The Reluctant Mother Ch. 02

And that was how, three weeks later, mum, Joan and I found ourselves in a taxi going into the city centre on a Wednesday evening to eat at an expensive restaurant. Mum was as good as her word and had broached the subject of a thank-you meal the next afternoon. Joan had protested that it was too much, but she hadn't refused and here we were, me in the front passenger seat and mum and Joan in the back.

And a very attractive pair they made too. Mum had made herself up carefully and painted her nails a deep crimson to match her lipstick. She was wearing a slimline cocktail dress in a deep blue velvet and black stockings and black, high-heeled court shoes. She'd also been to her hairdresser and her collar-length, ash-blonde hair shone with health. Pretty damned sexy for a sixty-something university lecturer, I thought.

Joan was wearing a black pencil skirt, that showed off her waist and hips, and a matching black bolero-style jacket over a cream silk blouse. She too had made herself up carefully, with red lipstick and quite a lot of eye cosmetics. She too was wearing black stockings or pantyhose and black high heels. I don't think I'd ever seen Joan dressed to go out before and I was mesmerised. She was gorgeous!

I felt a sudden pang. What if she wasn't interested in a threesome with mum and me? What if we just ended up estranging her?

By a stroke of luck, our table was in a very private alcove near the back of the restaurant, where we could talk without risk of being overheard. The conversation flowed freely and easily while we ate our starter and main course, helped along by liberal applications of house red wine. By the time we'd got to the dessert, we'd had a bottle and a half between the three of us and we were feeling very mellow. At least, I know I was.

'It's so kind of you to ask me out like this,' said Joan as we finished our desserts and ordered coffee. 'I hardly ever go out for dinner. Well, never, really, so it's a real treat for me to dress up and come out to a nice restaurant.'

'It's our pleasure,' replied mum. 'It was kind and thoughtful of you to set our minds at ease like you did. I was terrified! I thought our whole world was going to implode, so you can imagine how grateful I was when you came around to say that you'd keep our little secret.'

Joan smiled, shyly. 'Who am I to judge others? I'm very glad that you've found happiness with each other.' As her words died away she suddenly looked very sad and alone. Mum glanced at me then continued.

'It took a few months before I accepted it, but yes, we have got something very special and I'm very glad.' She paused and Joan and I waited expectantly.

'You know that both Michael and I would love for you to join us one day, if it felt right for you.'

I shot mum a quick look. What the hell was she doing coming out with it like that in the restaurant? That wasn't what we'd agreed. I was sure she'd blown it but Joan just sat still, as though considering the offer, although I did notice that she had blushed and her neck was a delicate pink.

Eventually, and quietly, she spoke.

'Thank you, both, for saying that. I don't think I can answer your question at the moment; I'd need to think about it.'

We drank our coffee in a rather awkward silence and called for the bill and a taxi. Mum tried to make conversation in the cab on the way home but it was all a bit lame. There was this herd of elephants... When we got home mum invited Joan in for a nightcap but she said she'd better not.

'But thank you both for giving me such a lovely evening. It was the nicest treat I've had since I don't know when!'

She hugged us both and disappeared towards her front door. Mum and I went into our house and closed the door behind us.

'Well, that's blown it,' I said, accusingly, in the kitchen. 'I thought we were going to invite her round here afterwards and make our play then?'

'Sorry,' said my mother, contritely. 'It just seemed the right moment. And she did say she'd think about it.'

'Yeah, right,' I said like a disappointed teenager.

We went to bed shortly afterwards and made love and it was good and I splashed my spunk into my mother's vagina as she thrust her hips up to meet me and dug her painted fingernails into the flesh of my shoulders.

Nothing was said about our neighbour the following day. Mum and I both acted as though the meal out had never happened.

On Friday, I came home from work to find mum peeling vegetables at the kitchen sink. I went up behind her and hugged her and cupped her breasts in my hands. I also pressed my loins suggestively into her buttocks. It was, in fact, my normal way of greeting my mother when I got home from work and sometimes it led to immediate and satisfying sex; once or twice I'd had her over the kitchen table.

'Feeling a bit perky are we Michael?' she teased me. 'You'll be even perkier when I tell you my news.'

'What news is that?'

'I'll tell you after dinner.'

'Tell me now.'

'No.'

I wheedled for a bit but mum stuck to her guns so I mooched out of the kitchen and went to find something to watch on the television.

When we'd eaten diner and were sitting at the table sipping a glass of wine, mum finally told me her news.

'Joan came round this afternoon.'

'Oh yes?' I was all ears.

'We had another nice, long chat.'

'And? What did she say?'

'Patience, Michael, darling. She talked about Dave again and how nice it was having him out of the house for a week. Then we talked about that new estate they're building on the edge of the village and what the impact will be.'

I knew my mother was teasing me and I suppose I guessed what the punchline was going to be so I let her ramble on about her conversation with our neighbour.

'Then we got on to you and me, and our sexual relationship,' my mum said, eventually. 'I told her how it happened and she asked a lot of questions. Quite intimate questions.'

'Like what?'

'Like what did it feel like to have your own son penetrate you.'

'Yes, I see what you mean. Did you tell her?'

'Yes, I did,' said mum, quietly. 'And I got very warm and aroused as I was telling her and I think she was very aroused too and we had another of those moments when we could easily have fallen into an embrace.'

'So what happened?' I persisted. 'Does she want to join us?'

'Yes,' replied mum, 'she does.'

'Bloody hell!' It was real all of a sudden. 'When?'

'I suggested tomorrow afternoon and she said that would be fine.'

'When does the odious Dave return?'

'Monday, I gather. Look, Michael, this isn't just going to be like some scene out of a porn movie. Joan is quite vulnerable and we need to recognise that and treat her gently and sensitively. She admitted that she's terrified. She also admitted that she's very submissive, which I think we both knew, but she asked that I take charge of our activities. She said she'd feel safer that way.

'Bloody hell,' I said again. 'I don't know what to say.'

Mum wouldn't make love that evening, on the basis that it would give a sharper edge to whatever happened the following afternoon with Joan. As we lay together in bed I argued that it wouldn't affect my ability to maintain an erection the next day but my mother just shut down the argument by picking up her book. In retrospect, I can see that she was pretty nervous, too.

I'd like to say that we slept well that night, but we didn't. I tossed and turned for hours and mum went to the bathroom at least three times.

The following morning you could cut the air in our house with a knife. The hours passed by agonisingly slowly but at the same time zero hour seemed to be approaching too fast. We were both nervous, unsurprisingly. We might be seasoned lovers (I calculated that we'd made love almost four hundred times since the previous summer) but now we were going to do it in front of someone else. And my mother had never slept with another woman. Neither had Joan, it appeared.

Mrs Armstrong knocked on the door at one o'clock precisely and I let her in and showed her into the sitting room, where mum was waiting.

We'd talked a lot that morning about what would be the appropriate dress code for a first-time threesome and mum had concluded that her outfit from the restaurant night out would do: it was sexy and easily removed. Underneath she was wearing her customary stockings and suspenders. She'd put a bit of makeup on and painted her nails a dark red colour.

Joan appeared to have followed the same script as she was wearing a similarly styled cocktail dress. Her abundant black hair fell in waves over her shoulders and framed a face that was heavily made up with deep red lipstick and the same abundance of eye makeup. She was wearing black pantyhose and high-heeled shoes and had painted her nails a light brown. The overall effect could have seemed a bit obvious, a bit wanton, but there was no mistaking Joan's nervousness. I thought she looked fabulous, and nothing like late fifties.

Mum handed her a glass of red wine and we sat down, Joan in the easy chair and mum and me on the settee.

After a moment's silence mum said: 'I think it would be easier if you came and sat between us.'

So Joan got up and came and sat between mum and me, me on her right, and I put down my glass and put my arm around Joan and she leaned towards me and we kissed for the first time. Nothing too heavy, just an initial brushing of lips, then a little bit of pressure and some small lip movements. It felt weird to be doing this in front of my mother. It also felt really hot. This was Joan. Aunty Joan I called her when I was a kid. And I couldn't count the number of times I'd masturbated to an orgasm while my heated post-adolescent imagination worked overtime, picturing myself fucking her and being sucked off. And here she was, on our sofa, my arm around her and we were kissing and I could smell her scent and feel her warmth against me and her hair tickling my neck.

I felt that Joan was starting to relax as we kissed, so I gently opened my mouth against hers. To my delight, she responded but at that moment my mother interrupted us.

'There's a lonely old widow at the other end of the settee who could do with a kiss too.'

Joan immediately broke the kiss and then it was my mother's turn. She put her arm around Joan's shoulders and Joan leaned towards my mother, flicking her hair behind her ear as it fell across her face. I couldn't see the kiss but mum said afterwards that it was the sweetest softest kiss she'd ever had. They were both nervous, both tentative, but both, I think, committed to making the afternoon a success. Their lips brushed, as ours had done, then they were working their lips against each other and then, as my mother described it later, it was as if some internal dam of self-restraint burst and suddenly they were kissing fiercely, passionately, mouths open, tongues rasping together, saliva mixing.

Mum lay against the back of the sofa, pulling Joan with her, putting her other arm round her as they mashed lips and worked their mouths together. I watched fascinated, my cock stiff in my trousers, hardly believing that my mother was snogging Joan from next door in front of me.

After a while I decided that it was now me who was being left out and I shuffled up the settee and started stroking Joan's hip and thigh as she kissed my mother. To my delight, my fingertips detected suspender clips under her cocktail dress and I realised that our neighbour was wearing stockings too. This excited me very much and I slid my hand under the hem of her dress and stroked her stocking top and the warm, soft flesh of her upper thigh.

Eventually my mother and Joan broke apart and lay back on the settee, hair awry, lipstick smudged, eyes wide with passion and surprise, both breathing heavily. Mum held a hand out to our neighbour.

'Are you ok, Joan,' she asked.

'I think so,' said Joan, faintly, taking the proffered hand. 'I'm not sure that I've ever been kissed like that before.' She paused and blushed. 'Can I watch you two kiss, please?'

'Of course,' replied my mother.

She got up and went round to my left side and sat down and we came together as we had done hundreds of times and we kissed and stroked each other's hair and shoulders and arms, our mouths working, tongues darting between lips, tasting saliva, smelling my mother's subtle scent, both of us aware that Joan's big blue eyes were upon us but feeling fine about it; more than fine, aroused and expectant.

We broke our kiss after a minute or two and mum asked Joan if she would be happy to go upstairs and take things to the next stage.

'Yes, please,' she whispered. 'I'm so excited...'

So the three of us went upstairs to my mother's bedroom, the one she and I always used.

The kissing downstairs had gone a long way to breaking the ice but now we were in a bedroom, with mum's big king size dominating the room, there was some tension again. But my mother was fantastic. She seemed to know instinctively what to do.

Taking Joan in her arms, and gently brushing the hair from her face, she leaned down and kissed her lips, tenderly and carefully. Joan moaned quietly and held my mother's upper arms and returned the kiss.

'I wondered, Joan, if you would like Michael and me to undress you,' she said softly.

'Yes please.' Joan's voice was a faint whisper.

I brushed Joan's hair from her neck and kissed her skin as I slid the zip of her dress down. I could smell her hair shampoo and her scent. Mum, still standing in front of Joan, eased the dress over her shoulders and arms and down over her breasts and stomach and hips. Nobody said anything as mum knelt and pulled the dress to the floor and took Joan's hand to steady her as she stepped out of it, leaving her standing in bra, panties, stockings and suspenders and high heels. Her lingerie was black and satiny and obviously expensive. It fitted perfectly and showcased our neighbour's small but elegant and slender figure and her beautiful legs, encased in black stockings. It also highlighted her pale, flawless skin.

'My goodness, look at you,' breathed my mum, lost in admiration. 'You're gorgeous.'

'Thank you,' said Joan, blushing again.

Mum leaned to kiss Joan again and I reached around and cupped her full breasts in their lacy black bra, nudging my loins into her panty-clad buttocks as I squeezed and hefted the heavy orbs.

'Michael,' said my mother, softly, 'would you undo Joan's bra please?'

I flipped the hook and eye catches and mum pulled Joan's bra off her shoulders and down her arms and onto the floor.

'Now would you take Joan's panties down, please.'

I knelt and slipped my thumbs and forefingers into the waistband of Joan's knickers and pulled them down over her pert buttocks and, with a rustle of nylon against nylon, over her stockings and down to the floor, where she stepped out of them. And there she was, Joan Armstrong, our neighbour going back thirty years or more, naked in front of my mother and me, or naked apart from high-heels, stockings and a garter belt.

For a long moment none of us moved or said anything. I think we were all a bit stunned that we had come this far.

'Would you like to go and lie down on the bed, Joan,' said mum, eventually. 'Michael's going to undress me and then I'll come and join you.'

As though in a trance, Joan walked to the bed, slipped off her high-heels and climbed onto it. Mum turned to me and pulled me to her and we kissed and as we kissed I felt for the zipper at the back of her dress and pulled it down to the small of her back. It was very quiet in the room so we both heard Joan's sudden intake of breath and, looking over, mum and I saw that she was examining the bondage straps that formed part of the restraint system.

After the first four or five times that I'd strapped mum to the bed we'd left the gear attached to the bedposts. And we'd completely forgotten to remove them before this afternoon's activities. I shot a quick glance at my mother but she was looking at Joan.

She walked over to the bed and looked down. Joan was lying in about the centre of the bed, her black hair spilling over the white pillowcases, her stockings very dark against the white of the Egyptian cotton duvet. Her thick, black pubic bush a contrast to the paleness of her skin. She looked up at mum, her eyes wide.

'Do you use these?' she asked, softly.

'Yes,' replied mum, equally softly. 'Michael secures my wrists and ankles to the bedposts using those straps. Then he can do anything he wants with me. It's very exciting,' she added. 'I have the most powerful orgasms when I'm tied down.'

'Yes, I see,' said Joan, going pink with embarrassment.

'Would you like to try it, Joan?' asked my mother, gently. 'Would you like Michael and me to tie you to the bed? I think you'd enjoy it very much.'

'I've never done bondage before,' whispered Joan. 'It would be alright, wouldn't it?'

'Of course it will be all right.'

I joined mum by the bed and Joan, after a moment's hesitation, stretched out her arms and legs towards the bedposts. Mum sat on the bed and slackened off the braided nylon strap on the nearest bedpost, then she fixed the Velcro cuff around Joan's slim wrist.

'Would you do Joan's other wrist, please Michael.'

I went around to the other side of the bed and repeated the exercise, then mum and I pulled on the free end of the straps and Joan's arms were stretched out and the straps went taut.

'Is that too tight, Joan?' asked my mother.

'No, it's fine,' said Joan in a choked voice. 'It's wonderful!'

Mum and I turned ourselves around and slackened off the straps at the foot of the bed, fitting the Velcro cuffs around Joan's stocking-clad ankles. Then we were pulling again and Joan was spreadeagled on the bed, secured hand and foot and unable to do more than wriggle and arch her back. Her full breasts fell either side of her chest, the nipples big and stiff. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide and her breathing was fast and shallow. It was clear that she was very, very aroused.

She wasn't the only one. The threesome had taken a sudden and unexpected turn, but mum had taken charge, just as Joan had requested, and now there was the mammoth turn-on of Joan strapped to our bed, awaiting the attentions of her incestuous partners. I was breathless with excitement and anticipation. It felt like the first few times when mum and I had fucked. That powerful element of novelty, of stretching boundaries.

I think what mum had got in mind was for me to slowly and seductively undress her while Joan watched. I went as slow as I could, though the temptation was to just rip all our clothes off and dive on Joan. I think mum actually felt the same. I unzipped her cocktail dress and pulled it down over her breasts and hips and let it fall to the floor. I unclasped her bra and pulled it off, stroking and caressing her full breasts with their pinky-brown areolae and stiff, thimble-shaped nipples, aware of Joan, watching us from the bed, pulling against her arm and leg restraints.

I finished by pulling my mother's panties down over her stockings; they were black and seamed and fastened to her garter belt with three straps on each leg. Then I watched with bated breath as she climbed slowly onto the bed and lay down on one side of Joan, stroking her hair from her face, kissing her lips and gently stroking her breast with her red-tipped fingers.

Nobody was taking any notice of me, now, and I didn't want to miss out a second of interaction with my mother and our neighbour, so I undressed quickly and went round and laid down on Joan's other side.

She turned her head to me and smiled and raised her head from the pillow and I leaned over and kissed her and she slid her tongue into my mouth and as we kissed, mum cupped one of Joan's breasts and, lowering her head, sucked the big nipple into her mouth.