Mum, You’ve Got To Stop This

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Author’s preamble:

This is a fictional stand-alone story containing graphic descriptions of an incestuous relationship between mother and son. Sexually active characters are at least eighteen years of age. People and places are all from my imagination and any similarities are entirely coincidental.

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To those who have chosen to stay and read this story, I hope you enjoy it …


“Mum, you’ve got to stop this.”

I was getting close to my wits’ end with her. Dad died in a motorway pileup when he ran into a thick bank of fog. He had been driving, cautiously we were told, and braked well in time to stop behind a stationary truck but a big all-terrain vehicle slammed into the back of him and he was crushed under the truck in front. He never stood a chance and Mum just went to pieces. Scarcely a day went past that she didn’t collapse to the nearest chair sobbing, maybe two or three times. As often as not I would come home from work and find her still in her nightclothes and an old threadbare bathrobe; the sink would be piled with dirty dishes, beds unmade, the house not cleaned, no food in the fridge or cupboards and the laundry still unwashed in its basket.

Today was just such a day and I’d had a hard shift on my multi-drop deliveries, fighting the traffic, humping heavy boxes of stationery up flights of stairs. I was tired, I was weary, I faced an evening of cleaning and cooking when all I wanted to do was sit in front of the telly with a beer or two and relax for the weekend. Financially, we were comfortable thanks to Dad’s foresight in taking out mortgage insurance so the house was Mum’s but I had to work to pay the household expenses. I had to quit college and come back home for that because I dared not let her live alone; she talked sometimes about ending it all and each day I came home from work wondering if she’d be on her bed with an empty pill bottle.

I thought back to my father, and to how he would always speak to her firmly, decisively. “Mother, look at me.” Her tear-stained face turned up at my order as I tried to imitate Dad’s tone of voice. “Dad’s been gone more than two years. You have to move on and start pulling your weight around here.” I had her attention so I continued: “Get yourself cleaned up and dressed. Now!” That final word was snapped at her as I pointed my finger to the passage door.

“Yes Tom.” There was a momentary flash of interest in her eyes and, to my amazement, she rose and left in the direction of the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, she came back downstairs dressed in a flowery cotton skirt and white blouse although she was still in her slippers. From the doorway, she asked, “Is this better Tom?”

Now, I matured quite late and I was only just starting to look at girls when Dad died. Mum was just Mum when I was a kid and all Mums are pretty to their little children. Since we lost Dad, she just became a Mum who didn’t care about her appearance. I looked up at the sound of her voice and was surprised at the change. For the first time I saw her as a pretty lady; her clothes clean and bright, a light touch of makeup and her black hair neatly brushed into the pony tail I always liked. I thought she looked so young and fresh.

“Mum, you look lovely, so much better than your pyjamas. Make me a cup of tea then sit and talk with me.” I made it sound like an order: her eyes twinkled as she moved quickly to put the kettle on.

That must be the secret, I thought, she needs someone to tell her what to do all the time. Maybe she’s one of those people who need a firm will and a commanding voice to motivate her. I watched her preparing the tea and looked at her anew. Her figure was sort of average but yes, she was very pretty, maybe even more than pretty.

Mum set a mug of tea before me then sat opposite, arms on the table, one hand resting on the other with her own mug in front of her. We sat in silence for a minute; I felt that she wanted to say something and that it was going to be difficult for her so I waited patiently. Eventually she began, “Thank you Tom, for ordering me like that.” She took another deep breath and continued, “Your father always used to tell me what to do and that is what I miss about him most. I don’t know why but I just cannot seem to motivate myself. I need a man to tell me what to do all the time. She reached over and laid her hand on mine. “Will you be that man, Tom, will you run my life? Please?”

It was my turn to pause; where was this going? I wondered. “What exactly do you mean, run your life, Mum?”

“Just that: you tell me what to do, like you told me to get cleaned up and dressed, you told me to make you some tea, I did those because you told me sınırsız escort to.”

“Does that mean I would have to tell you every little chore and stand over you to make sure?”

“Oh no Tom, what your Dad would do was tell me each morning my tasks for the day. Some tasks were lumped under one which he always called ‘the usual’, which would be make the beds, wash any pots, dust around and have a meal ready when he came home. So he would maybe say something like ‘Today, do the usual then the laundry.’ Things like that. If he told me before he went, I could do it all but if he didn’t tell me, I would sit around not able to decide to do anything, not even dressing because I didn’t know what to wear.”

“I don’t know, Mum. This all seems a bit weird. Were you his slave or something?”

“Perhaps I was, in a way, but I needed him to control and order me. I was happy obeying my man.”

“Even if he told you to do something you really didn’t like?”

“If he told me, yes.”

“And that is what you want me to do? Boss you around and you will obey me, whatever I say?” She nodded her confirmation so I continued: “Dad had to tell you what to wear, too? OK, we’ll go to your bedroom and see what clothes I have to choose from.”

I followed her up the stairs watching her skirt sway from side to side with each step; I was almost mesmerised and bumped into her when she stopped to open the bedroom door. She went straight to her wardrobe, opened it and invited me to inspect the contents. There were many different styles and colours in the dresses, skirts and tops. I looked through them, pulling one or two out, looking at the garments before putting them back.

Mum was just standing, waiting patiently and as I stepped back, she opened the top drawer of her chest of drawers. It contained her lingerie: bras and panties. Those at the front of the drawer were plain, bog standard cotton underwear but as I riffled through, I realised there were many much more sexy and daring towards the back. I wondered what she was wearing now but my bet was the plain stuff.

I looked at her with new eyes; perhaps the sexier underwear had put a new complexion on this situation. She looked more content than I had seen her since Dad died. She looked back at me in quiet submission as an idea started to form in my mind. Returning to the wardrobe, I said, “Pick your favourite.”

She sorted through and pulled a sleeveless dress out; it was a dark blue silk with a gold braid trim. The neckline was cut deep front and back with a two-inch wide strap over each shoulder. She held it out and gazed at it, an enigmatic smile just touching her lips. Her eyes were a little misty.

“Put it on, Mum.” She never gave me a chance to leave the room or even turn my back; she just started unbuttoning her blouse and took it off before dropping her skirt. She was standing there in just her bra and panties: my prediction was right, plain white cotton. She picked up the dress and was stepping into it when I stopped her. I went to the drawer and selected a matching dark blue set of undies in flimsy lace; handing them to her, I told her she was to wear them. I also noticed a suspender belt with the bra and panties.

“Do you have any dark stockings?” She opened another drawer and pulled out a packet. Putting the stockings next to the underwear on the bed, she pulled her cotton panties down and stepped out of them then reached behind her back, unclipped her bra and allowed it to slide off her shoulders. Strangely, she did not appear embarrassed although there was a shy smile on her face. Mum had not done a sexy strip tease, just efficiently removed her clothes but seeing her standing there naked had the obvious effect on my young man’s body. Her breasts, a lovely handful, were firm and perky with light brown aureoles and darker little button nipples, she had a slightly plump abdomen and her pelvic girdle was broad. Starting just a couple of inches below her navel, Mum’s pubic hair was a large untrimmed triangular thatch.

I watched as she dressed: she looked really sexy in her underwear before she stepped into her dress and zipped up. Her bra combined with the tightness of the dress to push her boobs into an attractive cleavage. The dress hugged her torso and flared in the skirt that stopped just short of her knees, showing her legs, shapely in the nylons. I asked her what jewellery she had and selected a lapis lazuli pendant and matching dangly earrings. The pendant nestled just above her cleavage. I found her a pair of black shoes with a 3″ heel and she stood before me looking as attractive as any of my fantasies.

“I’m going for a shower; you phone Ristorante Roma and book us a table for 8:00 then call for a taxi at 7:30.”

We parted, she to the tasks I had given her, me to the bathroom. I stripped and soaked myself under the streams of water as I soaped up my erection and pictured Mum in her sexy underwear: after just a few taksim escort strokes, my cream was swirling down the drain. I completed my shower quickly and walked to my own room carrying my clothes without bothering to dress. I picked out a pair of smart fawn slacks and a white shirt and no tie. A dark navy blazer completed my dress so I returned to the kitchen and saw Mum sitting at the table looking relaxed and beautiful.

“Did you get us a table?” I asked.

“Yes, Tom, and the taxi will be here in soon.”

“You didn’t have a meal ready for me when I came home so tonight I’m taking you to the restaurant and maybe to a club afterwards. You haven’t had a night out for two years so tonight you can just enjoy yourself. Tomorrow I will give you your tasks and we’ll take it from there. Are you happy with that?”

“Yes, Tom, and thank you for taking charge. You have made me feel so much better.”

“I was thinking earlier, you undressed completely in front of me. Were you not embarrassed?”

“You told me to undress so it is not for me to make you turn away or to be embarrassed. I just took my clothes off. Did I do wrong?”

“No, no, that was fine. I guess we will both get used to it if I am going to control you.”

“Tom, again, thank you for taking charge. I feel like I have come out of a dark passage and you have brought me back to life. Please don’t stop being my boss, I will always obey you.”

Just then the doorbell chimed: the taxi was here so we were driven to the restaurant and had a glass of wine as we waited for our table. We had a bottle of wine with our meal: we took our time over the food and relaxed over our coffee. I asked the waiter to get us a taxi: he told us when the car arrived and we went to the Dolce Vita. After a while I told Mum to dance with me so we spent the rest of the evening sipping wine and dancing. We finished the evening with me holding Mum close as we danced when the band played a slow waltz, her perfume was a heady mixture of musk and flowers. Her body melted into mine and she felt so soft in my arms. We got a taxi home and sat next to each other on the sofa, her head resting on my shoulder.

“Thank you Tom, I’ve had a wonderful evening with you. You have made me feel so much better again.” Mum gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“I only wish I had realised what you needed earlier, I could have saved us both two years of pain and heartache. Mum, you should have told me.”

“I almost did once or twice but somehow it didn’t seem right for me to say it to you. Then when you ordered me to clean up and get dressed, I started to hope. Then when I came back down you ordered me to make your tea. Oh Tom, it was like a light switching on in my mind.”

“I saw the change in you. It is good to have my Mum back. That is why I decided to treat you – well, to treat us both, really, because I haven’t had too many fun nights out recently either. It was so good to take a lovely woman out to dinner and onto the club. I never realised how lovely you are and that dress, well I can see why you like it; I like it myself.”

I gently kissed her forehead then she looked up at me, smiled and snuggled her head into my neck. From the way we were both sitting, I could see right into her cleavage with that pendant resting on the upper slope of one creamy breast. Again I was aware of her perfume inflaming my senses. I silently thought about something that had been surfacing in my mind all evening since she first removed her blouse. I was just a little fearful that it would drive her back into her depressive state but I decided to take the bull by the horns and put an outrageous question to her.

“What would you do Mum, if I told you to sleep with me?”

She paused in thought for a few long seconds. Taking a deep breath, she said, “You know that would be illegal, Tom, and we could never tell anybody else, that is if we do go all the way?”

“I know that Mum. I would never tell anybody.”

“Then I would wait for you to tell me which bed. You are my Boss.”

“Then take your dress off Mum, I like seeing you in your sexy undies.”

With no hesitation, she stood and within seconds, her dress was thrown across the other end of the sofa. She stood in front of me in those lovely undies, her chest heaving a little. I could not decide if the dark patch on her panties was damp. Or was it just the shadow of her pubic bush?

“Sit on my lap, Mum.” With a happy smile she sat where I told her. I put one arm round her while my other hand went between her legs where I detected a very slight dampness. I moved my hand to her breast and her nipple was a hard little pebble. I looked her directly in the eyes and asked, “Do you mind me doing this, Mum. Do you mind your son touching your private places?”

She looked right back at me and said, “You are my Boss as well as my son. I will do what you tell me to do and this …” here she wiggled her bottom over my tesettürlü escort tool in full blood, “… this tells me to satisfy you that way. Tom, when I called you my Boss, I meant all the way. I am yours to use, or even abuse, just as you wish.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “And I want my Boss to fuck me anytime he desires.”

I leant in and kissed her; Mum surprised me by the passion in her kiss and it almost felt like I was deep throating her tongue. As we kissed, I held my mother’s breast for the first time since I was a babe in arms. I don’t remember those days but it felt wonderful to an 18-year-old man. There is also something about moulding a breast still encased in a lacy bra cup; it seems to add another texture to an already pleasurable sensation.

By now, my tool was painfully hard. I made Mum stand up then stood myself and told her to undress me. Mum took her time removing my clothes, her hands caressing my chest and nipples when my shirt came off and then my legs when she knelt, removing my slacks. The head of my cock had pushed up from the top of my briefs and, almost reverently, Mum bent forward to kiss it before drawing my briefs down and off. She removed my shoes and socks and, declaring that I had a lovely tool, kissed the head of it again then sank her warm mouth over it, laving it with her tongue and sucking firmly. Her head bobbed down as she took more and more of me in her mouth and soon I felt that wonderful tightness of her throat as she took me all the way in. But my hormones had been surging since Mum first undressed in front of me; my early climax was unstoppable and I called, “Mum, Mum, YES,” as I pumped my seed into her throat. She opened her mouth to show me the trophy, which she quickly swallowed with great relish. I pulled her to her feet and drew her to me; I kissed her with one hand behind her head, the other her on bum, pressing Mum’s groin against mine. She returned the pressure. I tasted myself in her mouth and it did not seem too bad.

I sat back down and had her straddling my legs as she sat. I pulled her panties to one side, ran my fingers between her labia and slipped two of them into the warm slickness. Mum sighed as they penetrated, seeking her special places. Soon she was humping at my hand as our tongues fought a friendly battle. It was soon after I rubbed my thumb into her lubrications and over her clitoris that her back arched rigidly and she utter just a loud wail of my name repeated as a climax hit her.

“Mum, are you happy about your son fucking you? It’s a big step.” I asked when her body relaxed again.

“Tom, I crossed that line in my mind when you first gave me an order, when you became my Boss; I knew where it would lead sooner or later. I’m more than happy it was sooner rather than later. I think you crossed that line when you saw me naked. You are my Boss, son; my happiness is to do anything you say. But yes, I am happy for you to fuck your old Mum any time, any where, any way you want me.” Her kiss showed me she meant it.

“Then we’ll go to bed and I’m going to fuck you. Your bed will be my bed, which you will share. Come on, move!” To emphasise my command, I slapped her arse firmly. Mum giggled as she lifted her body off my lap, dripping her secretions as she did. She bent over slightly and wiggled her bum, seeming to offer it to me. I obliged with another hard slap and I once again followed her upstairs; this time my view, unhindered by clothing, was of two lovely cheeks with two matching red handprints emblazoned upon them. That bum, I thought, was for later consideration of all its possibilities.

Mum was quickly on the bed so I joined her and started playing with her breasts, still inside the bra at first but I scooped one out and settled my mouth firmly on the hard nipple, suckling like a baby. She brought her hand behind my head and pressed my face into the soft flesh, uttering soft moans as I flicked the nipple with my tongue; she shivered when I started nibbling at it, now and then gasping as my teeth raked across the sensitive bead. I ran my hand down over her abdomen; soft, smooth and slightly rounded with a deep navel that my finger explored briefly before my hand roamed lower to the thick bush hidden by her panties. I could feel the hairs like myriad little springs cushioning the material.

The crotch of her underwear was soaking with her juices. I pulled them down and off; I raised them to my nose and smelled her sex strongly as I inhaled deeply. I brought them to Mum’s nose and she breathed in as deeply as I had done, obviously relishing the distinctive odour. Next I shuffled my body down until I was between her legs and staring at that same hole from which I had entered this world.

It was an incredible sight for me: I had never had my face so close to any pussy. Sure, I’ve been with a few girls but it was mostly lots of kissing and mutual groping and a hand job for me after I had fingered her to an orgasm. I even got a couple of blowjobs and Julie let me fuck her the night before she left for college but we didn’t have time for much lovemaking. Now, right in my face, I saw in the real living flesh what a woman’s pussy looked like and it was so much better than the magazine pictures or even the videos I had found on the internet.

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