Professional Excellence Ch. 09

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

*****

Monica first appeared momentarily inEntertaining at Large Chapter XV and then had a starring role in the next one - there are a couple of references to events in that chapter here. That's how this all started. Be worth reading if you want to be fully in the picture, Comments, suggestions and support are always appreciated.

*****

The house was strangely quiet. I saystrangely, but I suppose what I really mean wasabnormally. A few months ago the fact that my detached suburban home was quiet, save for the hum of appliances, was the natural state. Husband at work, son at college or revising hard for his final exams before university, closeted in his room, me going about my mundane domestic duties: cooking, washing clothes and the like. None of us were particularly fond of music and the TV was mostly used for viewing the news, serious documentaries and the occasional movie. Soquiet was the default position in our household.

Even when I took up prostitution things at home didn't change much, certainly so far as volume was concerned. I saw all my punters at their homes or their rooms at the Royal Hotel, our town's best. Josh and Roger, my vibrator and favourite dildo, would still occasionally make me shout with pleasure. But somehow the noises you make when you're entertaining yourself don't count. Do they?

Two recent occurrences had broken the tranquility. First up, Monique's phone had got a lot more busy. And I mean a lot. Monique is the name I use professionally and somehow or another I had drifted into the roles of fantasy pin-up for a retired army officer and 'nanny' to a businessman. Both were becoming higher maintenance than I had anticipated.

The pin-up role had started as a joke I'd made up to entertain one of my regular clients and his house guest - the officer. Sending him a signed photograph of myself in nothing but suspenders, stockings and high heels was, in retrospect, probably a mistake. Don't get me wrong, it was a side shot and I had my legs together as I knelt with an arm across my 35DDs, so there was nothingexplicit about it. Nonetheless, it clearly pushed his buttons; I got a cheque for one hundred quid in the post to his friend's address by return. After that it was just good business, so Cyril became the first and only subscriber to what I called my naughty postcard collection. His appreciative texts, special requests and descriptions of his reaction kept Monique's phone pinging. Suffice it to say I was intimately aware of his masturbation schedule; and of course his military background means he has a schedule for everything.

Monty, the businessman Inannied, was a different kettle of fish entirely, but directly - and indirectly - responsible for the fact that I was now fielding texts and phone messages several times a day. He's a sweetie, I have to say, so while it's something of an imposition I find it difficult to get cross with him. Our relationship started when he approached Michael - we'll get to him - in the bar of the Royal and somehow persuaded us to act as magician, assistantand comperes at a 'gentlemen's evening' at his local lodge. Naturally, he jumped at the chance to sample my other services when I offered - wellbounced is probably a better word; Monty has a weight problem. It was only when we got to his room that it became clear that his preferred sexual activity was flagellation. He'd been raised by a sadistic nanny and indifferent parents. The flat back of a large wooden hairbrush slapped against his buttocks would make him hard. His belt or my riding crop applied with vigour to the same region would almost guarantee orgasm. I quickly discovered he liked being verbally chastised for misdemeanours too, real or imagined.

In that room, on that night, I had no idea how to play the role of dominatrix. The Internet has been of significant help as our relationship developed. I foolishly, again in retrospect, ordered him to eat salad every lunchtime, texting me a photo of his plate; swim four times a week and never to masturbate unless he had my explicit permission. I know, stupid right? All I can say in my defence is that I never expected him to agree, let alone do it, and that frankly I didn't even expect to hear from him again about the lodge gig. Schoolgirl error. Now Ms Monique and he meet fortnightly for a healthy lunch and a post-prandial flogging. Mostly I let him wank whenever he wants to, but woe betide him if he misses a pool session or sneaks out for a burger. He's working towards a promised blow job when he gets his waist down to thirty-four inches and full sex when his body mass index falls within the normal range. I might even start my own men-only slimming club, what do you think? (Incidentally, talking of new ventures, tarts like me should be put up for business development awards. Monty's initial visit to our town had been prompted by his interest in a local company. There are now a couple of dozen workers in his new food-processing plant who've got me to thank for their jobs. You've probably eaten a meal from their new vegan range yourself.)

Michael, Michael, Michael, what can I say? Misanthropistpar excellence, obstreperous, aggressive - in both active and passive modes. He was the full-time barman at the Royal and the amateur magician I was to assist. I was probably the only person in the entire world who liked him. Certainly his kids didn't, his employers made little secret of the fact that they'd sack him in a heartbeat if they could find anyone half as good at the job and most of his customers counted their fingers as well as their change after encountering him. Like I said, I liked him.

I was less fond of the fact that as the date for his debut approached he had dropped his initial antipathy to appearing. Now I was getting daily calls for a discussion of how we were going to perform. So much so that I had arranged for him to come to the house for a dress rehearsal (I told him it was an accommodating punter's premises). That had doubled the number of calls, but as the date we'd arranged was in the middle of the next week, I was philosophical.

The second reason our no-sound barrier was being regularly shattered was the progress of my son Nigel's relationship with his classmate Alice from platonic to conjugal. She was now staying over at our house whenever her mother was on night shifts, say three or four times a week, and boy are they noisy. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind it. There's something unusually satisfying about the confirmation that the child you raised has matured into a sensitive and energetic lover; that his partner is constantly and stridently effusive about his abilities with tongue, fingers and cock and that he manages all this with no perceptible arrogance. It's always nice, as you lie alone in bed, to hear someone else enjoying the vigorous shagging you yourself craved. Both Roger and Josh were being called into action more frequently than in the recent past. My battery bills were rising exponentially.

More disturbing were those times - usually when the sound of their love making woke me in the early hours - when my dulled mind began wishing it was me who had him between my legs, me who was licking his dick or swallowing his load. I was horrified the first time it happened. I got up, took a cold shower and sat in the kitchen drinking wine until I shook the image from my brain. But it keeps happening, mostly as I say in the early hours, but I have to admit I had caught myself checking out his package once or twice and assessing his arse for spanking potential. I put it down to the drawbacks of being a mother with a stud for a son and applied myself more diligently to my work.

So on that particular afternoon, I was surprised when I heard someone letting themselves into the house and then... nothing. No call up the stairs from my husband announcing he was home. it was too early for him anyway. My mind told me that it must be Nigel. But his return home was hardly ever silent. Usually there'd be the banter of his friends, or at least the sound of him and Alice manoeuvring their ways into each other's underwear as they proceeded upstairs to his room. Sometimes there was the crashing of cupboard and refrigerator doors. He was convinced he had learned to cook. The regular shriek of the smoke alarm generally indicated he still had some way to go.

But like I said, that day I heard nothing. I'd just texted Monty giving him the OK to toss himself off in the executive bathroom. Apparently he'd been squinting up his PA's mini-skirt during lunch and was turned on by the fact she was knickerless in the office. If you asked me, that little minx was getting ideas above her station, but then who am I to call a girl out for trying? That task followed an intense quarter of an hour as I talked Cyril through to climax as he stroked himself on the other end of the phone. He'd just received my latest photograph and was delighted that I was as enthusiastic about the memories of his dick in my pussy as he was. Once I became aware of the absence of sound I abandoned my plans for a pleasant soak in the company of Roger and began listening intently.

You'll have been in a similar situation yourself. You are sure you can hear little noises in an empty house, but then can't convince yourself that you actually did. You listen harder, heart beginning to pound, but don't pick up confirmatory sounds and tell yourself you were imagining it all and start to relax. Then you hear something else. The rational part of my brain told me I had definitely heard the sound of someone letting themselves in. It had to be Nigel, I was sure. But then, even when he's on his own, he's never that quiet. I had to investigate if only for my own peace of mind.

I felt both apprehensive and a bit silly as I rose from my bed. I didn't exactly tiptoe along the landing, but I did concentrate on making as little noise as possible. Of course, what I should have done was stomp down the stairs, loudly singing whatever tune I could summon to my brain (in this case it would have beenYesterday by The Beatles. OK, I'm a Radio 2 listener, so shoot me). If it really was a burglar - and there was definitely someone in the kitchen, my ears and my brain confirmed that at least - they'd've made a break for it long before I had to confront them.

The kitchen door was slightly ajar and I pushed at it tentatively with my forefinger. When the opening was wide enough for me to see inside, I relaxed.

'Hi Nigel.'

'Mum.'

He actually jumped. Not that internalised feeling of surprise when your heart misses a beat and your stomach lurches, there was an observable physical reaction. His shoulders shot up, both arms jerked out from his sides and his knees seemed to buckle slightly. There was a clatter as one of my suspender belts hit the floor and there was a sharp cry from my son when his elbow hit the island as he tried to hide the pair of my panties and one of my stockings he was holding behind his back. I noticed that one of the see-through dresses Howard had bought me for the magic show was laid out on the top.

I should explain. In the general run of things I have a lot of hand washing of delicate underwear and such. I usually manage to dry it in my private bathroom. But what with the forthcoming show and all the new outfits, most of the downstairs radiators had been called into service as makeshift clothes horses. There were a number of pairs of stockings and numerous thongs still unmolested in various parts of the room.

What do you say when you find your son rubbing a pair of your panties sensually against his cheek?

'If you're thinking of taking up cross-dressing I've got a few things in my wardrobe which would probably suit you. I'd prefer it if you didn't experiment with those, I don't want them stretching.'

His expression changed from embarrassment to shock. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he let out an admonishingMother.

'Well what am I supposed to think? I catch my son doing goodness-knows-what with my unmentionables after sneaking round the house like a cash-starved junkie.'

He spluttered.

'I was not sneaking about. I let myself in normally and was thinking about something when I saw your things. Alice doesn't wear clothes like yours and I just wondered how they felt, that's all.'

He adopted the self-righteous tone boyfriends who cheated on me used to try. He finished his sentence with an unspokencase closed. As his mum, I'd probably have let it go at that. I was feeling a bit foolish myself for all the fantasies I'd been entertaining to frighten myself. But these were Ms Monique's things he was messing with. She wouldn't take that tone from his father and she certainly wasn't going to let the little whippersnapper get away with it.

'What thoughts?'

He'd crossed the kitchen and was searching the cupboards for crisps or other non-healthy comestibles. I only realised how much Monty's diet was affecting our own when I got complaints about there being nothing in the house to eat. He looked around at me with an expression of complete non-understanding.

'Thoughts?'

'You said you were thinking about something before you started molesting my smalls.'

'Oh nothing.'

I was smiling internally, now. His feigned innocence was so patently false it wouldn't fool a child. I constructed a stern face and settled onto one of the kitchen stools. I was beginning to enjoy myself.

'Out with it. You're still not too old to be put across my knee for a good spanking, you know.'

I patted the stool next to me with an unchanged expression. He was looking at me quizzically and he covered his bum with his hand in what I took to be an unconscious movement. He climbed up, not looking at me, and concentrated on devouring a packet of something crunchy which almost certainly contained nothing of nutritional value. He cleared his throat a couple of times. I just waited. Eventually, he took a deep breath, braced his shoulders and put both elbows on the counter top.

'We had a vote today.'

I smiled at him when he stole a glance at me. And kept waiting.

'You voted?'

'Yeah. You won.'

'I did? What?'

'It was...'

He hesitated and glanced at me again to gauge my mood.

'Top MILF.'

'What?'

'Top MILF.'

'Very nice, dear. I'm delighted, naturally. But what's MILF?'

You probably spotted I was being disingenuous. Nigel certainly did.

'Come on, mum. Don't play naive with me. I see your browser history every time you get me to fix your crashed computer remember.'

'Busted.'

We both started laughing and I reached across and squeezed his knee. He was confident now and tried to take the initiative.

'I noticed that you've been watching a lot of spanking stuff recently. Is that dad punishing you, or the other way round?'

He looked pointedly at my derrière as he spoke. I decided to nip this line in the bud straight away.

'What your father and I get up to is none of your business, young man, either in the house or elsewhere. Now stop trying to evade the question and tell me more about this vote. I suppose Charlie showed those pictures around. I hope he asked you if it was OK first.'

Charlie was one of Nigel's friends and an accomplished photographer. So much so that he's decided to forego university and try to enrol in a photography course at the local art school. It was him I turned to when I needed the fake pinup shot for Cyril. When he wanted to include a few in his portfolio, I knew I was going on public display. I made him promise to ask Nigel first before showing them to anyone else.

'Course he did.'

'And what did you think? You didn't say anything.'

'I thought they were really good.'

'What? The lighting, the sets? What do you mean "really good"?'

He started going red behind his ears. When he was little, that was always a sign he'd done something naughty. He braced himself again and made himself turn to face me directly. He looked quite serious.

'You're really sexy, mum. I mean seriously hot. They made me proud that you were so brave, you know, to show off like that.'

He dipped his head immediately, he'd finished, now his whole face was red. I leaned over and kissed him. I was genuinely touched. And pleased he was broadminded enough to let his friends ogle snaps of his mother in the nip.

'So come on. What do I get for being the mum all your friends would like to fornicate with? Is there a cup, a large cheque, a plaque for the front of the house, what?'

We were both laughing.

'It wasn't just my friends. It was the whole of the student body.'

'You mean...'

'Yep. You got about four hundred votes, the next most popular was about two hundred behind.'

'OMG as I believe text-speak has it.'

'There isn't a prize. Just the honour of the title. Though I suppose I could arrange a large crate of soiled tissues if you really want a public acknowledgement.'

'Ugh. Now that is disgusting, I think I'll pass. Who did you vote for, by the way?'

I fluttered my eyelids and gave him a fake pout. He stopped laughing and started to look serious again.

'I wanted to vote for you. I think you're the sexiest mature woman I know.'

'Come on. I bet you say that to all the girls.'

I was still trying to lighten the tone. He frowned.

'No. I'm serious. I was definitely going to vote for you, but when it came to it, it felt a bit weird.'

'I know what you mean.'

I reflected his tone.

'So I voted for Alice's mum.'

'Well, if her daughter gets her looks from her, I'm not surprised. So come on, give your sexy mother a hug. I'm going to get my lap top and you're going to show me how to delete my internet history again.'

I stood up and pulled him to me. We definitely held the embrace longer than decorum would dictate. He was definitely coming on to me. I noticed he was pressing his chest hard against mine and there was definite evidence of the beginnings of arousal lower down. For both of us. I really wanted to grab his arse, so I did. But pushed him away before I could grind my crutch against his like I wanted to. I saw his shocked expression, but turned away and made for the door before either of us had to say something. He stopped me as I was about to leave the room.

'Can I talk to you mum? Seriously. I think I might have done something stupid. Really stupid.'

'Please tell me you haven't dumped Alice.'

'No, no. It's nothing like that. It's just that... Well I'd like to talk something through with you, if that's OK.'

I walked slowly back into the room and stood opposite him, the island between us. Howard and I had both let the boys know that they could talk to us about anything and that we'd try not to be judgemental. Fortunately, the British system is pretty good on sex and relationship education so we'd mostly avoided having to talk mechanics and emotions. Trevor - he's my son and I love him, but he was always a prissy pup - had avoided anything personal so far as I knew. Nigel had had a couple of man-to-man conversations with his father, but this was the first time he's wanted to speak about anything like that with me. Time to put my principles into practice, I was thinking, hoping it was going to be nothing too difficult.

'Is it cup-of-tea serious, or something stronger? I could open some wine.'

'What time's dad home?'

My heart dropped. This was obviously going to take some time.

'Not for ages yet. You know he's going away with the boys from the lodge over the weekend, golfing in southern Spain. He's working late for the rest of the week to get everything in the office sorted before he leaves for four days. Do you want to go out somewhere? We could have dinner at a restaurant.'