Mum & Grown Son...

Mum & Grown Son Find Each Other

As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I contemplated the sequence of events that had led me here. My childhood bedroom, still with my familiar boyhood posters on the wall – I never did get that Lamborghini!

One failed marriage, one failed business, numerous creditors, no money. That pretty much summed up how I ended up back in mum's house after a 20 year absence. At the grand age of 38, my life had well and truly come off the rails and I was feeling fairly sorry for myself. Mum had been just great. She was supportive when my marriage hit difficulties. Being non-judgmental and offering to help in anyway she could. She even suggested a councillor that she knew who could possibly help. Looking back on it, I could see so clearly that I was mainly to blame. It was no coincidence that my business and marriage declined at roughly the same time. The more I neglected one, the more the other suffered. To the extent, that in my feeble attempts to gain both, I lost both. My wife and I had been childhood sweethearts. You know, I can't even remember asking her to marry me, it was just sort of assumed we would end up together, both families got on well, and we sort of just fell into it.

It wasn't that I didn't love her, but it was a quiet, unassuming love, not the blinding passionate type that Hollywood seems to dwell on. I felt comfortable with her, she felt like my soul mate, and when she eventually had the courage (and good sense) to walk out on me, I fell apart.

Mum was my saviour. I had to sell up everything I had to pay divorce proceedings and business debts, and she immediately insisted that I stay with her. I had very little options. Having my own room was a lot more attractive that dosing on some friends sofa.

I stared at the ceiling again, wondering how many 38 year olds lived at home with their mum, not many I was willing to bet. I heard mum letting the water out of her bath, the bathroom door then closing, and her switching on the TV in her bedroom. Her house was very modest. Just a 3 bedroom small detached house, although one bedroom had long been converted into her sowing room. It had its own garage where my small hatchback was now parked, the Porsche having been sold some months ago.

Mum's sowing room had been the centre of her activity for as long as I can remember. When I was a small boy, she had worked in a woman's fashion shop. I remember her picking me up from school and the looks of envy she would get from the other mums because of the wonderful clothes she wore, which I later learnt were heavily subsidised by staff discount. As my dad had seen fit to walk out on us whilst I was still a baby, she had to raise me single handed, which in the 60's was nowhere near as easy or fashionable as it is now. To supplement her income, she did the alterations for the shop at home, and was so good at it, that she got business from other shops to the extent that she worked at this full time from home.

When I sat down at the breakfast table, mum had food on the table ready for me. Over night, I seemed to have reverted to childhood, willing for mum to look after me. As I thanked her, I glanced over the table and looked at her. Mum was now 61 years old. Her skin looked 20 years younger as for as long as I could remember, she had a religious bedtime routine with Ulay moisturiser. I often bought her gift sets of it. She was wearing a cream cardigan, with the top 3 buttons undone. This showed off her cleavage and I noticed the lace top of her bra. Very sexy, I had always had a thing for older women, even having fancied my ex wife's mother. Mum was not slim, but could definitely be described as voluptuous. I judged her to be around 38 b or c – must check her bra size next time I have access to the washing. (What the hell was I thinking, this was mum for gawd sake... Geeze I need a girlfriend). Her lips were coated in a gloss red, dark brown mascara, subtle blusher, and blue eye make up.

Mum was going into town to deliver & pick up some alterations this morning and always dressed up for this. When she stood up, I then noticed her tight dark knee length, grey skirt. Finished off by some black high heels & barely black tights. As she bent over to scrape her plate clean into the bin, I could just make out the unmistakeable outline through her skirt of a suspender clip. This meant that mum was wearing stockings. Now, stockings to me had always one connotation – sex. But, this was my mum, and the thought quickly passed.

She asked me what I had planned today, I replied nothing, then she asked if I would like to go into town with her just for the drive. I think she was afraid that I would just vegetate all day in bed, which was a strong possibility. My instinct was to say no, but it came out as "OK then".

I quickly dressed, came down, and got into the passenger seat of her car. It was a Merc which I had treated her to a couple of years back when my business was good. I'm glad I had it put in her name, no-one could touch it. As she drove off, her right leg extended on the accelerator, and her skirt rose up just a little to show off more of her leg. She really did have great legs. We made some small talk, updating me that she made this trip 3 times a week and could have more work than she could cope with. I looked over at her and a feeling of immense pride fell over me. This woman was abandoned just after she gave birth, yet through determination and hard work, had raised me, sent me to college, and was now looking after me all over again.

By the time we had reached town, her skirt had risen up to the extent that I could just make out the start of the dark band of her stockings. I was beginning to wish I could see her swing out of the car as maybe I could catch a glimpse up her skirt. It worried me the occasional improper thoughts that were crossing my mind about mum. We agreed a meet up place in an hour. After which, we did some shopping at a local mall.

The next few days got a little easier as mum and I got a routine. She regularly hugged me, and we kissed with a quick peck on the cheek. We would have breakfast together, she would then go to the sowing room, and I would 'surf' on my laptop, or just watch TV. Since leaving school, this was the longest break that I had ever had. My mind still wasn't clearly focused, and although I had checked out the press for job vacancies, after working so long for myself, nothing really appealed, and if I'm honest, my motivation wasn't that high. I had reverted back quickly into the helpless boy my mum took care of all those years ago.

In the mean time, I had confirmed that mum wore a 38C bra, and also had quite a selection of suspender belts and stockings. Mainly black, but a variation of colours. I particularly liked an emerald green suspender belt with black inset lace. I guess she just liked them as she didn't have any traditional tights that I could find. Despite her age, she was a good looking woman. 5 foot 3 inches tall – although she nearly always was in high heels, even in the house. Her shoulder length brown hair, was well conditioned, her smile instantly made you return one back. I was ashamed that I had thought about her last night as my masturbation fantasy. I thought of her standing at my bedside, wearing black stockings, high heels, a lace and satin basque I had seen in her wardrobe (with the labels still attached). I could see her touching her ample breasts, cupping her hands underneath them, just as I myself came. I felt guilty afterwards. I remember trying to catch a glimpse of her naked when I was a child, but all kids do this, don't they? This was different, I'm a grown man, having incestuous thoughts about his mum, this can't be good.

The next night I woke up startled. Something had fallen on the bed, and I felt decidedly wet. I turned the light on and gazed at the new whole in the ceiling. One of the central heating pipes has cracked, soaking the plaster ceiling, and making it eventually collapse. It was lucky in that it had fallen on my chest, my face had missed out on some potential cuts and bruises. Mum heard the commotion and ran in – she stood there with a short green silk robe, tied tightly around her waist. She didn't panic, just asked if I was hurt. On hearing was OK, she then proceeded to pick up debris and put in a black plastic bag whilst I got a towel and dried myself off.

I had managed to cut the water supply to the leaking pipe off and as it was 2am in the morning, we couldn't do anything else, so I grabbed a couple of clean dry blankets from the airing cupboard to sleep on the sofa downstairs. Mum, despite protests from me, absolutely insisted on me sleeping in her room. She had a big queen sized bed, and wouldn't hear of me sleeping downstairs.

I followed her into her room, and felt a little strange. I guess if I had not had these recent sexual thoughts about her, I would have felt more comfortable. Under the glow of her bedside lamp, mum undid her robe, and it slid to the floor. She was wearing a black cotton nightie, with 2 thin straps. The glow of the light shone through the material and I could see the outline of her legs. She then slid into bed and I caught a glimpse of the top of her left breast as she lay down flat. I climbed in beside her, and lay on my side facing the edge of the bed, trying to hide my erection. Mum turned the light off, and asked if I was OK. I said yes, then she leaned over, kissed my shoulder, snuggled into me, then said 'goodnight hun'.

My mind was now racing, I could feel mum breathing on my neck, the warmth of her body was radiating on to me, and after a while, I sensed she was asleep. I wanted to turn around and look at her, but was terrified of waking her. The palm of her right hand lay limply on my shoulder. I could feel the flesh of her tits pressing on my back. This was just surreal – days ago I was masturbating to the image of mum, and now, I was in bed with her, albeit on a totally innocent context. I was willing her to wake up, to make a move on me, to kiss me in an unmotherly way – but of course it didn't happen.

In the morning, I made the phone calls to the insurance company to get the repairs sorted. I had managed to isolate the water leak so the urgency had decreased. Being a Friday, I arranged the repair to be done on Monday. I know I could have got it sooner if pushed, but I had an ulterior motive, I wanted to sleep in mum's bed again.

That night, I lay in bed as mum finished her bath. She came out of the bathroom wearing another short nightie. This was black satin, with lace bra cups, and spaghetti straps that struggled to support the weight of her fleshy breasts. The lace was light enough to see her nipples surrounded by wide brown areoles. I'm sure mum caught me looking at her cleavage, but just smiled. We lay in bed, reading our respective books, then after a while, mum asked if I'd mind if she turned the light off. This time, she lay on her side facing the edge of the bed. I snuggled into her, kissed her on the back of her neck, and thanked her for taking such good care of me. She said not to be silly, that was what mums do. I put my arms around her, and gently stroked her arm.

Mum moaned gently, and said that that felt nice. By this stage, my cock was pressing hard against the material of my boxers, with a gentle movement, it was now touching against mum's ass, as I spooned into her. I was waiting for her to move away, but she didn't. If anything, she pressed closer into me. I continued stroking her arm, 'accidentally' brushing against her breast. She continued to moan, and said that she hadn't felt so relaxed in a long time.

My next move was real slow, I extended my fingers so that as well as rubbing her arm, they also touched her breast. Again, I held my breath and waited for her to move away – she didn't. With each stroke, my confidence was growing. I reached out my hand so that it was not touching her arm at all, just her breast. I could feel her nipple harden and the sensation of it through the lace was just so sexy. Then, mum said, "son, I'm not sure you should be doing that".

"Do you want me to stop?" I asked...

There was no response.

I then started to tease the lace material down so I could feel her naked breast. Mum continued to moan, with her head moving slightly from side to side. As I pinched her nipple between my fingers, she said "son, stop, this is wrong". She didn't say it forcefully, I know 'stop' means 'stop', but I couldn't. I began to kiss and lick the back of her neck.

"If you really want me to stop, move my hand", I waited, she reached over, and put her hand on mine, I thought that it was over, but instead of moving it, she pressed it harder into her breast. I then turned her around to face me, I stroked her hair out of her eyes, and kissed her lightly on her lips, I did it again, moistening her lips with my tongue. The next kiss, her tongue met mine and we kissed like teenagers for ages. Her hand reached down and her fingers slid into the elastic of my boxers. They then made my way to my cock, which she guided out through the elastic.

Being masturbated by your mum is a feeling that I still find difficult to put into words. Her fingers gripped me firmly, and she stroked my cock, with each stroke ending with her thumb caressing the tip, it was electrifying. I eventually took her hand and removed it, I was too close to cumming, and didn't want to, not yet.

I positioned myself down between her legs and started licking her cunt. It tasted so clean, just after her bath, yet so vibrant. The texture of her pubic hair was so soft and I loved that she didn't indulge in any of this new fad for shaving it. I could feel mums thighs press against the sides of my head. She was moaning loudly, and kept saying "Oh, Christ, oh Christ", over and over again. My tongue found her fleshy clit, and I swirled around it, occasionally darting it straight around the walls of her vagina. By the way she was tensing up, and screaming, my god she was loud, I could tell that she was close to orgasm. She put her hands on the back of my head, pressed me tighter into her pussy, and shuddered strongly. My head then crept up her body, kissing her stomach & breasts as I made my way to her face. I saw light tears trickle from her eyes.

I was worried I had hurt her in some way and said so.

She held me tight, and said she had never experienced such a strong orgasm. She loved me as a son, and now as a lover. Even though she knew it was wrong, she didn't know what had made her do it. She hadn't had sex in over 10 years and can't believe that her own son had made her orgasm. She pledged me never to tell anyone. I immediately agreed, and told her that I loved her very much. We started to kiss again. As I lay on top of her, her hand guided my still hard cock into her soaking vagina. That first thrust felt like nothing I had felt in my life. The smoothness of entering mum's cunt, and even though it was wet, the walls grabbed my cock with a friction that I can't adequately describe. I was so turned on, that after a few strokes, I was shooting my creamy load inside mum's cunt.

We made love 3 more times that night before falling asleep in each others arms. The next morning I came into the kitchen, mum was bending over the kitchen sink washing up some dishes.

"Morning darling" she said.

I walked up behind her, hitched her skirt up beyond her black lacy panties, and looked down at her incredible legs, encased in black stockings, held up by metal clips on the end of her suspender belt, and finished off by 3" black high heels. I undid my zip, and pressed my erection against her. Mum leaned over, with her rubber gloved hands now immersed in the water. Her legs spread instinctively to give me easier access. I pushed the gusset of her panties to one side, fingered her until she was moist, then slid my hardness into her cunt.

I may have lost my marriage, and my business, but I'll always have my mum...

(Feedback would be really appreciated - its the only reason I write!)