My Mother, My Lover Ch. 01


"Bit dramatic, Mum, but I'll be your date. Besides, I like the idea of dancing with you, holding you close to me as we glide across the floor."

Mum grinned through her tears. "Down boy -- and you'll need to keep your big feet out of the way. I'm a pretty fair dancer, so you'd better be on top of your form. Oh, and I think it would be safest if I introduce you as my son, and say that your father is interstate on a case. Whether that's true or not, it's a highly likely scenario."

"Done, Ginger Rogers, and although I'm not quite Fred Astaire, I'll give you a good run for your money." We both laughed and left it at that.

A few days later, I was studying in my room and there was a gentle tap on the door. Mum came in with a worried look on her face and asked me, "Jesse, I need your honest opinion; please be absolutely honest. Do you think this dress is suitable for the dinner?" She was wearing a long gold coloured gown with a scooped neck and three-quarter length sleeves, and it did nothing for her.

"Okay, Mum, you asked for it -- I'm not rapt in the colour, the neckline is too plain and the sleeves are neither one thing nor the other."

"Mmm, yes, I was afraid so."

"But," I continued, "if you're open to suggestions, I could see you in ..."

"Careful," she smiled, "and yes, I'd love a suggestion so long as it's not TOO suggestive."

"Right, imagine a gown in dark electric blue silk jersey. Rolled halter neck but completely bare shoulders. And if I've got to wear a tux, then your dress will be full length rather than giving you the opportunity to show off your gorgeous legs. But heels, certainly -- 3" or however high you feel comfortable dancing in. Oh, yes, and finish the ensemble with a good pair of black above the elbow opera gloves. So what do you think, Mum?"

"What do I think, Jesse? I think you are an absolute genius, that's what I think. Thank you so much, I can hardly wait." She took my head in her hands and gave me a hard fierce kiss on my mouth and then I said,

"Mum, would you please do me a favour at the dinner?"

"Of course, honey, if I can."

"Would you wear your hair down rather than up in its usual roll?"

She looked a little puzzled, but said, "Sure Jesse, if that would make it easier for you to be seen with me"

"Of course not, Mum, that is never ever a problem, but you have such lovely hair and I see it down so seldom. When I do, I have a very hard time stopping myself from running my fingers through it."

Mum gave me a look that I found quite unreadable, but reached up and pulled the clips holding her hair in place, then shook her head causing her hair to cascade around her shoulders, with a sweet and quite intoxicating perfume.

"Go ahead, sweetie -- I'd like to feel you run your hands through my hair."

I held Mum close to me and could feel her body tremble against mine. I reached up and ran my hands through her soft, thick, fine hair, stroking it and feeling it flow softly over my hands and through my fingers. As I did so, I could feel an erection growing that I was going to find hard to hide, but Mum had closed her eyes, and her breathing had changed to short, slightly raspy breaths.

I slid my hands down from her shoulders and lightly ran them across her tits, feeling her nipples rigid in a growing excitement. I realised then that if I pushed this contact further and caressed her beautiful breasts more firmly and even ran my hand between her legs, she might not object too strongly.

Suddenly Mum pulled away from me; the expression on her face was a mixture of longing and hunger, but tinged with fear and despair. She ran from the room, and I was left feeling a mixture of excitement and guilt at what had happened. At that moment, I realised just how vulnerable Mum was. Other than me, she had no-one to turn to, no-one else to really care about her, and I realised that the physical contact between us may have started a possibility in her mind that was too difficult for her to handle and she suddenly shied away from it. I also realised that to push too far too fast would irreparably damage our relationship built up slowly over the past few years. This was complicated by the dense black cloud of my father's attitudes and behaviour.

Some time later I found Mum in the kitchen preparing dinner, with her hair now up again. She looked up as I came in with a somewhat guarded expression on her face. "I'm sorry about what happened earlier, Jesse -- I was surprised at how powerful my reaction was."

"Okay, Mum, to be honest, I was feeling a bit guilty about the whole thing, although it was still a lovely experience."

"Thank you, sweetie, I feel a bit the same way," she replied, "but it was too intense for me to be able to handle easily."

"So that's the way I make you feel, is it?" I teased her, but she just smiled and went on with preparing the meal. "But you will have your hair down for the dinner, won't you?"

"Of course honey, I want what will make you happy."

This felt like dangerous ground, and I didn't want to take it any further, but I docketed the idea away in my mind for future reference.

On the day of the dinner Dad was, predictably, absent. Mum refused to let me see her dress until just before we left, although I knew she was excited about it. I had struggled into my tux (I hate them) but made a passable attempt to look acceptable and waited for Mum in the lounge.

When she entered, I knew the dress idea was just right. "God, Mum, you look absolutely stunning -- I'm almost lost for words." Her dress was just as I had envisioned it, in an electric blue fabric that clung alluringly to the curves of her beautiful body, but with the added benefit of being backless to her waist. She wore fractionally more makeup than usual, but still entirely tasteful and her shoulders and back had the soft glow of perfect health. Long gloves and 3" heels plus a single strand of pearls completed the ensemble. Her hair was down around her shoulders, clearly brushed and combed to make it shine with a rich smooth glow. Best of all, she had a warm, genuine smile that radiated happiness and excitement. Mum was going to enjoy herself.

"We'll take my car, but you can drive," Mum stated.

"No, Mum, just trust me," I replied, and as we left the house, she squealed with delight. I had arranged for a limo to take us there and bring us back, and this set off the evening for her.

Mum chatted with more animation than I'd seen for a long time during the journey, and when I complimented her again on how good she looked, she said, "Maybe, but I'm equally excited at being seen with a real hunk. It's a pity that you're my son, otherwise I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you!"

"Oh, don't let that worry you, Mum. I shan't fight or scream with fright if you do get your hands all over me."

"You really are a very dangerous and very naughty young man. Now behave yourself."

"Or what, Mum? Or you'll have to spank me?"

"Down boy, down. Thank goodness we're here or I don't know what I should have done with you."

"Mum, you really mustn't feed me lines like that," I laughed as we left the limo and entered the dining room.

Mum attracted more than her fair share of appreciative looks as we made our way to the table and she introduced me as her son, her husband being away on business. There were three other couples at the table, all considerably older than either Mum or me. I understood the guys to be influential in finance circles, but I was able to understand some of the "shop" talk and make one or two not wholly fatuous comments. On either side of me were two of the wives, both women in their mid to late fifties, and very much under their husbands' influence. So I set myself to some very mild flirtation with them both, and they lapped it up, somewhat to the amusement of their husbands.

The music started and I invited Mum to dance, a slow foxtrot. After a few uncertain steps, we fell into a rhythm that allowed us to dance as if we'd been doing it for years. Mum moved with her usual grace and poise, and it was an especially sensual experience to be holding this lovely woman in my arms, moving around the dance floor as if we were the only people there. My right arm encircled her back, and I could feel her soft, smooth skin and the muscles moving under my hand as we danced around the floor. Every time I looked into her eyes, she had a special secret smile that warmed me right through. Unfortunately, that warmth had a side effect, and I could feel my cock becoming erect and hard. Mum must have felt it, too, but she made no comment, nor did she try to keep away from me. In fact, I imagined that she was pressing me more closely to her.

The dance finished, and I was immediately prevailed upon to dance with the wife on my right, which I did. She was a passable dancer, a bit lumpish but I managed to keep out from under her feet and continued my mild flirtation, which she lapped up greedily. That was followed by my left hand partner, and the experience was very similar. By this time I needed a break, but shortly after, the band leader announced a tango, and I couldn't resist.

"Come on, Mum, let's show them how it's done." It was a truly wonderful experience. Mum danced as if she had been born dancing the tango, and she gave me the confidence to attempt to match her. We moved together in a sensuous, erotic dance that justified the punning definition of the tango -- "a naval engagement without loss of seamen". As the dance ended, Mum looked at me through hooded, smoky eyes and squeezed my arm. "I don't know who taught you to tango, sweetie, but they showed you how to make a woman feel exciting, sexy and ready to devour her partner."

"Good job this is a public place, Mum, or I'd just end up as a heap of bones!"

"If you two weren't mother and son," my next door neighbour commented as we sat down, "I would have sworn you were lovers."

"No, no," I replied, "nothing like that, although we are very close and both of us enjoy dancing -- the more showy the better."

The rest of the evening passed enjoyably, although I was claimed for dances with a number of the wives, some of whom had hardly any dancing skills at all. I claimed the last waltz with Mum, and she danced close to me and leaned her head on my chest, claiming to be tired. Nevertheless, holding her warm soft body close to mine and feeling her move as we danced again caused my cock to register its extreme interest in what was happening. Mum didn't try to move away, but looked at me and smiled with a secret warmth deep in her eyes.

The limo dropped us back home close to midnight and Mum turned to me with a loving expression on her face. "Jesse, thank you so very much for an enchanting evening. I enjoyed myself so much, and you were the perfect partner. One or two of the men I was trying to impress were very positive, so I hope there will be a bit more certainty in my future. Honey, I hope it was okay for you, too, although," she grinned naughtily, "I could feel that you seemed to be enjoying yourself a great deal. I'm so pleased ..."

At this point I moved over to mum, put my arms round her and kissed her full on the lips, gently and without any further expectation, but she returned the compliment. I looked at her and said, "Ingrid Bergman said once that a kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature, to stop words when speech becomes superfluous". Again, there was a possible opportunity to take our relationship a step further, but the black cloud was still present, and anyway, this was Mum's evening and I wanted her to feel her own triumph and success without carnal interruptions from me.

Mum gave me another of her warm, loving smiles, kissed me on the tip of my nose and said, "Good night sweetie, I'll see you in the morning", and floated off on a cloud of her own happiness. Then I did the same.

But the glow of pleasure didn't last long after Dad returned; he was in a sour mood having lost his case and he barely said a civil word to either Mum or me. So far as I was concerned, silence was golden.

Then something happened that turned all our worlds upside down. I had been out on a photo shoot with some of my camera club friends looking for good nature shots. One of the few indulgences that my father had ever given in to for me was a very high-end camera for my eighteenth birthday. I enjoyed photography and had had one or two shots published in small, insignificant journals. But today the weather was poor and the light bad, so I arrived home 2 3 hours before I was expected.

When I got back I was surprised to see Dad's Mercedes in the driveway. It was almost unheard of for him to be home in the afternoon, and I was puzzled as I walked into the house. I was even more puzzled when I could smell a perfume that was decidedly not Mum's -- and then I saw a small silk scarf lying at the bottom of the stairs. My heart was in my mouth as I went quietly up the stairs and stopped outside the door to my father's bedroom. It was slightly ajar, and I could hear voices; my father's and an unknown female voice, giggling at something he had said.

"Oh my god," I thought to myself, "that bastard has got some slut in there with him; this might be the key to fixing him for good. But how ..." I wondered. Then karma took a hand. I heard my father call to the woman, "You'd better get downstairs and pick up that scarf before my dimwit son gets back, and anyway I need to take a piss."

I slipped away watching a pneumatic blonde amble through the door and down the stairs, and then I seized my chance. Dad had gone into the en suite, and I was able to slip in and hide behind the long drapes that were a characteristic of his room. It was very old-fashioned -- heavy oak furniture and thick heavy drapes that provided ample cover for me. My camera had a decent video capacity, up to around 20 minutes, which would give me all the evidence I needed.

My father finished his toilet and the blonde returned and started taking off her clothes to reveal tits that were at least 36DD, and a clean shaven pussy, plus heavy, slutty makeup. My heart fell when she went to turn the light off, but Dad saved the day -- and sealed his fate - when he said, "No, leave the light on, I want to watch you squirm when I fuck you."

"Okay, big boy", she said, "let me get that monster cock into my mouth and get you nice and wet and nice and hard. Mmm, very tasty," she mumbled and then started slurping and sucking at my father's cock. He moaned and gasped, "That's right, you cocksucking whore, take it all down your throat," as he held her head against his groin. Obviously getting close to his orgasm, he pulled out, grabbed her by her hips and flicked her over onto her hands and knees. My father slapped her arse two or three times on each cheek and she squealed as her cheeks took on a bright pink glow. "Now, slut, beg for my cock."

"Oh god, Den, please fuck me, fuck me hard, make me scream, fuck me with your big fat cock. Oh yes, give it to me," she moaned as my father shoved his prick into her wet pussy. He continued thrusting and moaning while she thrashed and writhed until suddenly my father went rigid and came hard, yelling his triumph. He pulled his cock out of her cunt and she whimpered with frustration, "Don't I get to cum too?" she complained.

"No time, Marlene; we've got to get going -- my useless son will be home any time, and the last thing we need is for him to find you here. The first thing he'll do is to tell Carole, and then there will be hell to pay. Still, it'd just be his word against mine, so don't worry - I'll make it right for you next time."

"You'd fucking better, Den, or our relationship is over."

They both dressed hastily and hurried out of the room.

"Marlene", I thought to myself, "that's Dad's PA -- clearly a very personal assistant." I could barely contain my glee at what I'd seen and recorded for posterity on my camera. I forced myself to remain in hiding for five minutes, then, when the coast seemed clear, went outside; Dad's car was gone.

I went to my room with my heart in my mouth and downloaded the video to my PC. Played it back and I had 20 minutes of a very graphic movie. Not Hollywood standard, for sure, but there could be no doubting the identity of the stars and what they were doing or what they were saying.

The next day was a Saturday; Dad had left early for a golf match with his cronies, and Mum and I sat in the kitchen eating breakfast. Mum was very quiet, and when I asked why, she confirmed my belief about her vulnerability.

"Jesse, honey, I just don't know how I can keep going with your father. He'll drive me into a mental hospital."

"Mum," I replied, "I think I have the answer, but it won't be easy initially." She looked at me with a puzzled expression. "Come into the lounge, Mum, I want to show you something."

We went in and sat down, Mum still looking puzzled. "Now, Mum, I want your solemn promise that you won't do anything silly, that you won't break anything and that you will try to keep your screams below the level that will damage my ear-drums."

"Jesse, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Uh, uh, Mum, solemn promise, please?"

"Okay, Jesse," she agree with a tired smile, and I turned on the DVD player.

The instant the message became clear, about 20 seconds in, Mum jumped up from her seat and yelled, "The rotten stinking hypocrite. I'm going to cut his dick off with a rusty hacksaw blade and shove it up his arse. I'm going to rip his balls out and jam them down his throat, I'm going to ...."

At this point, Mum burst into tears. "Oh god, the fucking bastard. He couldn't have sex with me, oh no! Sex was supposed to be only about having babies, but he can fuck the arse off that little whore, Marlene, in our own home."

This came as a bit of a shock because I had rarely heard Mum swear at all before this moment, and she was so incensed that anything might have happened. I took her in my arms until the shaking and sobbing started to subside, and she looked at me through tear stained eyes. "So, what do we do now?" she asked.

"Mum, you've got to look at the big picture -- and be prepared to engage in a little illegality. You do know that Dad has been nominated for a big deal position on the state legal authority, don't you? And that he has set his heart on becoming senior partner in his law firm when old Wilson retires next year? Also, that he's his mother's blue eyed boy and set to inherit millions from her? Finally, that he's recently appeared in the media spruiking the need for a new moral code?"

Mum nodded her head at each of these statements, and then the light dawned in her eyes and she gasped, "Are you talking about blackmail, honey?"

"Catchy word for it, Mum, but his behaviour has left him open to whatever retribution is headed his way. It's karma. I don't think he's got the guts to make a fuss because he will know that if this gets out he's ruined.

"Just a minute, Jesse, how did you get that footage anyway?"

I explained the train of events that led me into Dad's room and allowed me to take the video from behind his heavy drapes.

"Huh," Mum snorted, "and he calls us fools!"

"And in any case," I continued, "I actually think he's a coward -- he's certainly a bully, and the two often go hand-in-hand. To use a phrase that he used against me, he'd be lucky to get a job as a street sweeper. This is your chance to get away from him, Mum, to set yourself free and do whatever you want."

"Just one condition, Jesse, honey. I'll only agree if you come with me and we," here Mum giggled, "share the spoils."

"Done, Mum, you've got a deal. Now then, we need to look at a strategy so we have a firm plan in place for the confrontation."

"Okay, honey, what do you have in mind?" By this time, Mum was sounding distinctly enthusiastic.

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