

Suddenly my legs began to tremble, they felt weak as if they were unable to support me. Sitting on the side of Mark's bed I was trying to understand why I was experiencing such feelings and why Mark would be writing incestuous stories. What was he thinking? Mark had obviously forgotten to turn his PC off. But had he? He knew I would be tidying up his room and collecting his clothes from the laundry basket. So had he left his PC on, with his story deliberately displayed on the screen, expecting me to read it? If I turn his PC off then he will know I've seen the story, not necessarily read it though. If I leave his PC on, he can't be sure whether I've seen the story or not.

I moved back to sit at his desk and continued to read the story. Much to my surprise Mark wrote himself into the story. It was only when he described himself, and kept his same name that I realized that my son was having sexual thoughts and lusting after Eva, his fictitious mother. As I continued to read, I wondered if his sexual feelings and fantasies were directed towards me, and was he transferring his feelings for me, into his story. I was really upset, in fact disgusted that he could even think about having sexual relations with me. The mother character in Mark's story also realized that her son had sexual feelings towards her, but unlike me, at some time in the past, she had openly admitted to her son, that she was lonely, having been without male companionship for so long.

Over the following month, the mother in the story couldn't get it off her mind that her son was physically attracted to her. The fact that he, a man, lusted after her body only increased her loneliness, causing her to become sexually frustrated. At night she began to caress her own body, fantasizing that a stranger had broken in, and crept into bed with her, with every intention of using her body to satisfy himself. Over time her fantasy changed whereby she was no longer visited by the stranger, but instead visited by her son, who lies beside her kissing and caressing her body. Her fantasy develops that her son begins to undress her, slipping the shoulder straps of her silk nightgown down her arms before forcefully removing her nightgown, allowing him to caress and kiss her naked body.

The story took a turn, when on the morning of her birthday her son came down stairs carrying a bunch of flowers and a card. She watched as he placed both on the table in front of where she sat to eat breakfast. Wandering over to where Eva was preparing breakfast, put his arms around her waist, pulled her close and kissed her on the neck, after which he wished her happy birthday. Eva was surprised because her son was not normally that affectionate. She knew he loved her, in a motherly sort of way, but kissing was just not his thing, not with her anyway. She thanked him for the flowers and card and kissed him back, quickly on the lips. To celebrate her birthday he asked her out, having reserved a table for Saturday night at a local restaurant.

Saturday night when she was finally ready to leave, her son complemented her on her outfit, although secretly he would have preferred her to look a little younger, wearing something more modern and revealing. Arm in arm he escorted her to his car, opened the door then waited until she was settled before assisting her with the seat belt, ensuring the back of his hand brushed across her breasts. When Mark had settled himself in the driver's seat he reach across to check that his mother's door was closed, at the same time pressing his arm against her breasts.

After their meal they sat there talking and listening to the music as a small band played for the few dancers on the small dance floor. Eva asked Mark to dance, Mark declined making the excuse that he couldn't dance. Eva begged him, stating that it was her birthday they were celebrating, Mark relented, stood up and held his hand out for Eva to take. As they danced more people crowded on the floor causing couples to be pushed closer together. Eva thought she could feel Mark becoming aroused and confirmed the fact by rubbing up against him. She could see that Mark was embarrassed but she just smiled at him and maintained her closeness to him.

When they arrived home Mark followed his mother up the stairs, before entering her bedroom Eva kissed her son on the lips, thanked him for a wonderful evening, before quickly disappearing into her room. Lying In bed Eva thought about her son and the evening, especially the part on the dance floor when he became aroused. She especially enjoyed the part where they danced close and rubbing up against him to prove to herself that he had an erection. The way her son reacted as they danced together only confirmed Eva's thoughts that her son was sexually attracted to her.

As I continued to read, the story starts to become more erotic, because up until that point everything was supposition, but now the fictitious Eva begins to pleasure herself whilst thinking about her son. With one hand she starts to caress and squeeze her breast and sometimes her nipple. With the other hand she slowly pulls her nightgown up to waist level then slips her hand down between her legs. The story became very explicit at this point. Eva gradually slips two fingers inside her body to pleasure herself. She reaches a point where she is so aroused she screams "COME AND FUCK ME" just before she orgasms.

Eva lies perfectly still, recuperating, her heart beating fast, concerned that her son may have heard her cry out and come to investigate, thinking his mother may be in some form of distress. Several minutes later Eva removes her fingers from her body and slides them into her mouth fantasizing that she is sucking the semen from her son's manhood. That's putting it nicely, because the language in Mark's story is far more colorful than I could ever use. To be quite honest I'm deeply shocked and disgusted that he could commit such language to a story, albeit to paper or on his PC.

Over the next few weeks Eva becomes more obsessed with her son's feelings for her and begins to notice how he watches her. Any time they are in close proximity she notices he keeps looking at her breasts. Sometime when she catches their reflections in a mirror, Mark will be staring at her butt, although she said it seems to be more common when she was wearing a tight pencil skirt. Wearing her tightest pencil skirt she posed in front of her bedroom mirror trying to establish what he was looking at. The only thing she noticed was the impression the seams of her panties made in her skirt. Was that it, did he have a thing about panty lines? On other occasions she would catch him trying to look up her skirt.

Eva began to enjoy the attention her son was giving her and therefore to make it more interesting for them both, she began to perform for him. She wore her pencil skirts more often and would find some excuse to bend over somewhere close to him giving him a close up view of her panty line. She began to leave the top two buttons of her blouse undone giving Mark a restricted view of her upper breast and cleavage. Occasionally he would get a glimpse of the top of her bra allowing him to know what color lingerie she was wearing. Sometime her skirt rode up as she sat down, giving him a brief look as far up her legs as the top of her stockings.

She began to look on the internet for sexy clothing. Her first purchase was a black open lace bra and panty set, which when worn left nothing to the imagination. Eva's intention, when she was sure that her son would respond to her, was to walk into his bedroom wearing just the bra and panties and stand in front of him to see his reaction.

At this point the unfinished story ended abruptly.

As I sat there thinking about Mark's story, and Eva's reaction to her sons feelings towards her, and the possibility that my son may have the same feelings towards me. Or is it all the same thing? Is it just one story part fiction, part fact with Mark seeing me as Eva? I began to feel the dampness between my legs and realized that I was partially aroused, a sensation that I hadn't felt for a long time. I scrolled the document back to its original position on the screen where I first found it, gathered up the laundry and continued with my chores.

As the days past I found it very difficult to stop thinking about Mark's story. At first I was disgusted with him writing on such an insensitive subject using such crude language. His father never spoke like that, maybe because he was not that sexual, which in some way may have been my fault, because I did not really encourage him. I've always tried to maintain a normal close relationship with my son, but after reading his story it was always going to be awkward and called for a great amount of pretense on my part.

Time is a great healer, but it's still surprising just how quickly the mind accepts the unacceptable, and finds ways to make excuses to justify them. In my case just two weeks after reading Marks story I began to blame Eva, calling her a slut for influencing Mark sexually, and using course language in his story. My reasoning was her bending down in front of him showing off her panty line and undoing the top buttons on her blouse to show off the top of her breasts. Looking back it's ridiculous to blame a fictional character for perverting my son, but that was my thinking at the time.

Looking back I think I was jealous, because I began wonder that if I copied Eva by wearing tight pencil skirts and leaving the top buttons on my blouse undone, perhaps Mark would transfer his affection to me. But then I realized he would know that I was reading his story. We had now reached a point whereby every time I went into Marks bedroom I would check to see if his computer was on, wondering if he had added to his story. I convinced myself that I didn't need to buy pencil skirts but I could leave a couple of buttons on my blouse undone just to see Mark's reaction. Well he did react, he made it obvious that he was staring at my open blouse, and when I caught his eye he would just smile and glance away.

The novelty of Mark checking me out and ogling the little of my breasts he could see, lasted a couple of weeks, he soon lost interest. Several weeks later I was window shopping in the mall when I noticed a display of pencil skirts. Even though I entered the shop to check them out I had no intention to purchase anything. Having taken one off the rack to look at, the assistant came over and suggested that I try it on. Being curious wondering what it would look like on me I headed for a changing room. With the hem just above the knee it was a little shorter than I was used to, and when I checked in the mirror, to see how it fitted at the back, you could definitely see the outline of my underwear. I kidded myself that even if I bought the skirt I didn't have to wear it in front of Mark. I bought two, a navy and a dark green.

That night in my bedroom before getting ready for bed, I tried on the dark green skirt, then bent over and looked in the mirror, so that I could see what it looked like from behind. It was quite a sight, it was then that I began to appreciate how a man could become aroused with a woman looking as I did, in such a vulnerable position.

That night lying in bed thinking of my son I began to touch myself. First, slipping my hands inside my nightgown I took hold of my breasts, then wondered if Mark would be content just to hold them, or would he want to squeeze them. I tried squeezing them, it certainly felt more satisfying than just holding them. Taking hold of my nipples between thumb and forefinger I gently squeezed them, then just a little bit harder. I pulled on my nipples trying to stretch my breasts but was restricted by my nightgown. Slipping both shoulder straps down and off my arms I folded the top of my nightgown down to uncover my breasts. Then taking hold of my nipples I stretched my breasts until the pain became unbearable.

It was Mark, in my fantasy, who was tugging on the bottom of my nightgown, pulling it up past my knees, until it became trapped beneath me, before slipping his hand between my legs. But it was my fingers that were rubbing up and down the entrance to my vagina. Only twice in my life had I tried masturbation, having wondered what all the excitement was about, and that was in my teens. It was only when I married and very occasionally orgasmed did I realize the futility of my attempts to masturbate. This time as my fingers slipped in and out of me, I was going to make sure I enjoyed an orgasm.

The longer I pleasured myself the more aroused I became, until I experienced that pre-orgasm sensation. I had heard of men using their tongue to pleasure a woman and was wondering, if Mark had the chance would pleasure me that way. As my orgasm hit my thoughts were of Mark, as I pictured him with his head between my legs lapping up my juices. For the very first time I rubbed my sticky fingers over my nipples, then brought each nipple in turn, to my mouth to suck and lick them clean. The experience and the taste was not unpleasant, but I would have preferred my nipples to be in Mark's mouth.

In order to regain Mark's attention I did something that I promised myself that I wouldn't do and that was to bend down in front of Mark wearing a pencil skirt. I accused Eva of being a slut for doing just that, and here I was in a similar position attempting to retrieve Mark's affections. So what does that make me? My first time wearing the skirt, Mark came downstairs for breakfast; as he came through the door I broke a plate knocking it off of the table, then bent down to pick up the pieces. Mark's reaction.

"Nice skirt." And with me still bent over, he brushed his hand against it as he walked past. It was then I decided to purchase the black open lace bra and panties similar to that Eva purchased, which Mark described in his story. Searching the internet I found which may have been the actual lingerie as described, or something very much like it. I also purchased an extremely short black silk robe. The package arrived two days later, and I tried the bra and panties on that evening, before going to bed. It was a fact, that wearing them left nothing to the imagination.

A month or so later it was my birthday, and yes it was all pretty predictable that Mark gave me a bunch of flowers and a card. He also put his arms around me and kissed me on the neck before wishing me a happy birthday and inviting me out for a meal Saturday evening. For the evening, to match my dark green pencil skirt I bought a cream silk blouse designed especially for evening wear. With buttons up front and a neckline cut a little lower, this ensured that I showed off a little more cleavage than Mark has been used to. Being tighter across the breasts provided Mark with some insight into the bra I was wearing.

Saturday night Mark complemented me on my looks while staring at my cleavage. He offered me his arm and walked me out to the car, then held the door while I got in and made myself comfortable. The dinner reservation was a little later than we had experienced before and the restaurant was some distance away. When we arrived the restaurant was exactly as described in his story. We had a nice meal, I had a couple of glasses of wine while Mark only drank soft drinks. When the band had been playing for a while, and the dance floor almost full, Mark held out his hand and asked me if I would like to dance. I placed my hand in his and we walked onto the dance floor.

Although my breasts were touching his chest, we weren't dancing that close together for me to feel if he was aroused. I moved in closer to him crushing my breasts between us and began rubbing up against him to establish if he had an erection. I couldn't tell. His mouth was smiling at me but his eyes were looking down the front of my blouse. We danced the evening away including the last waltz for which they turned the lights down low. As we danced I felt Mark's hand lightly sliding over my body, around my waist over my hips and across my behind. Finally with his hand positioned just below my shoulder, I could feel his thumb caressing the side of my breasts.

By the time we arrived home I was really sleepy. Mark locked up then followed me upstairs. When we reached the door of my bedroom I turned gave him a quick kiss on the lips, said goodnight and closed the door. It had been a wonderful evening, although, I couldn't tell if Mark had been aroused, but I know I had. Pleased with myself on the level of seduction I achieved, I put on my short satin nightgown just to complete my evening of fantasy. I slipped into bed and drifted off to sleep immediately.

I was woken when I felt my arm being moved above my head and heard a clicking sound. It took me a couple of seconds to realize that the bedside light was on and Mark was standing over me.

"What are you doing in my room?"

I tried to lower my arm and felt something cut into my wrist. By this time I was fully awake and realized my hand was handcuffed to the to the bed's head frame.

"Mark take these off of me at once."

He just grinned, turned, and walked out of the room. With my free hand I threw the covers off, swung my legs over the side, and sat on the edge of the bed. I examined the handcuff to see if there was any way I could release it. Seconds later Mark walked back in carrying what looked like straps, and threw them on the bed.

"Will you stop playing around and get me out of this. Look at the time it's one in the morning, I need my sleep, and stop looking down the front of my nightgown."

"Give me your arm"

"What do you want my arm for?"

"Just do as I tell you."

"No. Undo these handcuffs immediately."