The Ermine

*all characters over 18

note: this is a series of vignettes; continuity between them is admittedly loose, but some fun content for mom/son enthusiasts of all stripes.

Prologue:

Susanna stepped out of the shower that morning and examined her body in the bathroom mirror, one of the countless little inspections a woman makes of her form throughout her life, each more scathing than the last. This morning was different though. Susanna felt good about how she looked. She wasn't the little Susie who turned every head--including a few she shouldn't have--in high school before letting herself get knocked up, but the weight of her age fell on all the right places on her: tits, ass, and thighs to be precise. Sure she had a bit of a belly on her, but personally she thought it looked cute on her. She remembered being pregnant with her son and how big her belly had been then, and she got a little tingle in her pussy at the thought. Another pregnancy wasn't at the top of her wishlist right now, but it had been a long time since she had anyone to service her who wasn't made of plastic or her own ten fingers.

Feelings of maternal yearning, amorous desire, and all-consuming horniness were getting all mixed up inside of her. She dried off and tried to put her mind off getting railed and onto the events of the days. Her son, Jake, had moved back home a few weeks ago. It had been nice having him back, but at the same time, Susanna felt bad watching her boy struggle through life. After four years getting a degree and another two bumping it up to a master's, Jake still found himself broke, unemployed, and alone. The final nail in the coffin had been a very messy split with his fiancée. When she ended up marrying another man a few months later, Jake completely shut down and locked himself away from the world, other than a mysterious few months when she lost contact with him entirely. It broke Susanna's heart to see her boy down like this, but she just didn't know what to do but give him a place to stay and try to keep him fed while he got his life back together.

There was another, more distracting aspect to Jake's prolonged stay at her place: the boy masturbated constantly. Either he had forgotten she could hear him from her bedroom, or he just didn't care, because he seemed Jake would stop and rub one out whenever the mood struck him. He pulled in a little money with various part-time jobs, but instead of spending time with friends or trying to meet a girl--two things much more difficult under current circumstances, to be fair--he would spend his free time jerking off to internet porn. It was disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. Jake had always been a shy boy. That he had been engaged at all was a pleasant shock to his mother.

One day, Susanna was curious what exactly Jake was looking at all day. She told herself it was motherly concern, but part of her got a little sexual thrill out of knowing what her son got off on under her roof. Under the excuse of cleaning up his room a bit (God knows the place needed a turn over) she cracked his password with a little luck and went about snooping. Jake had two browsers set up on his laptop and didn't seem to bother clearing the history on either, but the first seemed pretty innocent, just the social media, e-mails, some work stuff. The second, however, was an absolute goldmine. Now, Susanna was no prude, but the material her son looked up--and apparently pleasured himself to--was enough to make her blush. On one hand, if these were the kinds of things a modern boy expected from sex, maybe his engagement fell apart for a good reason, but on the other, the thought of being so open and vulnerable--to be used like one of these girls by a man--was enough to leave Susie flooded. The real shocker though were the ages of most of the women in these videos: they were as old or older than her. This was a ball park of course, but you could replace every "MILF" pornstar in these videos with Susanna and any of her female friends, and the only thing you would have to change was a willingness to be taped doing a little hardcore sex for anyone to look up online and jerk off to. Even your own son.

Even your own son. Susanna chewed that over. It was salty but sweet: the thrill of seducing a much younger man, with the added taboo of incest. Other than some playful groping and kissing practice with her younger sister, Susanna had never given incest much mind. She wasn't scandalized by the very concept as one was meant to be in polite society. As long as two people loved each other, who cared if they carried the same genetics? There was a beautiful closeness and intimacy to the act.

Without thinking, Susanna's hand had moved from her sons laptop to the space between her thighs. She absentmindedly snapped the button on her pants and snaked her fingers under her panties and down to her clit. Picking a particular scandalous video of a milf gangbang, she pressed play and watched a woman who looked very much like herself--with porn star proportions of course--getting violently plowed by fix or six guys. The whole time, the woman couldn't stop smiling, and what should have seemed demeaning was instead deeply sexy and exciting. Susanna edged herself over to orgasm just as the women in the video was getting covered in cum from six different cocks.

Flustered, Susanna slammed the laptop shut and rushed out of the room. It was still a mess, but she would just have to tell Jake some excuse later.

a (Susanna).

A son's eighteenth birthday should be a cause for celebration. In most god-fearing American households, it's the day when the boy in a family can finally say he has become a man. That was true in ours as well, but the shadow of loss colored the whole affair all.

You see: I'm a widow. A recent widow: my beloved husband, Craig, died in an automobile accident almost a year ago. Of the four passengers in the car (Craig, his mother, his sister, and her wife) he was the only fatality. Julie, Maddy, and Yvonne had tried to give their condolences at the funeral, but I just broke down crying so badly that my son, Jake, had to escort me out.

I was so ashamed by the blatant display of emotion that I didn't have the heart to return any of their calls or messages or even listen to them. In my grief, I became a recluse. I barely ate or slept, just stayed up all night watching movies, my heart full of deep sorrow over what I had lost.

Jake took notice: he dropped out of all his school clubs and quit the swim team to spend more time at home with me, even when I assured him again and again that making those sort of sacrifices for his sad sack of a mother was the absolute last thing I wanted.

That said, it wasn't so bad having a young strapping man around the house: Craig was almost a decade my senior--my own sister would often joke that he was a 'cradle snatcher'--and I hadn't been with many other men before we married. Our sex life was vigorous and inventive. We were never bored and probably would have only invented more elaborate scenarios and games as we grew old together, but his death cut that short. Jake on the other hand was fresh. I had named him after the ancient Greek hero, but I couldn't help but keep certain other Greek hero and his mother out of my wet dreams and the habitually self-servicing I had taken up as my sex drive finally started to return.

Of course, I knew it could never happen: we were parent and child for Christ's sake! It was just about the worst sin after rape and murder that I could imagine. Oh it was fun to fantasize though, so very fun...at least, until that night:

I have moods you see: I always have. Dark, terrible moods that leave me storm-tossed for days on end, night after night, wishing I had died in that car instead of my sweet Craig. In the throes of these moods, I drank, and in drinking my inventive mind began to work in overdrive. I've always had an obsessions with the Greeks--their mythology I mean, though they are a beautiful people--and drowning the wine-dark sea of my own obsession, I imagine their heroes and monsters, at war. Over what? Me, of course: what all men truly desire, the fertile body of the goddess, the mother and whore that will cradle their mighty forms and whisper sweet-nothings and high praises as long as they keep their lance hard and spearing me, body and soul.

In the depths of one such imagining, I got on a real bender. Everything went out of control after that.

a (Jake).

I spent most of my life thinking I lived a fairly normal--even boring--life with my happily married parents and my older sister. It was only two years ago when I learned the awful truth. My sister had gotten in a fight with my parents, which wasn't unusual, but it got really heated this time. I came out of our basement to see her running between her room and her car, hurriedly packing her thing to leave.

"Sis?" I asked, no idea what was happening.

"Fuck him and fuck this house," she muttered, "I'm sorry, I've gotta get out of here. I'd take you with me, but I have no idea where I'm going and Dad would probably have the cops on my ass."

"That's okay," I said, deflated and a little scared, "Why do you have to leave?"

She stopped and turned to look at me without saying anything. She opened her mouth to speak, but then just shook her head. She rush to her room and back a few more times while I watched her. When she was seemingly satisfied with her provisions, she rested on our front porch for moment, stopping to smoke a cigarette, flipping off the window to our parents' bedroom window where our dad was watching.

"Dad's probably going to tell you a bunch of fucked up stuff when I leave," she said, staring down our father as she spoke, "Don't listen to me. He's fucking sick and demented and he's going to try to make you exactly like him. You're a good kid, and you'd never..."

"I'd never what?" I asked.

"You'd never hurt Mom like that," she said, putting out her cigarette and heading towards her car.

"Like what?" I asked, but she ignored me, so I shouted, "like what!"

By then, she was in her car and out of the driveway. Two years later, I haven't seen her again. Afraid of what he would tell me, I went into the house to find my father waiting for me in the front hall.

"Your sister shouldn't have spoken to you like that," he said, pulling me into a tight hug, "But maybe it is time you knew the truth. Let's sit down."

I followed my dad into the living room where my mom was already sitting in a robe. It was my favorite of hers and I was pretty sure she had nothing on underneath. I remembered my sister's words and wondered if Dad really was hurting Mom.

He sat on the couch with me while Mom was in an easy chair, looking away and saying nothing. My dad was the first to speak.

"So we should probably clear some thing up first: your sister left because I explained certain things about our family's lifestyle that I would also have told you when you came of age," he explained, "But seeing as my beloved daughter made such a scene with you in the house, I figured I'll tell you early. You cannot act on this information, but maybe knowing now with give you time to prepare over the next two years."

I just nodded, unsure where he was going with this.

"You see, Son, my family believes in the value of parents who can live in harmony and raise children together. We've believed this as far back as our family history goes, and the rise of divorce rates and premarital sex has only proved us right in this constantly changing world. Our particular solution to this problem is simple: instead of normal courtship, our family purchases acceptable partners as slaves and use the existing legal concept of marriage to bind our slaves to our children on their eighteenth birthday."

My head was spinning, "You've got to be fucking kidding me, Dad, that can't be real."

He wagged his finger at me, "Language, Son. It's very real. A lot of families do it, there are entire systems of law in place within the US legal code specifically for people like us, placed there by members of such families and other sympathetic parties. We're not sexists either: female children are purchased males slaves as well, barring instances where a political marriage can better facilitate our interests. Your sister didn't find either option appealing, so she's decided to cut ties with family. It's unfortunate, she has an excellence body and I would loved to see it in action at one of our family reunions."

"Family reunions?" I asked, "Where we eat bad pizza and hangout in a crowded pool at great-grandpa's house?"

Dad burst out laughing, "That's just for the kids and help with too low of a security clearance, my boy! The real party is inside. We get to swap slaves with each other and freely experiment for the whole two weeks. Hell, I had my first blowjob from my sister's husband there while your mother took your grandpa and great grandpa at the same time. It's really a wonderful bonding for the whole family, Son."

I really had nothing to say at this point, "You mean there's...incest?"

"Well of course!" said Dad, slapping me on the back, "You wouldn't believe how many times I gave your grandma a spin while I had your mother tied up to watch. Why do you think Mee-Maw comes by so often, this bitch's cooking?"

My mother grimaces at Dad calling her a bitch. She seemed to shrink into herself more and more as he continued to speak.

"Your mother will be available to you as soon as you turn eighteen," he explained, "We'll hopefully have a slave of your lined up for you by then, but there's a test period, procurement, and other preparations before she'll be ready for you."

"And until then, I can...use Mom?"

"No 'until' about, buddy," he said, reaching over to stroke Mom's face, "Once you're legal, you could come in while I'm laying her and stick it in the same hole I'm using for all I care. All of my property is yours. Even my other wives?"

Somehow, even as bizarre and inhuman as this all was, I was still a little shocked to hear Dad openly admit to cheating on Mom. They seemed like such a straight-laced and happy couple, when they were really master and slave, a free man and his property. It dawned on me by the most definition, every time Dad slept with Mom, he was raping her. Including when they conceived my sister and me. I felt sick, but also hypnotized. He saw me looking at Mom and laughed again.

"Not quite yet, bud. Just two years though. Don't jerk off too much thinking about it though: you're want a healthy dick for this dirty broad."

I walked back to my room in the basement in a daze. My sister had been right. The truth was horrifying. Unlike her, I had to admit I had no plans for leaving. I didn't know if I could really rape my own mother, or if I could live with raping whoever they bought as my future wife, but part of my dirty teen mind was enraptured by thoughts of beautiful women who were forced to do anything I said. As awful as it was, it was also sort of a dream come true, the dream of total domination and control.

I feel asleep that night dreaming of what my mother's body most look like under that robe. Dreaming of fucking her.

b.

"OH FUCK ME, CUM IN MY ASS, FILL MY ASSHOLE WITH YOUR HOT CUM."

I finished my push-up as a thick wad of semen leaked out of a porn star's anus on the ultra widescreen tv in front of me. I had taken a sabbatical from masturbating for the two weeks before my eighteenth birthday, but I liked to play porn videos at maximum volume while I worked out. I knew they made Mom squirm, and Dad got a kick out of my aggressive new personality.

My two years of waiting ended that night. I had spend the intervening time completely changing my life and my body. With my future laid out for me, I had new priorities and new resources. I worked out, I was admitted to the best schools with a full year of credits to my name, and prepared myself for a life as a sexually dominate husband to a submissive wife who I would own for the rest of our lives.

Before all of that, I had my father's greatest gift to me, my mother's body. He had made his own preparation for the night: making plans to be out of town for a whole month, he kept her clothes under lock and key, and installed cameras throughout the entire house. Mom was forced to walk around in scandalously short robes and lingerie. Unable to leave the house and denied sex by her husband, she was climbing up the walls as my birthday approached. Even after spending her entire adult life as a slave, she still had the morality of a mother, and the thought of being used by her son repulsed her in some way. Denying her the constant sexual use she had gotten regularly for decades weakened her resolve though. I also took to walking around the house in only shorts. All of this in preparation for tonight.

I looked at the clock. Only a couple hours now. I checked the cameras via the widescreen to see where she was and found her in the bathroom, showering. Dad added an extra camera in the shower itself, so I flipped that on so I could watch her and rub myself a little. She hadn't changed at all in the past two years. Her breasts were heavily and her ass was wider, but she looked the same as that first night when my dad explained our family's dirty secret and told me that Mom would one day be my slave too.

The night my sister left. I missed her, but I had changed so much in the last couple years, I didn't know what she would think of me now. She had told me not to become like Dad, and I hadn't, but I was maybe something worse. I wasn't being thrust into this. I was actively choosing to sexually exploit my own mother for no reason other than that the option was presented to me. Two years to prepare myself to spend an entire month raping her at my leisure, starting on the very day she had given birth to me only eighteen years ago.

I got so hard at the thought I almost came right there. I only wished my sister was there so I could have the pleasure of using her too. Maybe even her slave. Part of me was curious if men and women sucked cocks differently, and the only real way to tell seemed like personal experience. Either way, my sister was the only woman I wanted more than my mother. My poor wife would forever by the human equivalent to a cum dumpster while my heart yearned for the sweetmeat of incest.

I left to get myself a snack, picking up a tablet to bring with me so I could keep watching Mom as she finished showing and dried off. I had to switch cameras as she moved to her room to get dressed. She jumped when I switched on the microphone and spoke to her through my tablet.

"Don't put on anything," I instructed, "Just wait for me, I'll be ready to go at midnight. Don't touch yourself either. I'll know."

She didn't respond, but I could see her nod her head, crestfallen. She moved to her bed and laid down. I checked the time again. Twenty minutes.

I went back to my room and pealed off my underwear to examine my own cock. I had not only been blessed with a life as a master to many slaves, but a sizable tool to use on them. I was already hard from spying on my mom, but gave myself a few stroke anyway, just to get myself fired up. I was about an inch longer than my dad--a benefit of slave genetics from the grandfather who had sold Mom to our family, no doubt--and ready to brutalize every hole she had. She wouldn't have an orifice left that wasn't choked with my semen.

An alarm went off: midnight. My birthday.

"Mommy's ready for you, baby," I heard her say over the microphone. I didn't bother to check the camera before I went to her room. I knew from her tone that she was ready to cooperate. My cock leading the way, I entered to find her as I instructed, naked and waiting for me. While I had seen her many times on camera, this was my first time seeing her in the flesh, and the nervous young boy in me jumped out for a moment. I had prepared for this, participated in psychologically and emotional torturing her for months, but was I really ready to rape my mother? Even if she was willing? Maybe it was worse than she was willing. That was just proof of how well my family had trained her.