Tamed By My Son

Our standard of living was steadily falling initially, as you would expect when a young eighteen year old boy was master of the house. We had begun to eat crap, became slovenly sat around in the evenings. Washing up and household chores went undone, we were becoming trash. This didn't last too long however, as Rick came to realise he was actually missing good food, he was starting to dislike the house in the state it was in and so he got his act together and we managed to return to our self respect and house-proud ways.

During this time we drifted into the habit of Rick telling me what I should wear on any particular day. My son became my dresser and not for one single second did I consider refusing him. Rick had a penchant for the elegant and classy woman, which worked out well for me, as he made me wear clothes that fit in with my professional persona.

Asking my son what I was permitted to wear each day became an incredible turn on. It was against my usual persona and the slight submissive role I had drifted into was very sensual and sexual.

At home however things were different. In the evenings I would find myself in various states of dress, or undress as the case may be. Rick would have me parade myself around dressed in my stockings and garter belt and high heels at times, or he would have me in just heels and panties, my breasts bared to him the entire evening. I seemed to spend my entire home life with bare breasts and I would deliberately move in such a way as to make my breasts sway, bounce, jiggle and swing. My nipples were permanently erect and I found this nudity more profound, due to Rick being fully dressed, than when we were naked together.

Rick also had a little thing for the stereotypical whore look.

I was made to go out and buy a mini skirt that was way, way, too short for me. I was told to wear this with stockings and suspenders and heels as usual but the cheap, gaudy, red satin blouse and the massively overdone heavy makeup, made me look like a caricature of everyone's idea of a cheap tart.

It was dressed like this one night that Rick told me to go to the bedroom. In no time at all he was at me, kissing and slobbering with me, smearing my lipstick over my face and talking dirty to me.

"Suck my cock mum, I want to watch you with my cock in your mouth," he ordered.

I loved this relationship, it wasn't abusive as this may sound, I just got so turned on by being mastered by a man and this was my own son that was doing it!

I slid down his body and arrived at the gorgeous, huge cock that was almost fully hard already. I worked on his cock like a backstreet whore, sucking him noisily and acting like a trollop. When he had had enough and my lipstick was smeared all down the long length of hard meat and all over my face, I was dragged to my feet. Unceremoniously I was pushed onto all fours and lay my face to the pillows in readiness.

"No, come up onto your hands and knees, I wanna watch your tits swinging as I fuck you." said Rick.

My son had learned quite a lot in our time together but he was still far from being the finished article. He slid effortlessly between my wet labia, forced me open and eased down my hot channel. As Rick fucked me quite crudely, I turned to look into the mirror against the wall and saw myself.

Dressed as I was on hands and knees with my breasts swinging backwards and forwards, my makeup spread across my face with my own son fucking my pussy as he pleased was all too much for me. I needed to cum.

As Rick neared his climax things changed. My son was getting increasingly turned on and frantic, he pulled my hair back with each thrust of his big rod as he bottomed out inside me. With every thrust my orgasm was beginning its unstoppable charge through my body. As Rick began to ejaculate deep inside his mother, the dirty talk changed tack.

"Oh God you dirty bitch, you fucking filthy whore, I just love fucking that whore cunt of yours."

It was not enough to stop my shuddering, shattering explosive climax as my well fucked pussy gripped and grabbed the big shaft buried inside me,

But it did spoil it a little.

As we lay panting after our tremendous mutual orgasm I was cradled in his arms. After a few minutes I said,

"Rick baby?"

"Yes mum."

"Please don't call me those names again Darling." I whimpered.

"Why not." was the very simple question.

"Well baby, I know I was a bitch but I don't want to be one anymore and I don't want you to call me it. I continued, and I am not a whore so please baby don't call me one anymore."

"But mum you are such a slut."

Slut?

Slut?

I felt a sudden twinge between my legs at the word. I thought about being labelled a slut and the context of it and my reaction was totally unexpected.

"Slut?"

It sounded so evocative a name, it gave me a warm feeling deep down. I was amazed at how much I loved the thought, the name and the concept.

I was my own son's slut.

The following day as I sat at my desk at work, the name kept coming into my head frequently.

"Slut"

"Slut"

I found myself crossing my legs and pulling my skirt just high enough to expose my stocking tops and my garter strap. I sat and ran my hand over and over, up and down my own thigh, feeling the nylon, feeling the skin, running my fingers under the garter strap and into the top of my stocking. I was alone in my office and I wanted to look at myself. I rearranged a mirror so that I could see myself and recommenced to 'touch myself up'.

The effect was startling, I don't know if this is narcissistic but all the time I caressed myself and said the word,

"Slut"

To myself, it gave me a warm, wonderful and sensual feeling. I desperately wanted to slip my hand into my thong and to caress and tease my rapidly moistening pussy but the situation was too dangerous. Instead I consoled myself with the fact I was a mature woman having insane, dangerous, illicit, illegal, sexual relations with a boy and that I was indeed a slut.

In my all too frequent daydreams, I considered why I had reacted the way I had, to both the word and the concept of me being a slut. Why did it thrill me so much to think of myself like that? I realized that it was the sense of being owned that excited me as it did. In our private intimate moments my son and I emphasized that I belonged to him in that context. We had a very illicit and taboo relationship, I loved the idea of him possessing me, and so did he. The dirtiness of it was appealing too and gave me the most exquisite and delicious feeling.

I was saying to Rick,

"I'm good for everyone else, but I'm a naughty bad girl for you."

The truth is, negotiating who should do the dishes, or pay the bills, or take out the trash, was important, but not exciting. I didn't want to try and be respectful and egalitarian in the bedroom. I wanted to be thrown down, spanked, and screamed at. Mother and son in an equal position of power are good at settling chores, and at making love. But I thought fucking needed a bit of a power imbalance and sometimes I just wanted to be fucked.

I had made peace with this part of myself, by realizing that who I am in bed, is completely different from who I am outside of bed. As an alpha woman in life, it only makes sense that I'd want to take a break from it and be submissive in the bedroom.

I thought my contentment with being a slut couldn't be any more complete, yet I was mistaken.

A few days after my son and I agreed that I was not his bitch or whore but I was only to happy to be his slut, Rick came home with a small parcel.

"What have you bought Darling?" I asked pointing to the box.

"Never you mind for now babes, Rick said, Just go and put on your black stockings and other stuff and hurry back down here."

Stood in front of my son dressed in my best lacy suspender belt and silk stockings, heels, thong and braless which Rick always insisted I was nowadays, I was filled with expectation of what Rick had in the parcel.

Rick opened the box and took out a collar. As I looked closer at it, I nearly came in my panties. In his hand was a collar like a dog's, it was leather on the outside with a fur inner. A sliver buckle which fastened at the back and a length of chain hung down.

Written on the front of the collar was,

"Slut"

Instantly the thought of wearing such a thing and having my own son lead me around by the chain, gave me the most exquisite and thrilling rush inside my vagina. In the days and weeks to follow, I only wore the collar for sex. At first I had the fear that such a thing would be used to demean and debase me. I feared Rick would want to drag me around on my knees or treat me abusively but in reality it wasn't anything to fear, it was just the final piece to complete my uniform.

It turned me on, both put it on myself and for him to tie it on me. I would love the way the chain would hang between my naked breasts as I moved around or sat at his side. I spent several weeks rushing home in my business attire and excitedly dressing myself in the clothes that Rick had laid out on the bed that morning.

I dressed like a slut, I acted like a slut and I was treated like a slut.

However as time passed, I began to notice a definite shift in Ricks demands. Without being aware of it at first, because the shift was gradual, I realised that my 'uniform' and how I dressed to please my son was changing. For most of the time previous I had worn stockings and garter belts of various colours and sexy lingerie with them, yet I noticed that I was now being dressed in a very conservative manner.

Discussing this with Rick, he explained that although I was 'drop dead' gorgeous and sexy as a slut, he had found that I was slowly becoming just another woman from his porn collection. Now the dress code was changing in order to be more 'mumsy'. When my son had sex with me, it had slowly developed in his mind that he wanted to reinforce who I was and so began to tell me to dress like, look like and behave like, his mum.

As the weeks came and went Rick and I seemed to be 'on the same page' regarding our mother-son relationship and both found that to maintain that was the most fundamental thing. Even though he was only a boy, I think he recognized the special nature of our incest and he no more wanted me as Megan his lover, or partner, or girlfriend, or even wife, than I did.

He wanted to make love to his mum.

One day this love and devotion we shared as mother and son was very evident. It was a very typical domestic scene, I was in the kitchen baking and was dressed accordingly. I wore older typical mum type clothes and even had on an apron for my task. As my son stood by my side talking to me, just as he had throughout his young life, asking me question about things,

"Why are you doing it like that mum?"

"Why does that look like that?"

"Can I have the mixing bowl when you have finished mummy?" (The use of 'mummy' nearly making me cum under my panty-less skirt!)

He was never more my son than he was at that moment.

Yet when Rick slid his hand under my skirt and very tenderly and lovingly caressed my rounded bum cheeks as I worked, it was as beautiful a moment as I had ever had with him.

Rick helped me with my baking and before long we were both messy with flour, butter, jam and fruit. When we held each other and kissed, like no mother and son should ever kiss, Rick undid my apron and eased it down. Unbuttoning my blouse he soon bared my breasts for himself. Touching each others faces and bodies as we tenderly kissed, we slowly became a sticky mess with the food from our hands. I touched Rick's face and left him with 'floury' and 'jammy' cheeks. We laughed lovingly together totally at ease now with what we were to each other.

I looked down as my son caressed my breasts, they looked incredibly sexy covered in flour, jam and butter from his tender hands.

"How could they look sexy like that?" I thought,

I don't know but they did!

Rick bent slightly and picked me up, he only needed to take a few paces before he had my back against the worktop. He sat me down on the dirty granite surface, it was the perfect height for what I so happily knew was coming.

I opened my legs and my already sodden pussy lips slightly parted in the most wonderful invitation to him.

There was no foreplay, even though I was always in ecstasy to have his gorgeous cock in my mouth and to have his mouth over my pussy and I longed for those things constantly, sometimes we were just simply too ready for each other. We needed to be joined in the most intimate way there was and as quickly as possible.

My son stood between my legs as I sat on the worktop and he touched my expectant lips. It was heaven as he gently ran his finger between my labia and opened me. Placing his big, ever ready penis between my lips, he told me he loved me and slowly eased himself into his mummy's wet pussy.

We kissed each other lovingly and caressed each others dirty faces, sticky chests and breasts. My son proceeded to make love to me slower than I had ever experienced before. Whether Rick got the idea from magazines or the internet, or just pure instinct I don't know, but he moved inside me so incredibly slowly that at times I could barely feel him move. It took an age for his long hard cock to penetrate my entrance, slide into the very depths of me and to reach my cervix, it also took an age to withdraw and start again.

This slow method was starting to drive me crazy, it was a teasing, tormenting almost taunting sensation and as my vagina contracted around his huge cock, trying desperately to increase the contact and the friction between them, I was starting to lose my composure.

This gorgeous cock was toying with me.

"Move slowly, like molasses in wintertime,"

The line was the crazy thought that I had. We had watched a Clint Eastwood movie the night before and here in the midst of the most frustrating yet incredible love making I had ever experienced, the line from the movie came into my head.

The brain is fucking weird!

The torment continued until my pussy could take no more. The grasping, clinging, contracting and pulsating walls of my vagina, were desperate to cum in order to end the exquisite torture. As I felt the telltale tingle and movement deep inside me,

"Oh baby I am going to cum,"

I whispered to my lover, who promptly stopped moving inside me. I don't know how my son had come by his technique but stopping his thrusting had the most profound effect. My climax was on its way and stopping the movement did not stop the orgasm, nor did it spoil it. On the contrary, because my vagina didn't have the pounding of a cock inside me to force the climax out quickly, the feelings and the thrill of orgasm came in their own time.

The fact that my body had to wait, the orgasm not being forced out seemed to make the whole thing last forever. Rather than a few intense seconds of orgasm, I was on the very edge for what seemed like minutes. Being on the very edge as my orgasm made it's own way, slowly coming to the surface was torture in itself and when the most wonderfully prolonged climax burst out of me it felt as though I had been cumming for so, so long.

I clung to my son as be quickened his pace.

I was exhausted and like a rag doll, yet I wanted the final flourish of my son inside me as much as he did.

"Baby please cum inside your mummy, please shoot your wonderful cum up into mummy's pussy," I knew this talk made it extra special for my boy as he took me, so I whispered the words to him in order to make it as pleasurable as I could for my son.

"Oh Jesus Mum,"

Rick gasped as I felt his big invading length twitching and jerking deep inside my clinging pussy. I swear I could feel his semen rippling up his beautiful cock through the walls of my vagina and I swear I could feel his cum as it burst forth and hit my cervix, splattered my crinkled pink walls and filled the most taboo pussy in the world with his cum.

It was the most beautiful moment and feeling that I had experienced since giving birth to him, the sheer intensity of my love for him as a son and a lover overwhelmed me. As I started to shed tears of happiness the drops ran down my face leaving tracks in the flour on my face. Rick in his growing maturity didn't ask me what was wrong, he didn't ask me not to cry, he understood what was happening. My son tenderly kissed away the tears on my dirty face on one side then the other.

"Mum you are the most beautiful and sexy woman I have ever seen, and I am in love with you," he whispered shyly.

"And I am in love with you too baby."

We laughed and cried and the tears ran into the flour and butter and jam on our faces and into the whole sticky, beautiful, sexy mess that we were.

This wonderful moment between us was repeated a few days later.

It was the worst time of my life. Rick was planning to leave for university as were his friends. They had decided to clear out the shed, renovate their push bikes and any other stuff they had grown out of and would no longer need, in order to sell them. The picture of my son in the garden with his friends working on such things made the memories of his youth come flooding into my conscious. As I gazed at the boy with who I was sleeping, I felt an almost uncontrollable shiver run through my pussy.

He was my young son and we were lovers, it was so stupidly insane, yet thrilling.

When Rick's friends had left and he came in the house, he was dirty and oily from messing with chains and gears etc. He looked so incredibly young, so wonderfully sexy and I desperately wanted this boy - my son - to make love to me there and then.

I moved to him before he could wash his hands, I wanted, no I needed, his oily hands on my mature body. Without any build up I simply put my arms around him and began to kiss him passionately.

"Baby I need you so badly, take me son, use me darling," I whispered.

I had on a white blouse, it was old and I was so glad it was worth nothing, as Rick's hands found my rapidly swelling and excited nipples beneath. He started to say how he would ruin my blouse when I stopped him.

"Rip it from me baby, it's nothing."

Rick needed no further encouragement and tore the flimsy blouse from my braless breasts. With dirty and oily hands smearing the grime on me and despoiling my breasts, Rick mauled me. He pinched and pulled my nipples which rose and elongated to their fullest like they were reaching out to him. Rick handled me rougher than he had ever done before, it wasn't abusive it was beautiful, rough and harsh kneading and squeezing of my tits. Grabbing, pulling and stretching my nipples he was driving me crazy.

"Rip my panties off baby please," I heard myself pleading.

My son simply ripped every shred of clothing from my body in a frantic, frenetic and increasingly aroused passion.

There was no more foreplay. My son turned me around, bent me over the kitchen table, spread my ass cheeks and opened my dripping labia. He entered me quickly, roughly and deeply. As the walls of my pulsating vagina gripped and grabbed the huge invading length of him, his cock at that moment as big as it ever had.

All the time I was fucked like a rag doll bent over that table, the one and only thought that kept coming to me, was the one which made this whole situation an earth shatteringly meaningful, momentous and profound moment between my son and I.

"My son, my son, my son, is fucking me."

The little boy just in from the garden from mending his bicycle with his little friends, was the man now driving me crazy with lust, with pleasure and bulldozing me headlong into what I knew already was going to be the mother of all orgasms. Not just physically but as the wildest 'mind-fuck' I could ever imagine.

Although I made sure there could be no accidents and I wouldn't get pregnant, it did not stop me from fantasizing at that moment. Rick my son was impregnating me, he was breeding me, making me pregnant. He groaned, cried out aloud with passion and pleasure as his semen rushed along the wonderful length deep inside me and exploded in terrifically powerful blasts.