"Pornography," My Mother Said Pt. 01

"Give me that," my mother said, releasing my arm.

"It'll drip," I said, meaning the cum. I didn't want her to get angry with me if I let the spill onto the carpet.

"So wipe it," she said.

Engrossed in the task, stunned by the speed in which my life had altered forever, I dabbed at the bulb, semen seeping from its eye, the blouse bunched in my fingers.

Then my mother asked: "Could you manage it again?"

I looked at her, unsure what she meant.

Her eyebrows arched again. "Will it stay hard? I would have thought at your age..."

My mother gave a half-shrug as she said it, breasts rising and dipping during the shrug.

"I think so, yeah," I said.

"So, what about if I take my skirt off for you? Would you like to see me in my undies?"

Lust flared.

"Oh, mum, please," I said through a half-moan. I let the blouse hang from my fingers as I took control of my cock with my free hand. I started to stroke it, insides swirling with eager anticipation as we looked at each other.

"You mustn't ever tell about this," my mother said as her fingers went to the zip at her hip. She pulled it down and gave a shimmy, the movement doing all sorts of wonderful things to her tits. "Not your friends, a girlfriend ... And I assume you'll probably marry someday," my mother added as the skirt fell to the tops of her shoes. "Or at least get a serious girlfriend. You'll probably want to tell, but you mustn't. You understand that?"

I would have agreed to anything in that moment. My mother was just stepping free of the skirt, my focus locked on where her black briefs covered her body, the secret, intimate place hidden from view, a second shock rolling over me when I realised she was wearing stockings attached to a suspender belt she had fastened around her waist.

"I won't tell," I said, fist working my size.

My mother looked at me, seriousness in her eyes, fists on her hips. I could have wept because it was such a wonderful sight.

"Hmm, well, I suppose I've already gone too far," she muttered to herself.

"Mum..." I said on a groan.

She grinned at me, lower lip between her teeth, expression vixen. "Look at you," she said through a smirk. "You're really excited."

"It's you," I said, moaning it out. "I didn't know ... I don't believe you're showing me."

"Just a bit of fun. I told you, I love you. This is better than having you looking at filth."

"So much better," I gasped.

"Just let me watch," my mother said.

"Uh-huh, all right," I said, not caring what her motivation was.

I wanked, eyes all over her body as she watched me do it. We were in the living room of the house I'd known all my life, a familiar place, and her familiar face, the scene surreal because I'd never have thought we'd be together that way.

"Your father likes me in stockings," my mother said after a time. "Looks like it's a case of like father, like son," she went on, rolling her eyes.

The situation was even more strange because my mother was acting like it was all perfectly normal: watching my son masturbate? Od course, whyever not?

"Mum, I love them," I said, half-chocked with lust.

"I can see," she said, the grin broadening into a smile.

It was silence between us again for half-a-minute or more. Then I saw my mother's cheeks balloon as she let out a sigh.

"You know," she started, pausing for a second before adding, "Seeing you do that is making mummy very wet."

The third-person reference was odd, but it worked on me. Just like her weirdly formal language and manner I'd seen earlier on, the way she said it set the dark urges boiling within.

I nodded, slack in my jaw when she asked, "Do you know what I mean?"

She stared at my cock for a couple of seconds and then looked into my face. "I know I shouldn't," my mother said, "but, well, would you mind if I...?"

When she stopped talking, I blurted out a strained, "What, what do you want?"

She looked coy, even shy as she murmured, "Well, I was thinking that ... Uhm ... Since you're doing that..." My mother nodded towards where I was tugging my dick. "I thought I might just put my hand inside here..."

My heart raced like a Formula One car off the grid when my mother slid a hand into her knickers, the fabric moving like squirming kittens in a sack.

The thrill of it all squeezed me when my mother said, "This is so naughty, isn't it, darling?"

I couldn't believe what I was seeing: my own mother rubbing herself, hand inside her underwear, breasts jiggling as she did it.

"it's fantastic," I said, groaning it out.

Her eyes glazed over when she asked, "You won't tell?"

"No," I croaked.

"Good boy," she said.

Tender emotion bubbled inside me. "I love you," I moaned.

"My baby," she said. "You're grown up," my mother added with a quick shake of her head like she couldn't believe it. "Hair down there ... As big as your father."

The words came from me on a rush of lust and desire. I heard what she said about my size, her comparison to my father setting the urges loose, the sensations making me bold enough to croak out a choked: "Mum, I just want to fuck you. Can I put it in, please?"

As soon as I heard myself say it, I expected an angry, vehement response. It was crude in the extreme. Using foul language was a pet-hate of hers and I knew I'd overstepped the mark by using the word.

But, as soon as I'd said it, my mother tutted and rolled her eyes, the same weird language she'd been using throughout slipping from her mouth.

I'd expected a scathing response, but what came out was: "Oh, my lovely big boy, I know how desperate you are. I can tell just by looking. But, well, the thing is, I'm married. Your father's the only man I could let put his thing inside me. I know you want to do it, and believe me, my sweetheart, I want to let you. I mean, well, that's a lovely-looking penis. It's so hard, so large; I know it would feel good if you put it inside me. We just can't. I'm sorry. It would be wicked. Never mind I'm married, I'm also your mother. If we did that, it would be incest."

Desperation made me moan out an urgent, "But I want to. I love you. You're lovely."

My mother sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but no."

Frustration came from me in a long, guttural groan. I wanked and looked at my mother, the feminine shape of her making me wild.

"Oh, fuck," I said on a long, low moan.

"Don't say that again," my mother said. The squirming inside her knickers ceased as she stared at me. "You know I don't like that talk."

"I'm sorry," I said, suddenly anxious in case she pulled her hand out of her underwear.

A pause followed, a few seconds in which I stopped tugging my dick.

Then my mother sighed, shaking her head as she said, "Look, you can come here and kiss me. You can touch my breasts. But," she added, sharp in her tone, "don't say that word again. I told you, your father is the only man who can put his penis inside me. I'm married to him. What we're doing is different."

"I won't," I gasped. "I'm sorry," I said.

"You don't have to keep saying you're sorry," my mother told me.

I was about to say it again but stopped myself in time. Instead, I just watched my mother as she started to rub herself again.

As it went on, while my mother rubbed herself and I tugged my dick, I let the blouse drop to the carpet. I saw her eyes flick down to the discarded bundle before she looked at my face.

"I..." my mother began, pausing as she sucked air in through her nose, eyes closing while she winced.

A moment later, she tried again.

"I want to take my knickers off," my mother groaned. I looked at her and saw the need in her eyes. "I'm sorry, my darling, I know it's rude..." A pause while she closed her eyes and let out a moan before: "I need to do this without anything in the way. It feels so nice as it is, but I have to have more room."

I didn't know what she was talking about, so I didn't reply.

A moment later, after another grunt and wince in frustration, my mother said, "Can I take them off? Please," she moaned as she cupped one breast and teased its nipple between her forefinger and thumb. "I'll be bare," my mother gasped. "But I just want to masturbate without my underwear on."

"Uh, mum, yes," I groaned. "I want to watch."

She stared at me for a few seconds, fingers busy inside her briefs until she closed her eyes.

"Breasts are one thing, but..." she said.

When she opened her eyes, my mother groaned, the action inside her knickers working through a couple of gears.

Then she said, "Sod it," turning while shoving her underwear down to her knees.

The gasp burst from me when I saw her bare buttocks, her knickers slipping down her legs. The shape of her from behind astounded me. I thought she was beautiful, full in figure, ripe and voluptuous.

I was still gawking with my mouth hanging open, my hand unmoving with my cock in my fist when my mother turned to face me again.

"Oh fuck," I sighed, mindless to her earlier warning when I saw the tuft of hair at the apex to her slit. Everything else was smooth, her labia dangling in loose, fleshy folds.

"You watch me," my mother said as she slumped into the sofa. "It's your turn to watch."

I was, I was staring agog as she lifted her shoes from the carpet, folding her legs at the knees as her thighs went wide.

"It's not as big as it looks," my mother said. "It's just these lips."

I knew what she meant as I gawked in wonder at her meaty, very ungainly flaps. Those labia were large and floppy, shivering when she spilt them with her fingers, the swollen pink nub of her clit another reason for me to gasp.

"Uh-huh, watch me," my mother said, eyes glazing over. "Leave that alone. Stop playing with your willy. I told you I don't want a mess."

The breath left me in one long rush, a groan issuing forth as I watched my own mother sawing at her vulva with one hand, the other mauling those large, heavy breasts. Her core was glistening scarlet, the single-most erotic sight of my life to that point.

"Baby, come here," my mother moaned after a full thirty seconds. "I want you to kiss me."

I was wanking when I went, jeans at my shins so I moved in a penguin walk. Then I clambered onto the sofa, kneeling as my hand went to her breasts while I ducked in and slobbered a wet kiss against her mouth.

Her reaction was instant. My mother slapped at my hand and then pushed me away.

She slid into the corner of the couch against the arm and the upright. "Don't do it like that," my mother admonished, wiping the back of a hand over her mouth. "Don't be disgusting. I'm your mother. Kiss me like a nice boy should. I didn't raise you like a rude pig."

I was choking to stick my dick into my mother, desperate to fuck it into her body but also mindful to how she was the one in control. It took a huge effort but I managed to stop myself from shoving her thighs apart so I could bury my cock into her core.

"I'm sorry," I moaned. "You're so lovely."

"Then kiss mummy nicely," she said.

It was unbelievable given she was as good as naked and I had my cock out, but my mother offered her cheek.

"Here. Nicely," my mother added, pointing to where she wanted the kiss.

I kept myself under control, struggling against the temptation as I sat down and leaned in to gently press my lips to her cheek.

"Lips now," my mother said as she turned to face me.

I did it again, pursing my lips to plant a chaste, filial kiss against her mouth. It was a step up in intimacy but lacked passion and heat. It was no different to the way we'd kissed a hundred times before.

"Good boy," my mother crooned in the same tone she'd use to a dog.

Holding the near overwhelming urges in check, I looked at my mother, my eyes moving over her shape.

I asked: "Can I touch you?"

To which she replied: "Just my breasts. You can touch them if you promise to be a good boy. I don't want you getting all rough with me again. Be gentle. Be nice."

She smiled and sat upright, offering her breasts after I said, "I promise."

The scene shifted as the universe condensed. At least it did for me. I let go of my cock as my mother encouraged me with her expression. She smiled at me, softness in her eyes.

"Mm-hmm, it's all right. Touch them," she breathed. "Be gentle but firm."

I groaned when I felt the spongy-firm soft-yet-firm texture of my mother's large breasts.

"Oh, mum," I sighed.

"Not too rough," my mother reminded me. Then she murmured, Kiss mummy again," using that weird third-person reference once more.

She tilted her face and puckered her lips. I moved in close, trembling with pent up sexual arousal, her breasts in the scoops of my palms.

We kissed like we did before, lips compressed until my mother slipped her tongue into my mouth. It was a quick flick, lizard fast, the shock of it making me numb.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," my mother said a split-second later. "You can kiss me but not with your tongue. That's for mummies and daddies when they love each other. I'm your mother, I shouldn't have done it."

"But mummy, you're bare," I said, slipping into her odd way of talking.

The same way she used to ask me at Christmas, my mother said, "You're very excited, aren't you, my darling?"

I couldn't stop myself as my hand moved down from her breast towards her thigh. "Yes, mummy," I said.

It was a thrill when she didn't stop me when my fingers brushed her skin, her thigh all smooth and warm.

"You can't ever tell. You can't say a word."

"I won't," I breathed, trembling yet delighted as my mother shifted position and she parted her legs.

Then her hand went on top of mine to stop the expeditionary digits from exploring further. Our eyes met, her gaze holding mine.

She sighed it out, the words setting delight and disbelief surging within when my mother said: "If I let you touch me there you won't get rough, will you, sweetie?"

"Oh, mummy, I love you," I groaned.

I watched her close her eyes as she moved my hand to the heat between her legs. I felt her tuft crinkle beneath my fingers as my mother guided my hand to the silky wetness, her labia a confusion until my forefinger found her clit.

My mother's eyes snapped open. "Oh my God," she groaned, wall-eyed for a couple of seconds. She gripped my wrist, expression clearing as she looked at me, mouth hanging slack. "Promise me now, promise you'll never tell."

"I promise," I gurgled, my head full of wonder.

"I mean it. It's very important," my mother insisted.

She gasped and pulled my hand away from that magical place.

"People wouldn't understand," she said, the words strained through gritted teeth. Her eyes were set on my face, her stare so intense I could imagine its heat. "This is just a mummy loving her son," my mother continued. "I don't want you to look at that magazine. You're my baby and I want to protect you. I want to take care of you. I'm your mother, it's my duty."

"I promise," I said, desperate to get my hand back between her legs. "I won't tell. Ever."

"Oh, darling, I hope you don't. It would be so much trouble. You understand, don't you?"

"Uh-huh, yes," I gasped.

"I shouldn't really let you touch it. That's for your father."

"But, mum, I want to. Please."

"Oh, my darling boy, I know you do. I want you touch me as well."

In desperation, I said: "Just a couple of seconds. That's all."

My mother paused, staring at me until I saw her smirk and she rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," she said, still smirking at me. "You wouldn't be able to stop. And," she added, drawling the rest, "I wouldn't be able to stop, either. I wouldn't want to," she finished, with a wry chuckle.

Another pause while we stayed locked at the eyes, her fingers around my wrist.

Then, after what felt like hours, my mother gave a simple half-shrug. I didn't understand it completely, I had no real comprehension of the enormity of what she said next but, as she let go of my wrist, and as she pushed me away, my mother said: "If we're going to do this, then let's do it properly."

I thought it was all over from the way she'd pushed me away, but her words didn't make sense. What she said didn't match the actions. So, confused, as my mother stood up, I was on the sofa, half-kneeling, head filled with questions.

"Come on," my mother said, gesturing with a wave of her fingers. "Pick up my blouse. Don't leave the living room in a mess. You know I like it tidy."

I was gawking as she squatted to pick her skirt up from the floor. My mother scooped her underwear, too, moving towards the door while I followed her jiggling buttocks with my eyes.

She paused and turned, presenting her breasts in three-quarter profile, that sight sending my hand to my dick.

"Leave it alone," she said as I started to crank. "Come upstairs."

My mother left the room, then I heard her call, "Don't forget that blouse!"

A minute later I was upstairs. I found her in my room.

"Put that filthy rag down," my mother said.

I thought she meant the cum-soaked blouse, but she was looking at the magazine. I'd brought both upstairs, mindful despite the excitement that she wanted the living room tidy. It had occurred to me my father might be less than impressed to find hardcore porn down the behind the cushions. I'd learn different later, but at that time I was still trying to push past the shock and confusion of the past quarter hour.

"There'll be no more of that in this house," my mother said when I dropped the magazine like it was hot.

"No, sorry," I said.

I was just inside the door and she was at the foot of my bed. My mother stood with her fists on her hips, apparently not bothered I was gawping at her deshabille.

"All right, take your clothes off," my mother said with a thrust of her chin at me. "Hurry up," she added, snapping it out when, for some ridiculous reason, I hesitated. "Don't be shy. I'm as good as bare. I told you, if we're going to do this, we're going to do it properly."

I did think to ask what she meant, exactly. What was it we were going to do? I thought it and immediately decided to keep my mouth shut. If I spoke I might spoil it. The last thing I wanted was for my mother to pack her breasts away and cover everything up. I'd been so close with my finger on her clit and I didn't want to risk it by saying something stupid to put her off.

I toed the heels of my training shoes, kicking them free before I let my jeans and underwear drop. My tee-shirt came off next. Then I was naked, cock waggling around, the thrill of it all effervescent inside me.

"Good boy," my mother said in that praising-a-dog tone of voice.

It was the last time I'd hear her use that strange way of speaking. Up 'til then she'd not uttered a word I hadn't heard her use before. Her vocabulary had been oddly formal, a contradiction to her deeds and actions. She'd said 'penis' and 'willy'; she'd referenced herself in the third-person as 'mummy'. I'd even picked up her way of speaking. Boobs were 'breasts', naked was 'bare'. Then there'd been the chaste kissing, one small crack in her façade when she'd slipped me the tongue for the split-second.

It was strange but also weirdly erotic.

Twisted in that it was how she'd spoken to me as I grew up.

But, next, leaving me gape-mouthed and halfway appalled, my mother decloaked. It was like a switch had flicked inside her head as she looked at my hard-on, that smirk in her expression when she moved her attention to my face and she said: "God, that's a wonderful cock. Bring it over here. Let me see you wank it again."

She said it and sawed her hand between her legs, rubbing her vulva while also mauling her breasts with the spare hand.

"I'll do it for you," my mother added. She was moving onto my bed, laying with her shoulders propped against the pillows, legs wide as she splayed her labia and then slipped two fingers in up to the knuckle. "I'll wank it and you can kiss me right here..."