My Friend, My Lover, My Mother

This is a true story about dominance, humiliation, and incest. Characters names have been changed to protect their privacy.

A loving son and a wicked, sexually seductive mother, along with a sadistic stepsister, a bitchy, dominant step-cousin, and a jealous step-aunt make a good plot for an erotic story. Yet, taking the next sexually forbidden step, incest is mild in comparison when combined with dominance, submission, total sexual control, and humiliation. The incestuous, sexual affair discovered between a mother and her son by a stepsister and shared and gossiped about with her aunt and cousin was what started this nightmare of dominance and humiliation.

Four months after his father died, Frank's life was about to change forever. A 25-year-old, 5'10", 145-pound, Italian man, a submissively obedient and loving son, at the request of his 49-year-old mother, Angela, not only slept with her to comfort her but also had illicit sex with her. In the beginning, nothing more than eyebrow raising, it was all so very innocent. Unable to sleep alone, his mother asked her son to watch TV with her in her bed until she grew tired and fell asleep.

Frank easily could have blamed his mother for getting him into this mess between his stepsister, his step-cousin, and his step-aunt, but he didn't. Even though Angela was the one who requested that he sleep with her, he blamed himself for sleeping with her. Even though it was his mother who sexually teased him by exposing her nearly, naked body to him, he blamed himself for looking and for incestuously lusting over her. Even though his mother sexually seduced him to have forbidden sex with her, he blamed himself for crossing the incestuous line.

Angela's step-daughter, Ann, her step-niece, Joanne, and her sister-in-law, Margrett were the ones who suspected, gossiped about, and later witnessed their incestuous affair. They were the ones who doled out their vigilante punishment. More reason for their hatred of her, Frank's stepsister, step-cousin, and step-aunt were jealous of Angela's beauty and shapely body.

With Frank the innocent submissive son, if anyone was to blame, twisted with jealousy, indeed, Ann, Joanne, and Margrett were the ones to blame. Feigning their shocked disgust over Angela sleeping with her son, undeniably jealous that she was having incestuous sex with her son, whether they admitted it or not, seemingly, the three women were all sexually attracted to him. Hiding their incestuous lust from Frank from one another, obviously, the three women all wanted to have forbidden sex with Frank.

Part One: A place as morally sacred as it's sexually forbidden, my Mother's Bed

Unlike many of the twisted and perverted, fictional, incest stories posted online about a mother having hot and illicitly forbidden sex with her son, this is a true story. Even though my Mom is sexy, shapely, and very good-looking, hard to believe, I've never been sexually attracted to her. Even harder to believe before all that had happened, I never thought of her in a sexual way until now.

Even when all of my friends were sexually attracted to her and sexually lusting over my mother, I thought there was something wrong with them for sexually lusting over her. I went as far to think that there was something wrong with me for not sexually lusting over her. With my mother sexually teasing me and stoking the flames of incest, and with me the submissively obedient son, I didn't have a chance. Now that my father was dead, with me her sexual slave to control, it was inevitable that I'd be having incestuous sex with my mother.

As if I was wearing blinders, innocently naïve, I was unable to incestuously see what my friends sexually saw in my mother. Even with her beauty, her sexuality, and her sexy and shapely body of my mother, I never wished that I could bed my mother in the way that my friends all wished they could have sex with my Mom. She was my mother and I was her son. Not thinking of her as a sexually desirable woman, in that sexual way. I never saw what they saw.

I never wanted to have sex with my mother. I never wished I could make out with her while touching and feeling her through her clothes. I never wished I could slowly remove her clothes to see her in her bra and panties, and/or topless. I never had the incestuous, sexual desire to strip my mother naked. I never wanted to see what I should never see of her while touching and feeling her naked body everywhere that a son should never touch and feel his mother.

A thought that sickened me when merely thinking about my friends wanting to make out with my mother, just as I never wanted to make out with their mothers, I never wanted them to make out with my mother. I never wanted to French kiss my own mother. Even though all my friends wanted to have sex with her, I never wanted to feel her naked breasts and finger her erect nipples while rubbing her swollen clit and fingerfucking her wet pussy. I never wanted her to stroke my cock and suck my cock after making love and fucking me.

Those thoughts never occurred to me until my friends routinely shared their forbidden desires and sexual fantasies for my mother with me. Disgusting me instead of sexually exciting me, I blame them for putting those incestuous, sexual thoughts in my head. Those thoughts never occurred to me until my friends talked about my mother in such a sexually, disrespectful and offensive way.

Yet, even then, not registering as something that could happen and would happen, those thoughts never occurred to me until she asked me to watch television with her in her bed. Those thoughts never occurred to me until my mother unintentionally or deliberately flashed me. Those thoughts never occurred to me until I saw all that I should have never seen of my mother's nearly, naked body. Once I saw all that I shouldn't see of her, her obedient, sexual slave, unable to say no to whatever she sexually wanted me to do, I was hers to sexually command.

'Innocent on the surface, now I wished my mother had never invited me to watch TV with her in her bed,' I thought. 'I wished my friends had never put those disgusting, incestuous thoughts in my head about them wanting to have sex with my mother. That's just nasty,' I thought while silently lambasting my friends and reprimanding myself for even having those incestuous thoughts when in bed with my mother while watching TV.

I hated that my friends thought and, no doubt, masturbated over kissing her, stripping her naked, and having sex with my mother. She's my mother. She's not like that. She's not a whore. She'd never have sex with my friends.

Have they no respect? How dare they? What's wrong with them to want to bed their friend's mother? How would they feel if I sexually talked about and masturbated over their mothers? Granted with all their mothers short, obese, and not very good looking, no one wanted to bed them, not even their own husbands.

She's my mother. She's not some random whore I picked up in a bar and asked home for sex. Just as I'd never want my friends to have sex with her, I'd never have sex with my mother or with any of their mothers. Because of my perverted friends, now I have incestuous thoughts for her. How dare I even entertain having sexual thoughts for her? Because of my perverted friends, how dare I berate myself for not being more like them and question myself for not having incestuous thoughts for my Mom?

With me having sex regularly, I had plenty of girlfriends my age who were sexually attracted to me and who weren't related to me by blood. I wasn't one of those horny, sexually frustrated, and perversely perverted, virginal sons who never got laid and who always sexually lusted and masturbated over his mother. I didn't need to look to my Mom for sex nor did I want or expect sex from my own mother. I wasn't wired that way. The thought of having sex with my own mother disgusted me.

Unlike other twisted and perverted sons who'd use the death of their fathers as their opportunity to bed their mothers, I didn't see the death of my father as my opportunity to take sexual advantage of her. I didn't see the death of my father as my chance to sexually take the place of my mother's husband. In the way that many of my friends obviously had, I didn't have that Oedipus Rex complex. Willing to do anything for her at any time, I was there for her always, but never in a sexual way.

Honestly, thoughts that made my skin crawl, I could never imagine having sex with my mother. Just the thought of imagining kissing her, French kissing her, while touching and feeling her everywhere through her clothes and where a son should never touch and feel his mother, made me sick to my stomach. Something that was more disgusting than it was sexually exciting, I couldn't imagine removing her clothes and seeing her in her bra and panties, topless and/or naked. I couldn't imagine my mother wearing a sexy, sheer nightgown in front of me without having the modesty to wear a robe.

I couldn't imagine my mother seeing my naked prick. I couldn't imagine my mother sexually touching me. I couldn't imagine her incestuously stroking my dick while staring at my prick. Just as I couldn't imagine her sucking me, I couldn't imagine her fucking me. In the way that my friends all wished they could cum for my mother, too embarrassed, too ashamed, and feeling too remorseful, I could never cum for her.

Making me feel as if there was something mentally wrong with me for not sexually lusting over my mother, my friends all voiced their opinions on what they'd do if she was their widowed mother. Yet, unlike many of the horny sons in those incest stories, I've never masturbated over my mother while imagining her naked and having sex with her. I've never tried to see her in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked by barging in her bedroom while she's dressing or undressing, or barging in the bathroom while she's bathing or showering. I had more respect for her and for her privacy than that.

Then, when my father suddenly and unexpectedly died of a heart attack, a real family tragedy, things quickly changed. For starters, with my mother mourning the loss of her deceased husband of 27-years, her sleeping habits dramatically deteriorated. She couldn't sleep. Trying everything, even sleeping pills, instead of going to bed early and waking up early as she had always done, she stayed up late and woke up late. Admittedly, by her own confession, the root of her sleepless nights, she was unable to sleep alone. For her to finally close her eyes and relax, she needed to be exhausted before falling asleep.

# # #

"Frank? I can't sleep," called my mother, Angela, from her bedroom in frustration. Tossing one way and turning the other way, she turned her pillow from one side to the other. Then, in desperation, she asked me to do something she never asked me to do before. She asked me to do something that she never should have asked me to do. "Come watch TV in bed with me until I get tired and fall asleep."

'What?'

Suddenly, out of the clear blue, my mind reeled with incestuously, forbidden, sexual thoughts that my friends had put in my head of them having incestuous sex with my mother. Suddenly, I had the same disgusting and disturbing mindset of my horny friends. How dare I have sexually depraved thoughts of having incestuous sex with my mother? How dare I disrespect my mother in that disgusting way? Nonetheless, titillating my sexual curiosity while giving me an erection, her words echoed in my mind.

'Come watch TV with her in bed? Did I hear her correctly? Is she serious? My mother wants me to lay with her in her bed while watching TV?'

Catching me by surprise, her seemingly innocent request reverberated in my mind while inspiring perversely, perverted thoughts. My mother wanted me to watch TV with her in her bed until she fell asleep. Shocking me and sexually exciting me at the same time, it was one thing to watch television with her in the living room but she wanted me to watch TV with her in her bedroom and on her bed. Whether asleep or awake, unless we were testing mattresses in a mattress store, I never thought I'd ever be in the same bed with my mother.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, as if possessed by the Devil, in the way that my friends all had, I now had forbidden, sexual thoughts for my mother. As if she was a witch who cast an incestuous spell on me, and as if her bed was a sacrificial altar, I had thoughts of inadvertently seeing some part of my mother's naked body that I shouldn't see. Again, as if tempted by the Satan, unduly sexually excited, I had thoughts of touching and feeling some part of my mother's sexy and shapely body that I shouldn't touch or feel.

By innocently asking me, her horny son, to watch TV with her, she had opened a forbidden door. By inviting me to her bed, she opened Pandora's Box. As if I had lost control of my senses, morals, and reservations, already in her power, in was then that I imagined having incestuous sex with her. As if I was suddenly one of my perverted friends sexually lusting over my mother, instead of being her beloved and obedient son, that was the first time that I had forbidden, incestuous, sexual thoughts for my mother.

'I could only imagine what my friends would say if I told them that my mother invited me to watch television in her bed,' I thought. 'They'd never believe me. They'd think I was telling them stories just to sexually tease them and erotically excite them.'

Suddenly, filling my mind with incestuous thoughts of my mother in all manner of undress, I berated myself for having those forbidden, sexual thoughts. Somehow, I needed to remove the voices from my head of my friends wanting to have and daring me to have illicit sex with my mother. I needed to expel the sudden lustful, sexual desire for my mother's beautiful body from my mind. Instead, since she suddenly and unexpectedly lost her husband, my father, I needed to show her some loving respect and compassionate understanding by watching TV with her instead of imagining having sex with her.

'What's wrong with me for incestuously lusting over my mother? I'm no better than my friends. Totally innocent, she only wanted me to stay with her and watch TV with her until she's tired enough to fall asleep,' I thought. 'She doesn't want me to have sex with her. She doesn't want to give me sex. She wants and needs sleep.'

# # #

Dressed in what I normally wear to bed, pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, albeit now with forbidden, sexual thoughts controlling my now twisted imagination, I timidly went to my mother's bedroom. Not knowing what to expect, I couldn't remember when I was in her bedroom last. Her bedroom has always been her secluded sanctuary. This was her and my Dad's private place and sexual space where they rekindled their loving relationship by making love.

As if I was already doing something incestuously forbidden, no doubt, because of my perversely, perverted, sexual thoughts, I felt weird climbing in bed next to my mother. The place where she had sex with my father and in the same bed where they conceived me, I didn't belong there. Inspiring all sorts of sexual scenarios and forbidden, erotic connotations, how dare I be in bed with my mother? How dare I think of her in a sexual way?

An interloper and a pretender to the throne, I had no right to be in my mother's bed. Afraid that I'd see something that I shouldn't see or touch something that I shouldn't touch, I was nervous. Fearing that I'd be sexually excited enough to make a pass at her, I feared that one innocent thing may lead to another incestuous thing. For the first time, because of all that I was thinking, afraid of what I may do, I was afraid to be alone with her.

I haven't been in my mother's bed since I was a child when having nightmares. Yet, what did it matter? What mattered more was that she couldn't sleep. What mattered more was that she needed her sleep. I was there to help her, not to fuck her. All so very innocent, I was only there to keep her company while watching TV until she grew tired enough to sleep. Doing my duty as her dutiful son, I'd returned to my bedroom, I'd leave as soon as she fell asleep.

I was the one who was suddenly making something out of nothing. I was the one imagining seeing my mother in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked. I was the one imagining having sex with my mother. I was the one imagining her having sex with me. I was the one who was making the act of watching TV with my mother on her bed and in her bedroom incestuously sexual. Because of my perverted friends, I was the one who suddenly wanted to have sex with my mother.

'What's wrong with me? How dare I think less of my mother by putting undeserved, incestuous, sexual connotations on her because she's feeling sad and lonely,' I thought? 'How dare I sexually think of her because I'm feeling horny and sexually excited to be in bed with my mother?'

Instead of thinking about having forbidden sex with her, I should be a kinder, caring, and a more compassionate son. She just lost her beloved husband, my father. How dare I have such disgusting incestuous thoughts by imagining having sex with her naked body? How dare I think of my mother in such a vile, vulgar, and disgusting sexual way.

Nevertheless, if ever I told my friends that I was watching TV with my mother while in her bedroom, they'd think that I was lying. If ever I told my friends that I was watching TV with my mother on her bed, they'd think that I was having sex with her. If ever I told my friends that I never touched her and only watched TV with her, they'd think there was something wrong with me.

They'd think that I was gay or crazy. They'd think that I wasn't telling them the truth. They'd think that I was embarrassed to tell them that I had sex with her. Moreover, inspiring their sexual fantasies while not sparing me the details, they'd feel the need to tell me what they'd sexually do with my mother if they were in bed watching TV with her.

'If your mother invited me in her bed to watch TV, I'd strip her naked while making out with her,' I imagined my friend Gary saying.

'I'd definitely fuck your mother. She's such a MILF,' I imagine my friend Mark saying.

'I'd have her blow me. I'd have her suck my cock,' I imagined my friend, Steve, saying. 'Then, after I ejaculated in your mother's mouth, I'd hold some back to give her a cum bath. I'd cum all over her beautiful face, across her naked breasts, and in her hair.'

'Eww, my friends are such sick bastards,' I thought while imagining making out with my mother and touching her and feeling her everywhere while stripping her naked. 'How dare they talk like that about my mother,' I thought while imagining making sweet, slow love to my mother's pussy before fucking her cunt hard and fast? 'I can't believe they imagine her blowing them,' I thought while imagining my mother stroking my prick while sucking my cock. Sexually inspired by my friends, I imagined cumming in her mouth before giving her a cum bath.

# # #

Yet, justifiably, my mother was feeling poorly after my Dad died. Mourning the sudden and unexpected loss of her husband, sad, lonely, and never having had to sleep alone, understandably, she couldn't sleep. I wouldn't be much of a son if I didn't try and help her. Sorry for her loss, I wouldn't be much of a son if I didn't show her my respectful compassion that I understood her loneliness. I wouldn't be much of a son if I tried to sexually take advantage of her and tried to have incestuous sex with her in her time of suffering sorrow and vulnerability.

Yet, nevertheless how she felt and all that I imagined, scratching my head in disbelief, I couldn't believe my mother invited me in her bed, if only to watch TV. Even after giving her the benefit of my doubt, I had a difficult time in not thinking that my mother wanted me to stay with her in her bed not to watch TV but to give her sex. Now, transferring the onus of blame on her, I wondered if she saw the death of her husband as her opportunity to sexually seduce me. I wondered if she sexually wanted me as much as I now sexually wanted her.