Mummy Porn

If you're looking for incest, find a different author.

This story was inspired by the media excitement over Fifty Shades and its imitators, which were repeatedly described as 'mummy porn', i.e. porn for middle-aged women, despite the heroines invariably being quasi-virginal straight young women and the men rich but lonely. An unscientific survey of my friends confirmed such books were completely unerotic (though more than one suggested a BDSM scene where someone was required to read from Fifty Shades while keeping a straight face...). In fact, the ultimate erotic mummy fantasy would be someone fulfilling their desires but forcing them to have a nap first.

Thus the following text is a detailed literary psychological examination of how the maternal experience, of both heavy responsibility and physical changes, impacts on women's sexual experiences.

Just kidding -- it's pure porn, but at least it's mummy porn that's actually related to a maternal situation.

Contains British English and polyamorous relationships. Same characters as my previous story 'Tell me what you want', but both stories stand alone.

*****

"You heard? Yes, they're saying there won't be any trains back south for hours, and the motorway's blocked too. Terrible... There's no way I'll be able to get home tonight... you'll need to pick up the kids... yes, nursery and the school. Yes, that's right, before six. OK? Phew. I love you."

Like dozens of other people in the rail station, Karen was on her phone, pacing, making arrangements. Everyone needed alternative plans. Travel was not happening that evening. "There's hundreds of people looking for places to stay here - all the hotels'll be rammed - who do we know round here? Could you put a call out and ask people to text me if they could put me up? Wossat? Yes, I'll be fine. What's that? Yes, it would be nice to see John again. Ha, ha... Look, I'm just wanting a bed for the night, don't try setting me up for a night of hot kinky sex!"

Her partner carried on winding her up on the phone, when Karen, exhausted after a long day, really didn't need it. She shot back:" Yes, I know we should do more of it! It would be lovely! And, yes, I do want to see more people for more of it, and it's great being poly with you and being able to go do kink with other people, that you're not into, but this is not the time -- and people are giving me funny looks! All right?

Yeah, thanks... Yes, I love you too. Tell the kids I love them and I'll be home tomorrow. Don't forget Charlie's sports kit...yes, in the drawstring bag... I know, you're a perfectly competent father and that's why I love you. Yes, that and the kinky sex..."

At this point Karen realised it wasn't just her paranoia; other stranded passengers, bored, really were eavesdropping shamelessly. Especially one dark-haired intense-looking man in early middle age, dressed unremarkably in black jeans and T-shirt. No-one else was looking at him, though.

"Love? You won't believe this. John's right here..."

The slim man sidled his way through the crowd to Karen.

"So. No-one's getting to London tonight. Do you want to come back to mine?" He'd never been one for small talk, Karen remembered.

She'd never been good at multiple conversations at once, and didn't know who to speak to first, with the result that while her partner of fifteen years told her to have fun with John, and finally hung up the phone (to her relief), John looked slightly downcast from her lack of response. He quickly aimed to reassure her.

"There's a perfectly good spare room!" He meant, no pressure to share his bed, though his face made it obvious that requiring that room would be a disappointment.

Seeing that expression on John's usually slightly cocky face convinced her; a night away from her two wonderful children -- who unfortunately tended to be much less wonderful when waking in the middle of the night -- with a dear friend and play partner, whom she and her partner trusted completely... yes, the day was finally improving...

She grinned, a startling expression in the crowd of grumpy people, a face totally inappropriate for a delayed train traveller. "Your bed will be just fine, dear. Let's get out of this station -- I've been here hours already. Lead on!"

John's facial expression returned to its usual cat-with-cream. He reached for her hand so that they could squeeze together to escape out of the station, where hundreds of commuters besieged hapless staff as the display screens all blared one word, "CANCELLED".

It was a long walk, but there was no point trying to get a bus, nor a cab, in the transport chaos. Within forty minutes they reached the cul-de-sac where John and his partner Cathy lived.

"Is Cathy in?", Karen enquired.

"Yes -- she's got students for another hour, then she's got James over for a date. Actually, I've got a student in a few minutes unless Cath managed to cancel him -- I called her, didn't think I'd make it home in time -- but after that, I'm all yours." He paused. "Or, you're all mine -- if that's still what you want?"

He didn't wait for an answer, but turned to unlock the front door. Karen was grateful -- being submissive or a bottom was easy, normally, from her point of view, but it was so much harder to answer questions, and John liked asking questions. She flushed as she remembered the first time they'd play-wrestled in a club, ending with him on top with her in a headlock, and his calm command in her ear: "Tell me what you want." It had taken the next two hours for her to articulate in satisfactory detail to John what she might want from him, which, in summary, was to totally hand over any organisation of what they did together, to forget about the outside world, be forced to confront her perverted desires and have them accepted. With comfortable yet restrictive bondage, perhaps some anal play, and resulting in a thoroughly bruised arse. She blushed, just thinking about it.

She could top him -- she'd seen it done to him and she had topped others before, quite enjoying it -- but the other way round would be so much better. Karen wasn't entirely sure what got John off, but forcing her to confront her darkest, most hidden desires, sharing every specific detail until he'd been satisfied with her answers, had most definitely been part of it. He'd then given her much of what she had asked for, but she didn't really remember that -- whereas the prior interrogation stuck in her mind as one of the hottest scenes ever.

She went into the house -- a typical three-bed semi like a million others, only with more laden bookcases, many full of books relating to the subjects he and Cathy lectured in at the university -- and realised she was completely exhausted.

Cathy was proffering tea within a minute, and for once Karen accepted sugar in it. Any source of energy. John stared at her as she sat down, slumping into the sofa.

"You're knackered, aren't you. Forget the bloody trains -- you've got small kids, and what time did you have to get up this morning?"

"Five-thirty. Had to be here for nine. And that toddler wouldn't let me have an early night."

She sighed, and it turned into a yawn, which triggered another sigh. If she was too tired to rescue any fun from this evening out, she was going to be seriously hacked off...

"You need a nap. Don't worry, I'll wake you for dinner. Come on up." She hesitated. "That's an order, love!" He held her hand and handbag and led her up the stairs. Karen stumbled with tiredness on the unfamiliar treads. He ushered her into his room where she sat down gratefully on the bed. He was about to leave her to it after a kiss on her forehead, but as she struggled with her boots, he turned back to her and asked, speculatively, "Have you ever used a sleep sack?"

"Er -- yes, once. I rather liked it, only rubber isn't my thing. And it was a bit big, so my feet got cold, and they rattled around. Erm... I wonder if we could get round those?"

Now she was thinking along such lines, she was hopeful that he could engineer a solution. John liked problem-solving and bodging items together, especially if it was related to kink. He'd crafted an entire collapsible St. Andrews' Cross for bondage purposes, out of scrap wood and metal, to prove it could be done. It might be the small table in the corner, actually, disguised under a cloth...

John grinned broadly, knowing he could fulfil this wish of hers. "You're a similar size to me. I'll make sure you aren't cold - a mesh body stocking should sort that. And my sleep sack isn't rubber, either. Come here, you."

John rummaged in a few drawers, and passed Karen two body stockings. She wasn't sure if now was the time for them, but put a narrow mesh one down and stood fingering the other, in a softer fishnet design, nervously.

John sat down on the edge of the bed facing her, the cocky grin softened to a gentle smile. "Take off all your clothes and put it on, then."

Acting on autopilot, too tired to think beyond knowing she was content to go along with his suggestions, Karen obeyed. Suit jacket and trousers were removed, her blouse, her underwear, and she tried to get her legs into the new item of clothing. He reached to assist her, ensured the stocking was the right way round, and pulled it up over her arms and breasts to her neck, then treating himself to a long stroke up her body. And another. Karen belatedly realised that unlike the other, this body stocking had spaces for each breast and her backside, showing them off beautifully. It was odd, to think she'd just stripped off in front of someone different, without either of them really noticing, and strangely, a boost to her confidence that her now-wobbly parts were covered while her tits and arse were being highlighted. They'd both come out of pregnancy rather well -- her breasts were a couple sizes larger, now, and all the walking with a buggy did wonders for one's backside... John was stroking her, soothingly, like a cat -- no, definitely he was paying more attention to the parts of her that were naked. She decided she wasn't complaining.

"So, enforced nap time? Nothing like bondage to shut up that permanent voice in the back of your head that you're a busy mother -- or uni lecturer - who ought to be doing something..."

Karen knew this well -- she'd expected sleepless nights from the babies, but the insomnia when they did finally zonk out had been an unpleasant surprise. She was slightly surprised, though, that John felt that way. He had no kids, never wanted any, and had been amusingly terrified of her baby. On the other hand, he was clearly hyperactive, always on the go, always working late on projects, to such an extent that his friends were all amazed he had never crashed into depression. He had to relax somehow, she concluded.

John unrolled the sleep sack, made from some kind of stretchy canvas. He helped her thread her legs down the long pockets down each side, then pulled it up underneath her and did the same with each arm, each finger going into a separate pocket. He pulled it together at the front and zipped it up to her neck, with some effort to get it over her substantial post-child breasts. Her arms were pinned to her sides inside the sack, and her legs held firmly together but separated by the layer of fabric round each one. She could, however, bend at the waist, as she found when John hauled her back up to a sitting position for a minute.

"Do you like hoods? I can't remember."

"I do -- so long as I can still breathe. No eye-holes is fine."

John nodded, sifted through a drawer again, and returned with a hood to match the sack, and a heavy leather collar.

"Here you are -- I'll put this over your head in a minute, and the collar. I always think it looks better, covering up the join between the two bits..."

And you have a fetish for tall collars and leather in general, Karen thought, amused.

He brushed her hair to the sides with his hand, and pulled the hood over her head. The leather was warm, and once in place, dark, with a large reassuring hole over her mouth. The fuzzy nap of the leather against her sensitive skin of her face was like a caress., and the smell brought only good memories. Karen instantly felt relaxed enough to sleep, and wriggled against her bondage, happily, while John buckled the collar, six inches wide and unbending, round her neck, followed by lowering her gently back to lying supine.

Karen was completely encased by the sleepsack and hood, with only her lips visible. John stepped back, pleased, and admired his bedroom's new ornament. She started to drift off, when John returned to her and ran his hand down from her shoulder, over her breast, up over the other breast, pressing more firmly, and then down towards the top of her legs, where a slight lack of bulge in the fabric betrayed where the divide between her legs was. He rested his hand still -- the black-clad body seemed to be appreciating the pressure, but he had enticed her upstairs merely to sleep...

"I should keep my promise and let you sleep."

The pink lips appeared to make a slight pout, then a small nod.

"Don't worry. I hope some kip and dinner will give you some energy."

A small smile turned up the corners of the disembodied mouth.

He couldn't resist another fondle, as firm between her legs as he could push, the other hand groping her arse. Karen obligingly rolled somewhat on one side and folded at the waist as he pushed her, to show off her cloth-covered backside to him. He kneaded it roughly, and she exhaled, clearly appreciating the touch.

"You're a right slut, aren't you? All helpless, and exhausted, and still you're wanting it?"

"Mm-hm." The smile was clearer now.

"But: you need to sleep."

She groaned, grumpily. "You started it. Playing with me. How's a girl supposed to calm down?"

The sleep sack and being motionless in the dark is supposed to do that.

"Have some sweet dreams. Imagine... Well, what do you want to imagine?" He wondered, what she might say.

She spoke quietly, yet firmly.

"Being fucked."

He had to tell her, manage her expectations. "My cock's not on the menu."

Before he could worry he'd disappointed her, she replied, "I know that. Penetration, I mean. You've got toys. " A wriggle that might have been her trying to shrug her shoulders. "Make it so."

He could imagine the order coming from a Starfleet commander, or a slinky black-coated alien, too well. Obediently, he opened the zip that ran along her crotch. Karen moaned happily as he carefully squeezed a couple fingers between her legs. John felt he was being the servile one, which wasn't in itself a problem, but not how he wanted to be relating to Karen that night. Nor, he suspected, was it what Karen wanted of him. Time to gain back control.

"You want a toy in your cunt? A nice, big, cock filling you up?"

"Yes. Exactly." Her mouth was very certain.

"I bet you do. Slut. Are you a slut?"

The slight smile was back. "Yeah."

"Tell me."

"I'm a slut."

"And what do you want, my lovely slut?"

"I want my cunt filled up. Stretched with a big, fat, hard cock. Beautiful dildo filling me..."

"That's a shame, because you're not getting that. Not when you're supposed to be sleeping. "

Her visible mouth made a distinct pissed-off noise.

"Naughty sleepy slut."

She squirmed somewhat, which he guessed was her automatically sticking a finger up at him before realising her hands and arms were held tightly by her sides.

"No. Filling your cunt would be too much excitement for you when you need to sleep."

He got the impression she was rolling her eyes inside his black leather hood. He ran his hands over her again, and she relaxed into it beautifully. So responsive. He remembered their previous time playing together.

"But tell me, are you still a complete anal slut?"

"Mm?"

"I was thinking about what you need to get you into the right frame of mind for this evening," he spoke into her covered ear. "I'll wake you in... nearly an hour and a half. Just thinking, before I leave you to it -- I say that, I'll be here of course. The student's cancelled -- Anyway. I was going to ask: are you still a total arse slut?"

Karen was grateful John couldn't see her cheeks blushing. Clearly she didn't answer fast enough, as while John fondled her backside through the canvas with one hand, he amended his question: "Would you love a butt plug up your arse?"

Karen nodded. Maybe he didn't see, but more likely was back to playing his mind games, as he asked her to say it. "Tell me."

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

Classic interrogation, but still effective at making the subject squirm when admitting their guilty secret.

"Yes. Yes, I'm an arse slut and I would really love a big butt plug up my arse," Karen chanted, "Right now!"

She could almost hear his smug grin as he undid more of the zip that ran from her crotch to her waist, and fingered round to her arsehole. The firm pressure was a good start... A break, then he returned. Cold globs of lube were applied and stroked up and down the crack between her buttocks, and a finger dipped in and out of her, wonderful, yet too little.

She made a small, annoyed, whimpering noise. Then the round end of a plug was placed there and Karen breathed deeply, knowing what to expect, trying to relax those muscles only partially under her control. The plug pushed in.

Karen pushed out, relaxing, and it did a quarter twist and pushed in some more. Perspex, she guessed, not as cold as metal. More lube dripped down. Another push, and the pressure kept up. Karen let go the breath she hadn't noticed she was holding, and the plug was forced into her -- but not quite all. She moaned -- how big was it? How big a butt plug might John own? Could she take it?

Her opening felt sore, but the pressure inside felt so good. No other word for it -- it was just good. And it was being pulled out a bit! She whimpered, more lube was applied round her hole, the plug twisted, she tensed and relaxed -- and the plug was shoved firmly into a very happy place. Karen suspected she purred. Nice pressure on the back of her vagina, and all round -- lovely.

John zipped her back up, rolled her back onto her back, and let her drift off into a happy sleepy daydream, too restrained to consider any worries, too filled to think much at all.

Karen dozed on and off, wriggling occasionally in her snug bonds, cosy and secure, until she heard a low voice and felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Dinner's ready, when you are."

John helped her out of the sleep sack and into a warm fluffy dressing gown, and held her arm as she stumbled, still sleepy and light-headed, down the stairs to eat. It was only when she sat down that she remembered the large butt plug was still in place. She didn't think it was the time to mention it, though when Cathy got up to dish up, he mouthed at her, "Hope your arse is OK on the hard chairs!"

She wasn't sure John got the exact words when she mouthed back, " Would you care if it wasn't?", but he laughed and she knew he got the gist.

She ate well -- the conference lunch had been early -- and enjoyed catching up with Cathy, David and John, none of whom she'd seen properly in the last couple years, since her first child had been a baby. Soon, however, Cathy was excusing herself and David, and thanking her for coming over to entertain John and to stop him working too hard. "The spare room bed's made up if he snores too much!" John stuck two fingers up at her, but bowed his head when she told him, "Behave." Karen giggled at the dynamic between them; thought about trying to stifle it in case it went the worse for her later; decided not to bother.

John fetched her a new mug of tea and suggested they go upstairs also. "And then, we can decide what we want to do."