The Taboo Folder


It didn't bear thinking about.

His mother seeing the folder and discovering his dirty little secret was too awful to contemplate. Even as he sat there, the folder a silent mockery, its title screaming out perversion, Carl felt his face burn. His sphincter tightened again, his toes actually curling while Carl groaned out loud. His mind whirled for answers, wondering if his mother had been on the computer that day, hoping desperately that she hadn't. It wasn't every day she used the desktop, preferring her laptop machine at the kitchen table for day-to-day running of her business. But she did use the desktop as a back-up for her files, and all Carl could do was hope like hell that today wasn't one of those days his mother had decided on some corporate housekeeping.

What were his options?

He could, he decided, simply delete the entire file; he could just wipe it away and forget it. Although, after going as far as sending the file to the Recycle Bin, Carl couldn't bring himself to dump the likes of Jane Bond and Wendy Taylor into the void. He sat there, his finger hovering over the mouse.

Carl sighed and restored the folder to the desktop, ultimately coming to the decision to hide the folder as usual before subsequently keeping the thing on a flash drive he would purchase at the earliest opportunity.

With the job done, and after double-checking the icon was really hidden from casual view, Carl closed down the machine and rolled the office chair away from the desk.

Worry gnawed at him as he left the home-office, shoulders hunched with a dejected air. Carl considered his mother's attitude when he'd arrived home after work, but dismissed her shortness of manner as any indication she had in fact found the folder.

Surely, he reasoned as he sat on the end of his bed, if his mother had made the shocking discovery she wouldn't be so together. She would either be wildly outraged or intensely awkward, and Carl thought he knew his mother well enough that her earlier behaviour showed no real sign she was privy to the awful, deeply embarrassing secret.

By the time Louise called up that the evening meal was ready, Carl had convinced himself that he had nothing to worry about. He would buy the flash drive anyway, just in case. The possibility of another mistake coupled with the scare he'd suffered were a wake-up call.

As it happened, the more Carl watched his mother that evening, the less inclined he was to accept that there was anything to be concerned about, the thought process making him complacent in the light of the following day. Carl forgot to buy a flash drive, putting it off for another time when he eventually remembered.

Time passed. Days went by. Mother and son slid along in the same old groove.

Although, for Louise, things were most definitely altered.


SHE GOT through that first evening in Carl's presence by simply blocking it out. Louise behaved as normally as she could find it in herself to do so, with the half-an-hour or so her son had been upstairs giving her at least some time to take stock.

She couldn't, Louise reasoned, simply come out and ask Carl about the porn on the computer. How the hell would she do that? What could she do? It would be impossible to just say, "Hi son, let's talk about the porn on the computer. I'm especially interested in the folder marked incest.

"Oh, Jesus," Louise had blasphemed, eyes rolling with chagrin at the prospect of that conversation. "No way." She shook her head, emphatically denying the possibility of confrontation as she lit the gas rings on the cooker hob, the routine chore of making dinner oddly therapeutic despite her huge shock.

So Louise rattled pots and pans, pushing the nature of her son's interests to the back of her mind and got through the evening unscathed, the sordid nature of the folder's contents only coming to the forefront of her mind as she lay in her big bed later that night.

The following day Carl left the house as normal, with Louise remaining in her bed until she was sure he was gone. The computer taunted her, the flat-eyed stare of the blank screen mocking as she walked naked along the landing.

Louise paused when she passed the home-office on her way to the bathroom. She preferred a long soak in the tub as opposed to showering in her en-suite, the route along the landing taking her past the open door.

The computer sat on the desk, silently mocking.

Louise felt an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach, a visceral tug that suddenly bloomed with heat between her legs. The image of the blonde actress's face came unbidden, her knowing and delighted smirk causing a ripple of sexual arousal within Louise.

The brazen, whisky-voiced question echoed inside Louise's head: Coffee ... tea ... or me? She saw again the way the model had presented herself to the young man, the man who was supposedly her own son. The blonde had flaunted herself, shoving her big boobs forward, offering them to her son. Louise recalled, with a shudder of arousal, how long and thick those nipples had been. "Oh, fuck," she moaned aloud to the absent blonde. "How bloody horny were you? You dirty, perverted bitch," Louise mumbled. "How could filming that disgusting scene turn you on?"

But, despite her vocal condemnation, Louise couldn't deny the pulse between her legs, and when she glanced down to examine her own modestly-sized breasts she gasped, appalled to discover her own nipples were thick, elongated points of flesh.

"No," she muttered, shaking her head. "No way."

But a few minutes later Louise was sitting in the office chair, her stomach churning like a washing machine on full spin as she willed the desktop computer to hurry up through its boot-up process.

But when the damned machine finally lit up, there was no sign of the little yellow folder.

"Shit," spat Louise, surprising herself with the vehemence of her response. "Where is it?" she mumbled, her eyes roving over the screen in a fruitless search. "He's deleted it!"

Then the idea came to her. She went into the directory and trawled for files entitled incest, giving a squawk of triumph when it came up trumps.

"You hid it. You cunning bugger," Louise murmured as her fingers worked the mouse and keys.

Louise didn't want to think too much about her own motivation as she opened the same video clip as the previous day. The controls were simple enough, and it didn't take long for her to locate the point in the clip from which she'd left off.


THE BLONDE model sucked and slurped and managed to convey the general notion that she was very enthusiastic about sucking her son's dick, and regardless of her trying to convince herself she was honestly horrified, Louise soon found herself engrossed in the action.

It went on for a minute or two, with the man mumbling his approval, telling his mother how much he enjoyed the sensation of her quick, pink tongue sliding over his cock-head.

Next, the mother figure rose upright, lifting the dress up over her large bosom in one fluid movement before pulling it over her head. Then she scooped her breasts from the cups of her bra one at a time, covering the nipples and areolae with her palms for several seconds, her perennial smirk on her face. That cunning, devious look, a cat-with-the-cream expression, flooded Louise's vulva with heat. The woman knew exactly what she had to do and was only too pleased to do it.

"Oh, mum," the man muttered when the blonde finally exposed her breasts. "They're beautiful."

"You naughty boy," said the model, her smile widening. "You shouldn't look at mummy's tits."

Louise noticed immediately that the model's breasts were an example of surgical enhancement, a superb example to be sure, an opinion apparently shared by the son as he lunged and mauled at the round globes.

"Mum..." the young man mumbled around a mouthful of tit-flesh. He gasped and snuffled, sucking a long nipple between his lips.

"Ooh, yes, darling," the blonde responded, her head going back as she winced with pleasure. "Suck them, baby. Go on, my darling, suck mummy's breasts."

"They're so big and heavy, mum," said the man, his tone appreciative while he hefted his mother's boobs with both hands. "Fucking lovely."

"I want you to lick me now," the woman said on a long sigh. She eased onto one hip, rolling sideways and over until she was resting on her back.

"Watch the bed cover," Louise muttered when she saw the heels of the woman's shoes dig into the bedding.

The blonde wedged her feet against the bed, taking some of her weight on her shoulders as she arched her back and her hips came up. "I have to get my knickers off," she said, grunting with effort until the young man moved to a position where he could assist.

In a graceful movement the model lifted both legs, heels pointing at the ceiling, knees locked while the young man eased her underwear up over her thighs. After leaning up, legs falling wide to exhibit her thick-lipped pussy, the blonde hooked the knickers over her shoes and cast the garment aside.

"Ooh, go on," the actress breathed. "Do I taste good?"

The young man was between his mother's legs by that point. He laid full length on his front while the model held herself wide open. "You're wet, mum," he replied, grinning up at his mother before his face went down to her vulva again.

"That's because I'm so fucking hot for you, darling," the blonde groaned. She moaned loud and long, and something about the sound told Louise it was no exaggeration. The woman might be playing a role, but it was clearly one she relished.

Louise shifted her bare rump against the office chair, the abrupt realisation coming to her that she was naked. Almost of its own volition, as though Louise herself had no control, her hand went down between her legs. "Oh, fuck," she grunted when her fingers found the sodden core of her sex. "Oh no, you can't ... You can't do it."

On screen the man was lapping away, his tongue going like a thirsty Labrador's. He snuffled at the woman while she moaned and sighed and mumbled words of encouragement, taking every opportunity to show how much she appreciated her son's oral attention.

"Come on," the woman grunted, scooting up the bed until her shoulder blades rested on one squashed pillow. "Give me some of that gorgeous cock," she groaned.

Again, for Louise, it was the expression on the blonde's face that got to her, the desire exhibited in the look that had her fingers sliding at her sex.

The model, face slack with lust, spoke directly to the camera, a little trick that seemed to be designed to make the viewer take on the part of the son, her dialogue suitably filthy: "Do you want to fuck mummy's wet cunt?" she breathed, her face in close-up. "You do, don't you, you naughty boy? You want to put that big cock inside your mother."

Seeing the woman's anticipation, her face twisted into a rictal grimace that appeared to border on agony, her desire apparent in the tone of her voice and the gravel-voiced obscenities, caused Louise to moan. Pleasure exploded inside her, sparks from her excited clitoris like synaptic eruptions in the brain.

"Oh, you bitch," Louise mumbled as, on screen, the young man slid the length of his cock into his mother's body. "You dirty lucky fucking bitch..."


LOUISE SAT at the kitchen table and sucked at the cigarette. She grimaced at the stale taste of it, wondering at how old the pack in the drawer was. It had been there since her wild days following her husband's departure.

Determined to suffer, forcing penitence following her disgraceful weakness in front of the computer, Louise doggedly smoked the entire length of the white cylinder down to the tan-coloured inch of the butt.

She was appalled at the way her body had responded, and was even more distressed by the fact she'd been turned on enough to masturbate over such depraved filth.

But the lure of it, the pull of the taboo had been too strong to resist.

"Come on," Louise said to herself as she ground out the stub of her cigarette with more force than was necessary. "Get some work done." She stood up, the feet of the chair scrawking across the tiled floor. There were orders to put together; she didn't have time to sit around in a daze flagellating herself for a momentary lapse. Because that's all it was -- a one-off, a lapse of morality that would never, ever be repeated. She was determined; never again would she allow herself to weaken.

As for her son, well, Carl was nineteen, an adult capable of making choices. If he had a thing for disgusting pornography, there was absolutely nothing she could do to alter his tastes. She couldn't imagine even trying.

Louise gave a huge sigh and shuffled out of the kitchen.

She managed to last an hour before abandoning her order book.

"One last time," Louise muttered as the computer, yet again, took its time booting up.


THE NEXT day Louise lay in bed waiting for Carl to leave the house. The ten minutes she forced herself to wait was absolute agony, obstinate seconds ticking by with staggering recalcitrance, defiant of Einstein and Hawking.

But finally, eventually, the self-imposed purgatory ended and Louise threw back the quilt before clambering eagerly out of bed. Naked, she hurried along the corridor with indecent haste, keen to be in front of the computer.

She mumbled and cursed as she waited for the machine to liven up, the mouse rolling over the mat when it did so. The folder was there, hidden away, but now Louise knew how to access it she was soon poring over the contents.

That was the morning she discovered Wendy Taylor supposedly seducing her own son, luring him away from the wiles of a rival by flaunting her body in a red bra and knickers, the ensemble complemented by black stockings and fire-engine red high heels.

"Fuck but that's so bloody dirty," hissed Louise as she watched Wendy squirt viscous liquid over the quilt cover. Louise herself had three stiff fingers fucking into her cunt as the young man in the scene crouched low over Wendy's back, his cock inside the woman doggy style, both of them grunting and moaning, flesh slapping as they rutted with delighted abandon. She groaned along with the pair when, finally, after thirty minutes of intense and very robust fucking, with Wendy on her back, legs wide, the young man shuddered and groaned and, wall-eyed with the intensity, pumped his mother full of semen.

Louise gasped and muttered and shuddered, thighs shivering, muscles in spasm as she came. She stared at the screen, gaping wide-eyed while Wendy's fingers mixed jizm around her greasy vulva, the dialogue all about how she and her son would be together every night.

"I'm going to come again," Louise mumbled, the model's words repeating themselves inside her head: You and me together every night. We can be together, darling, the two of us. All night. You can fuck your mummy with your big lovely cock. Oh, my darling son, my handsome boy fucking his mummy every night. Loving her like he should...

The scene faded away and Louise calmed, her breathing slowly returning to its normal rate as her heart rate slowed.

She swallowed heavily, gulping as she leaned forward in the office chair, a towel under her in case of mishaps.

Louise trawled through files, opening photos depicting a common theme -- mother and son incest. There were one or two surprises, with one image depicting a more mature model, blonde of course, a lady of overgenerous proportions in the breast department, whose supposed grandson was fucking the crease between very large breasts.

Then Louise decided to open a word document, curious as to what the written word could convey. She found a story, some thirteen hundred words with a Valentine's theme. Reading through the piece it suddenly dawned that the woman in the scene was her, which meant that Carl must be the author. The physical description fit, as did the circumstances of her separation and divorce, and Carl had even included her months of craziness during which she'd taken to promiscuity and drinking big time.

What affected Louise the most was the first-person point-of-view, that and the admission he'd used her as a masturbatory fantasy figure.

She sat and stared at the screen, her mind blank, eventually zoning back in to the present after more than half an hour of internal musing. When she snapped back to real time, Louise realised she hadn't exactly been in such a fugue as she'd first perceived. There was the glimmer of an idea forming, a grain of sand that would form the pearl.


SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Louise was doing her best to mask her embarrassment as she browsed the available, and surprisingly vast, selection of sex toys with apparent unconcern. Having narrowed it down, she couldn't decide between the two. One was an oversized lump of moulded rubber, complete with a gnarled shaft, knots and knobs part of the design Louise assumed to be representative of thick veins as might be found on a living flesh-and blood example of the male sex organ. Although, in Louise's admittedly limited experience, she thought encountering a cock so roughly outlined, as well as such eye-watering size would be more than a little daunting. But she couldn't help but be drawn to it, fascinated by the thought of using it on her tender pussy while reading filth or watching one of Carl's video clips. The other example was more realistic in terms of size, or at least a size Louise was used to. There were less lumps and bumps but it wasn't completely smooth. The second design, although sheathed with some kind of malleable latex, also contained a cavity for two triple-A batteries, a feature that the -- thankfully female -- sales assistant was only too happy to point out in a loud, clear voice that had Louise's cheeks fiery-red with mortification.

In the end, more in an effort to shut the girl up and leg it out of the shop and end the ordeal of the few other people in there knowing her personal business, Louise made the reckless decision to buy both items.

The girl behind the counter jabbered on as she swiped the debit card and plucked the receipts from the till. Louise declined the carrier bag emblazoned with the tell-tale logo, opting instead to place her purchases into the Tesco carrier bag she'd had the forethought to bring with her.

Excitement and anticipation tickled the pit of her stomach as Louise, feeling very naughty and more than a little aroused, hurried through the streets towards the multi-storey car park. She drove home, anxiety mounting, heat flaring between her legs, eager to use the vibrator against her clitoris while, maybe, if she could get herself worked up enough to try it, give the large knobbly dildo a try too.

"Hi, Carl," Louise called from the front door -- just in case he was wanking away in the office chair oblivious to the time. "I'm back!"

A reply came from upstairs and, since she couldn't be sure of the precise origins of her son's response, Louise decided to delay her ascent to the second floor, detouring through the kitchen to pour a vodka and coke. Thus prepared, with her dildos in the camouflage of the carrier bag, drink in the other hand, Louise climbed the stairs.


WHEN HIS mother returned home, Carl was in front of the computer. He'd lost track of the time, keen to get on and write some more of his Valentine's Day saga. He used the medium to exorcise his fantasies about his mother, combining what he saw in the videos with her physical features.

"Shit," Carl muttered, the pointer on the screen going up to the top right-hand corner. When the box opened up in front of him, Carl chose the Save option, and then went through the slightly convoluted process of hiding his folder -- He really should get round to buying that flash-drive.

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