tagIncest/TabooMom Knows How To Motivate!

Mom Knows How To Motivate!


Here's a fun little story I think you will enjoy, a major rewrite of a story that was part of my "Neighborhood Moms" story on another website, alas now long defunct.

As always, this story is fictitious and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters are imaginary and exist only within the confines of this story and my happy imagination. I look forward to your feedback which has been very helpful of late in making my offerings to you all the better. Enjoy!

"Now, Mrs. Porter, I'm not sure what's going on with Josh. He just doesn't seem motivated." My son's Economics teacher shifted in his seat, trying to surreptitiously scope out my breasts as he continued to discuss the problems Josh was having in his class. I shifted a little away from Mr. Delson, wishing I hadn't picked out this particular sweater to wear to the Parent-Teacher conference. The V-necked cashmere sweater clung too tightly to my breasts and too much cleavage was exposed and this horny guy couldn't resist letting his eyes crawl over my partially exposed breasts.

I sighed unhappily as I listened. Since starting his senior year, my son had been listless, preoccupied, distracted and unreliable in his duties for his classes – not taking notes, not turning in homework, not studying for quizzes and tests. In short, my son was about to fail and not graduate if he didn't make a complete turnaround. It had been the same with each teacher I had visited.

I finally had to retreat from Mr. Delson's continuous litany of my son's problems, him rehashing them over and over as he stalled for more time to eyeball me. I stood up and backed out of the room, trying to be polite, saying, "I'll have a good talk with Josh and we'll get him turned around, Mr. Delson," I stammered before I turned and fled, hating the fact that he was now staring at my butt. I regretted wearing the dressy jeans I had on. They were probably a little too tight and I hated thinking about the dirty movies going on in my son's teacher's mind.

Things didn't get any better when I went and visited Mrs. Henderson, Josh's English Teacher. She was close to my age and I'd known her for years – I saw often at the local health which I frequented often in an effort to keep my figure in check. She had had my son for English every year that he'd been in High School. "Corinne, he's been this way since the semester started," she told me. "Josh has always been a lively student – always participating in class, always keeping a high B+ or an A in my classes. But now, missing assignments, he's doing terrible on my tests and he's squeaking by with a C- only by my good graces. He's looking at best a 'D' or worse if he doesn't turn it around."

"I just don't know what has happened with him," I replied, not quite telling the truth. "I've been hoping it's just a phase Josh's going through and that he'll snap out of it."

Mrs. Henderson pursed her lips and studied me for a minute. She appeared to be struggling with a decision. Finally she nodded and as she unlocked a drawer, she said, "I think, I think I have an idea, Corinne. I'm not sure I should show you this, but if anyone can help your son, I think it will be you." She reached into the drawer and pulled out a sheet of notebook paper. "We were reviewing for a test over Shakespeare last week and instead of writing notes, I caught Josh drawing this. I took it up."

She handed it to me. I looked down and gasped. It was a picture of a naked woman drawn in colored pencils. Josh had always had artistic talent, but the detail here shocked me. My son had drawn a woman in a reclining position, hints of a sedan or sofa around the edges. She was a woman on the edge of voluptuousness, with full, mature breasts, a stomach on the edge of flatness and roundness, legs that were long and shapely. Between her open thighs was a neatly trimmed bush pointing downward towards a thick lipped vagina, partly open. Somehow, Josh had even managed to portray a hint of wetness in the slight opening

The woman's eyes were hazel and her hair was long and unruly, hints of red in the dark brown hair. Lips were apart, conveying a gasp of excitement, her expression one of joy or maybe arousal. Silently I noted how talented my son was. I recognized this woman and this body. I should – I looked at it every morning in the mirror.

"Oh my goodness," I whispered, feeling my face begin to burn. "I don't know – I don't know what to say, Doris. What will happen, what kind of discipline will he..." I lost my voice.

I felt the room spinning, steadying only when Josh's teacher reached out and squeezed my hand. "It's all right, Corinne. I didn't show this to anyone, Josh's not in trouble for it. I knew you'd be here for parent-teacher conferences and that we would be talking."

Mrs. Henderson continued on. "I think it's fairly obvious what's wrong with your son, Corinne and I think everything will work out okay. I know you fairly well and I'm confident you can deal with this situation."

I looked up from the erotic drawing and blurted out, "How? My god, I can't even begin to think of how to take care of something like this. Should I take him to the doctor? Maybe a psychiatrist? Where do I begin, Doris?"

She looked me in the eye and took a deep breath. "Mrs. Porter – Corinne, as one mother to another who raised two boys, I just know that deep down you know in your heart how to help your son." She paused and then said slowly and carefully. "All Josh needs is his mother's love. It takes bravery and patience, but I know you can do it. Do it for your son and in the end, do it for yourself. I know he is all you have and you want him to be happy. I want you to feel free to call me if you need a word of encouragement or advice."

My eyes grew wider with each word she spoke. Was I losing my mind or did I truly understand what this woman was saying to me? My whole world seemed to be falling apart and I could scarcely believe I comprehended what she was suggesting.

I needed to escape. I glanced at my watch and giggled nervously. "Oh my, look at the time. It's getting late and I know you have other parents to see." I rose up, folding up my son's drawing and shoving it in my purse. "Thank you, Doris – um, Mrs. Henderson. Thanks for everything."

Josh's English Teacher rose up with me. She took my hand and then gave me a quick hug. "It will be alright, Corinne. You have a wonderful son and you're a good mother. I know that you'll know what to do."

We left it at that and I fled her room and walked quickly through the halls, convinced that everyone was staring at me and my red face. I felt like everyone could literally read my thoughts and I felt so ashamed. I reached the parking lot and climbed inside my minivan, the "Mom Mobile" as Josh had dubbed it. I pulled the drawing out of my purse and for a second, marveled at the talent and detail my son had put into it. Then I burst into tears. This was all my fault.

Where do I truly begin? I am a single mother, thirty-nine years old and raising a son, Josh who turned eighteen this past summer. He started a year late to school due to having scarlet fever when he was six and losing too much time in the fall of what should have been his First Grade year. I divorced Josh's father ten years ago, when it became apparent that his job and his beer drinking cronies came first. He drifted away and we haven't heard from him since. I do well as a buyer for a department store in town. We aren't rich, but we have a good life.

My son has been my pride and joy – my source of inspiration and strength all these years. He's been a good son, until his senior year, a hard working student and except for a couple of speeding tickets, hardly a worry. He has always been shy around the girls, but started to date a little after he turned seventeen. I was maybe a little jealous, but I thought I was okay with it. I knew he had to grow up someday.

Myself, I have dated off and on, even came close to getting remarried once, but he suddenly announced plans to send Josh off to boarding school and I sent him packing. My sex life has been mostly a solitary one – confined to my bedroom with the usual toys in a bedside table drawer.

I've always considered myself to be a good looking woman and I have never been ashamed to dress a little sexy to show off my looks. My son's drawing was dead on accurate. I am a tall woman, five foot, nine inches tall. I still have a good figure, but it takes a lot of work – I'm always working out, either at the gym or to an exercise tape, you may have even seen me walking around the neighborhood. The exercise has kept my long legs shapely. My figure is 40DD-27-38, and as the years go by, I'm getting more voluptuous, but I know that my body, combined with this big mane of hair that looks bed-tousled constantly can still turn heads. The problem has always been finding a decent man to share myself with.

Maybe it was my sexy outfits that started the problem. I favor clothes that flatter and sometimes flaunt my figure. I wear dresses that are shorter than most women my age would wear to show off my great legs and I've never been one to hide the fact that I have tits. I like people to know I am all woman! Maybe, I'm too immodest around the house. I usually don't think much about running around in bra and panties in front of my son – I've been doing it all his life. In summer, I spend a lot of time in the back yard getting my tan. I don't wear scandalous bikini's, but with my figure, but I guess I'm still showing off a lot of skin.

Maybe it was my hugging and cuddling with Josh that started the problem. I've always been demonstrative with my affections and because Josh is always there and he is practically my best friend, I have always showered him with physical affection. I just didn't think how maybe as he got older, hugging and kissing on him could cause problems – or maybe I'm lying to myself, maybe I knew exactly what I was doing, especially over the past couple of years as I watched him mature and start to notice girls and I realized that one of these days he might just leave me. Maybe I was competing for his affections, flirting with him to remind him that all those high school girls weren't the only ones who loved him.

But, all that didn't matter. I knew exactly what brought on Josh's current problems. It all began a week or so before the school year started, back in late August. It was hot and humid – one of those nights that you can't get comfortable, that you develop an itch deep inside you that only a sweaty, sheet clawing orgasm can bring you any semblance of relief. It was one of those nights when you and your man will wrap yourselves up in the sticky heat as you wrap yourselves up in each other, slipping and sliding and grinding your way to erotic satisfaction.

Josh was out fishing at the lake with some buddies and I decided to scratch my itch with "mother's little helper," a life like flesh colored dildo, twelve inches long and with a rotating, vibrating head." It was an expensive toy that I'd found online, but worth every penny.

That night it seemed that I played with myself for hours, spread out on my bed, most of the dildo inside my pussy, bringing myself agonizingly to the edge over and over, never quite having that big orgasm, but rather letting the little explosions rule. My body was quivering and slick with sweat. My tits were bouncing about madly, nipples swollen like ripe, oversize cherries. I felt the perspiration running down my cheeks, rolling across my heaving breasts, trickling in my hair. The sheets were soaked with sweat. It felt so sweet. I imagine I was quite the sight, a woman, stark naked, knees drawn up and spread wide, eight inches of rubber cock buried inside her cunt, nipples hard and swollen and a sneer of absolute lust etched on her face, on the verge of a screaming orgasm.

I must have been quite a sight. Lord knows I had my son rooted into place. I don't know how long he had been in the doorway watching me – long enough to have sprouted an erection that he was rubbing through his khaki shorts. That wasn't the really important question though. The important thing to ponder is why didn't I stop? Why didn't I scream and yell at Josh to close the door? Why didn't I scramble to cover myself with a blanket or sheet? Why didn't I calmly tell Josh to give his mother some privacy and excuse himself? Why didn't I do any of those things?

Or maybe, just maybe, the really important question is why did I do what I did? I looked at my son and I smiled and I just continued to masturbate. I continued to plunge and work that big dildo in and out of my pussy, my other hand dividing time between my clit and my swollen nipples.

My son watched and it took all my self control not to cum right then and there. I prolonged it, giving my son quite the show. After a few minutes, Josh nervously, hesitantly began to push his shorts down. His cock, long and lovely and so big, popped into view. Rather than tell Josh to go to his room, I just smiled and continued to masturbate as my son watched me and began to slowly stroke his hard prick.

Minutes passed by or maybe it was hours. You could smell our sweat and our sex as we masturbated. We were brazenly ogling each other in the light of my bedroom lamp. I marveled at the length of my son's cock, inches longer than his father and with much greater girth. I could see the precum glistening on its head as he stroked, pausing occasionally to smear it over the swollen crown with his thumb.

I felt myself reach another crest and this time there was no going back, I couldn't forestall my orgasm any longer. I plunged the dildo deep into my cunt, taking almost all of it, deftly flicking the switch on the end to increase the intensity of its movement. A huge bubble of sweet pleasure swelled up inside me and as it burst and flooded my body with the most intense orgasm I had experienced in years, I cried out, "Ohhh, Josh!" My body began to convulse in orgasm and it was all I could do to keep my hand in control of my pretend cock.

Josh's eyes widened as he watched me begin to cum and he whispered, "Mom, I love you!" and his body stiffened and he began to cum – his semen bursting forth in jets of white, flying across the room as if seeking me. The intensity of my son's orgasm drove him to his knees as he continued to stroke and urge forth his young man's spunk. The sight of my son cumming because of me, propelled my orgasm to greater intensity and the room was filled with our moans of mutual pleasure as we came and came.

When the world returned to normal, we stared at each other, suddenly aware of the enormity of our actions. The words 'WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!' roared through my brain as I realized what had just transpired. I stared with a mix of desire and self loathing at my son as he gave a last stroke to his now half-erect penis. He smiled at me so lovingly, it almost broke my heart, especially as I girded myself to speak to him.

"Josh – go to bed, honey. We'll talk in the morning." Not thinking, but acting out of instinct, I chose that moment to pull the dildo out of my pussy, making myself jerk and moan as it slid out with a wet plop.

My son gawped at my sex toy, glistening with my juices and then as my words sank in begin to look crushed. "But, Mom – I wanted to..." He stopped speaking as I held up my hand.

"In the morning, son, we can talk. Do what I tell you now. Go to bed, Josh."

"Yes, Mom," my son said in a voice so full of disappointment and sadness that I almost sprang out of my bed to go and embrace him and tell him to stay. Instead, I watched as he got to his feet, cock going limp (but still amazingly big), and murmuring, "Good night, Mom," trudged out of my room, looking back once with such longing as I have never seen in a man.

It was a long night and I got very little sleep. My mind swam with thoughts of what I had done – what we had done and the boundary lines that had been crossed. I was ashamed and embarrassed as I wondered how we could ever get past this one event. And yet, at the same time, I was aroused. My son, hard and erect for me, his mother, cumming buckets for me, his mother. My mind kept seeing that cock, my pussy tingling as I wondered what it would feel like buried in it to the root. Deep inside me, a part of my soul whispered that I should go to him, comfort him and reassure him. I resisted that urge, even as imagining it made me wet all over again.

In the morning, he came into our kitchen cautiously, disconcerted when I didn't do my traditional morning greeting of a warm embrace and a kiss on the corner of his mouth. I was dressed as conservatively as possible, a long, fluffy flannel robe on that hid my body from anything approaching a provocative display.

As he approached me, wearing only pajama bottoms, I waved him off, pointing to a chair at the breakfast table. As I piled up bacon and eggs onto two plates, I couldn't help but let my eyes wander over to him, admiring his maturing body. He'd taken to working out in the afternoons with one of his friends who'd set up weights in his Dad's garage. Josh muscles were becoming well developed and he looked very good.

I tried to banish such thoughts from my mind as I set down our plates and sat down across from him. A tense silence filled the room as we began to eat. Finally, I set down my fork and looked at him. He was staring at me like a lost puppy and had barely touched his food.

I took a deep breath and began. "Josh, what happened last night was wrong and I'm sorry. I should have put a stop to it as soon as I saw you. You shouldn't have been looking at me and I should have told you to leave."

Josh's face fell and it was like I took all hope away from him. "Why was it wrong, Mom? You enjoyed it, I know you did."

I felt my face burn as I tried to reply. "I cannot deny that, honey, but we're mother and son. We shouldn't be acting like that – that's wrong. Someday, with the right girl, Josh, you will do things, but we can't be like that."

"Why not, Mom? You loved it! I loved it and we love each other. I don't want some girl. I want you, Mom!" Josh was trembling and my heart ached for the pain I knew I was causing him.

"We do love each other, son, but we can't love each other that way – we just..." my voice cracked as a remnant of my fantasies from last night flashed through my mind – a vision of us lying together, naked, in the throes of passion. I banished the naughty image from my mind and continued. "It's just wrong, Josh and we have to put last night behind us and get back to normal."

I stood up and began to move away, but Josh reached out and took my hand. "But, Mom, if we both liked it, if we both want it, how can it be wro-"

I stopped him and put a finger over his lips. "Hush now, son. It happened, but its over – we're going to get back to normal and that's my final word on it!" I stepped away and Josh slowly released my hand. He was on the verge of tears. Inside, I was shaking like a leaf and I think now that if he had grabbed me or had tried to kiss me, all resistance on my part would have collapsed and lord knows how far we might have taken it.

But...Josh didn't. He obeyed me and things went back to normal. Well, that's not true. Things were different. Josh became withdrawn and quieter. There was an awkward distance between us now. An uncomfortable knowledge of our shared intimacy that now put some normal things out of reach. I wasn't hugging or kissing him as much and was unnerved when I did he would quickly retreat to his bedroom, usually sporting an erection in his pants.

For a short while, I tried to dress more modestly, but old habits are hard to break and honestly, I don't think it would have made any difference if I had been dressed in an old potato sack dress or a street walkers outfit, I think I would have given my son a hard on just the same.

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byAhabscribe© 38 comments/ 638984 views/ 374 favorites

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