I Didn't Know

"What do you want me to do? Should I sit on the porch with my legs spread and a sign in my lap that says EASY?" Then she laughed that throaty, husky laugh I love so much. I still turn red when she calls me out about anything sexual. She continues to giggle as she combs her long fingers through her tangle of dark auburn locks. She shimmies her hips and makes a seductive show of squeezing her breasts as she playfully grinds against me for just a second, then collapses in hysterical convulsions as she plops onto the couch.

"I didn't mean that," I stutter, while trying to re-arrange the instant hard-on in my shorts. At once I seem confused, ashamed and aroused. She managed to tussle my hair, pat my butt and kiss me on the nose at the same time. I find these awkward moments happening more often these days and I also lay awake at night thinking that I should somehow sweep her into my arms and ravish her. But these aren't the kind of feelings a guy should have about his mother.

I was only trying to suggest yet again, that she should rejoin the dating pool. Maybe meet a nice fella and stop feeling like she needs to still baby me anymore.

My mom Lisa, is approaching forty. She was a child-bride whose husband stuck around long enough to knock her up and then empty her bank account before splitting. After about fifteen years, she managed to rebuild her savings, put me through day-care and then on through college, and finally realize that I was not just her son, but someone she could share her secrets with because in all of my twenty-one years I had not seen her drop her guard around men. No guy had ever been able to get closer than a few dinners and some touch-and-feel sex.

My name is Mike, she calls me Mickey, like just now when she asked me to bring her a martini. "Mickey, you got me hooked on these things. I use to be happy with a can of beer. I guess you thought maybe some handsome millionaire would find me more glamorous if I acted like a lady. Though I think two or three of these suckers just knock me on my ass and makes me a sloppy drunk. Then you have to help me undress and carry your glamorous mother to her bed." She laughed again, that hearty, whiskey laugh. "Maybe you should be the one fondling my boobs and grabbing my ass. All you get to do is rub my feet or hold my hair while I heave into the toilet."

I was sitting across from her in our livingroom, helping to drain the pitcher of chilled vodka. The sun was just setting, it's last rays casting a warm red aura on the room. It was late Spring and we were in the middle of a nice stretch of warm weather. That is how I noticed that her flimsy tank-top could not contain her sweet 34 double-ds. And her tiny shorts fit snugly over her well-rounded bottom. Also her long legs showed some strong muscle tone at her quads and calves, and I was surprisingly turned-on at the vision of her pink-painted toenails toying with the cushions of the sofa.

It occurred to me then that I had not seen her in anything revealing since last Autumn. Anyway, she's my Mom. I have grown accustom to seeing her in sweats and flannels. And I remember now, that she started going to a gym a few months ago. She reasoned that it was a pleasant afternoon out with other women and that she could sweat-away some of those extra pounds that she claimed to have been packing-on.

I have been urging her for about the last two years to get out more, enjoy her life and possibly meet a nice man. She always balked. There were subtle hints that she was insecure about her figure or could no longer trust strange men. Though recently her remarks have gotten more sensual and her vocabulary and imagery, more suggestive. She has implied that she no longer wants to play "the dating game," and that no other man will "get into her pants."

I would blush when she tossed around sayings like, "I don't need anymore than I have- my vibrator and you." Or recently, "I didn't firm-up

these boobs for some stranger." And finally, "I can't see myself with any other guy. I have my imagination. You can stop attempting to fix me up." It's disconcerting to see your mom year after year, as simply your mom. And then one day you notice that she is a smoldering, beguiling vixen with her own needs and desires.

After a few quiet moments she seemed to slip into a trance. As I watched her, my mind was reeling with deviant fantasies. I was drinking with my mom, imagining her in sexual situations and pretending that she was verbally seducing me. She was abit glassy-eyed, the thin straps on her top sliding down her shoulder. She seemed to be half-drunk and half-dressed. Her cocktail glass in her unsteady hand had dribbled spots on the thin material of her satiny top. The droplets quickly spread and became transparent. And her long fingers playfully though unconsciously, toyed with her nipples, now suddenly obvious and perky under the gossamer sheen of her tee. She tossed her dark-red hair side-to-side as her wet, pink tongue slowly parted her glossy lips. Her icy blue eyes appeared clouded over and she tightly squeezed her shapely thighs and looked to be slowly heaving her hips up and down into the soft couch.

I was captivated with her sultry movements. I caught my breath and attempted to moisten my dry mouth, startling her in the process. She struggled to regain her composure and padded gingerly out of the room, not making eye contact with me, but with an odd smile on her lovely face. As time wore on, our daily routine continued normally. But my sleep pattern was confusingly disturbed. I tossed in my bed- my hand wrestling with my always-stiff cock. Erotic visions of my newly seductive mother danced through my head. Dreams were even more bizarre. We always seemed to be stranded or isolated, cold weather forced us to huddle close or share a tiny blanket for warmth. Everyday waking occurrences seemed to bring even more intimate contact that was not the usual mother/son. And we found ourselves drinking together more often or smoking the occasional joint. Our conversations always seemed to circle around to sex and she seemed to be more physical in our hugging and close interaction. Was I reading too much into this? Was my own perversion intruding on our regular family dynamic? Did I feel just too old to be constantly hugged and give and receive back rubs from my mother? And why was she always so scantly dressed?

The easy answer would be that I shared a home with an attractive, sexually-stunted, mature woman, who was also my mother. It was turning warmer now and she wore less restrictive clothing, and was oblivious to the new desirable shape and appearance of her transformed physique. And so she drank alittle and sometimes forgot exactly what she said or passed-out semi-naked in the livingroom. She was in the privacy of her home and relied on me to protect her as she had always looked after me.

But my daydreams only intensified and my frequent masturbation was taking-on a dangerously incestuous subtext. I was beginning to look forward to plying her with anything that would loosen her inhibitions. My hopes were that she would drop her guard alittle more. In the evenings I would offer to soothe her tired shoulders by massaging them with oil or rub her firm legs with lotion. Soon I would be rubbing her bare back, dangerously close to those beautiful tits, smashed into the cushions. Or sometimes tugging down her undies so I could rub lotion on her inviting, plump ass-cheeks. And then leave her shorts wadded in wrinkles around her generous thighs.

She never appeared to be unduly alarmed and most of the time she would moan softly or tell me how relaxing or stimulating it felt. Her continuing silence and peace tended to assure me that all prurient thoughts were in my head only. Then just as I was beginning to feel sheepish, she would request that I push harder or reach deeper, and always in that throaty, husky voice. I would have paid $3.50 a minute just to hear her speak. Often, as if she were a cat stretching loose limbs; she would roll over, arching her back, And ask that I apply lotion to her loins. All the while, trying to conceal her dark-brown nipples with one hand and cover her reddish-hued bush with the other. As ever, her eyes pleasantly closed and a sublime smile graced her lips. It seemed to me both confusing and teasing. I needed to remind myself that this was my mom!

There was no relief from my emotional distress. Nights brought dreams of taboo debaucheries followed by furiously wacking-off. Days were filled with various sexual innuendo. I could not imagine that I was the only one feeling it, yet what could I reasonably do? In my mind she became Lisa, the vampy MILF from the neighborhood. To refer to her as Mom in my daydreams was to commit the ultimate taboo.

Until the day I came home early and apparently surprised her. She had polished-off most of a bottle of vodka, and was so enraptured by the scene of a dirty movie, that the vibrator she was holding to her engorged clit was still humming when I casually strolled into the room.

I was taken by complete surprise (and so obviously was she.) For weeks I had been envisioning my mom in sexy, submissive circumstances either trapped or resigned to giving-in to my wishes. Some of my fantasies had included vague notions of over-powering her, or blackmailing her or simply demanding her obedience. But then there was always the nagging reminder that she was my mom and not some tramp from the neighborhood. And that she had no idea what a lecherous predator I'd become. And after all the dirty dreams and nasty thoughts and masturbation fantasies; I nearly tripped over my feet in amazement and swallowed my tongue in surprise. There she laid naked on her back, legs wide open and a glow of perspiration and lubrication adding a sheen to her alluring body.

"Oh my Gawd!" she recoiled when she finally noticed me in the room. She scrambled to find and reach for her panties that were almost buried in the cushions, and her tits still sported the red hand-prints from where she had obviously been groping. She strained to maneuver her body to conceal her embarrassment while struggling to slip into her undies and scour the room for any sign of her bra. I saw it on the back of the couch above her head but didn't let on. I was too busy watching her try to wriggle her hips into the tight, sheer-pink panties while attempting to cover her nudity with one hand.

In the meantime her drink had spilled on the rug and the vibrator was rolling under the coffee table, it's motion at full-throttle. When the initial shock wore off and the comedy act of watching her blush crimson, as she lost the fight with her clothes, she just rose to a sitting position and poured herself a another drink. "Well you caught me," she hiccupped when she spoke. "I guess the game is up. I'm glad you finally found-out, so I won't have to pretend or hide anymore. I like porn. I need sex.

"I've been alone for so long, and I could not deny it any more." She began to whimper. "you must think I'm awful." She downed a big gulp from her glass, then she truly floored me. "I have been thinking about you. I can't get you out of my mind." It was as if a veil had been lifted. She grew calm and now appeared to be totally at ease with her nakedness and the scenario of her adult son ogling her. After slurping more vodka she very casually reached for my zipper while pulling me to a point in front of her and between her knees. "I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable but I don't know exactly what the next move is supposed to be." She was slurring her words and fumbling with my pants, certainly embarrassment was involved. "I'll understand if you turn away and no longer want anything to do with me." By this time she had fished my cock from my pants and it took only a second to tug it to it's full length and girth.

"Wow, you're enormous. I knew it was big from when you always hugged me. And I could see the bulge whenever I caught you staring at my tits, but this is really amazing." Her slender hands were stroking my cock and she would lean in to feel it rub against her cheeks, neck and lips. Then for the first time our eyes met. She looked up at me hopefully and smiled, then looped one arm around my back and drew my in closer. Soon my cock was nestled between those firm tits and her thumb was playfully panting the droplets of pre-cum onto her boobs and sliding my pole into her cleavage.

"Please say something," she pleaded. It was at that point that I realized that I had not spoken since I walked in. Actually I was so stunned at my mom's behavior and so very turned-on by the explicit sexual situation, literally at my feet, that I could hardly utter a syllable. I only gasped.

"Mickey please tell me what you're thinking. I have to know honey." The tears started to well-up in her dreamy blue eyes, and the show of confidence or else her drunken bravery was starting to fade. My swollen erection was cupped in her hands, and juices flowed from her pussy while my cum dripped from her tits. Her chin trembled, "do you find me repulsive, do you hate me? I've just been so lonely," she wrapped her arms around her legs; drawing them tight to her chest, "should I leave? Can you still stand the thought of me?"

All during this time my mind was in a fog. About the time she released my cock and then hurried to cover her nudity, I began to regain my composure. And something devilishly devious was fomenting in my warped mind. Maybe all the masturbation had caused an imbalance in my brain, but all I could see was a shivering, naked, woman begging for my forgiveness and almost entirely at my mercy. Any good son would have instinctively showed compassion and love. I did the opposite.

For a moment, I wasn't certain if I could maintain the bluff, but it seemed too good to pass up. It seemed as if my dirty dream had come true. I just had to play it out. I stood tall with my hands folded across my chest and a stern look creased on my face. (Ofcourse my unsheathed cock was now hanging ridiculously plump but flaccid at the front of my pants.) I tsk-tsked a little and unplugged the vibrator as I sat down beside her, without offering anymore of what was on my mind. She was gathering her clothing and preparing to slink out of the room when I grabbed her wrist. "Mickey," she mumbled, "I'm so humiliated, I'll just rest upstairs for alittle while and then I'll come back and start dinner. I hope maybe we can put this behind us."

That seemed to trigger something in me. "Yes Lisa," her eyes flashed at the mention of her name. "I believe we should put it behind you." With that, I tugged her naked body over my legs and settled her in a position on my lap so I could administer a good spanking. "You've been a very naughty girl and apparently you have also had some impure thoughts. I think we may have to discipline you." Even though I didn't have any standing to judge her, she realized the desperate position she was in. She was naked infront of her son and sticky with the fluids of both of us, the porn was still showing on the TV, and her vibrator was only inches from her nose.

Are you going to punish me? I guess that's what I deserve. I've been having dirty, incestuous fantasies about you, and I can't fight this feeling of needing you to degrade me. I'm so sorry Mickey, I've gone so long hating all other men, you're the only one I believed I could open up to. Now what have I done, I'm your mother and I've come on to you like a whore!"

I was really only going through the motions of listening, mumbling some "bad girls" as she apologized. In reality I couldn't take my eyes or hand off of her round, firm butt. I circled it with my palm, cupping each cheek individually and giving both a solid squeeze. I kneaded that supple, warm flesh with my fingers and felt my entire body heating up. Every few seconds I would tell her that she had become a filthy slut or a dirty little tramp. I recognized the effect these names were having on her torso and on her psyche. With each epithet I spanked her ass abit harder, leaving a purplish mark and a resounding thwack. We both appeared to be enjoying the experience; Lisa was squirming and pressing her vagina into my crotch, while moaning and softly cooing. I was getting even more excited, my blood gorged cock was bobbing and poking against her belly and I managed to secretly lube my fingers with her Vaseline and I was now teasing both of her holes.

She was too busy explaining to me what a bad mother she had become, and that her taboo fantasies of incest and subjugation needed to be purged from her system. As I patted and rubbed her quivering bottom, my fingers were easing into her hot snatch and her tight ass. She begged me to spank her harder and to plunge my probing digits into her wanton openings, saying through her moans, "I need to be taught a lesson Mickey. You're the boss now, my Master. Make me feel you're punishment." She gritted her teeth and knotted her brow as I forced two well-lubed fingers into her inviting orifices. Lisa bucked and twisted furiously, her long red hair was drenched in sweat, her nipples taut as diamonds and her hips yearning to take my fingers as deep as possible.

I grabbed a fistful of her long, damp locks, pulling her straining neck and bringing her bright blue eyes, wide with excitement, up to meet mine. This way I could watch her squirm, wondering if this was some erotic foreplay or a sadistic torture. I told her now in an authoritative, no-nonsense voice, "Lisa, grab my cock and stroke it with one hand and rub your slutty pussy with the other." She immediately complied as if she was anxious to please. I was having trouble containing my emotions while she pleasured me. I could feel her start to shake with the first of what would be her multiple orgasms. When this subsided, I pulled my fingers out, her lips swelling to keep me in place. I gently lowered her to the carpet where my rigid cock was aimed directly at her mouth. Her face reflected the splotchiness of her exertions, but she needed no prodding to suck my stiff member between her sweet, ruby lips.

She still had one delicate hand wrapped around my cock and pumped continuously until we both felt the torrent of my cum rushing up the thick shaft. Her puffed-out cheeks welcomed my creamy sperm; she gulped-down what she could swallow while the rest over-flowed her mouth and dripped onto her heaving tits. Her other hand was a blur rubbing her distended clit and bringing-on another big orgasm. I took this moment after her recovery, to stand infront of her and place my sticky, swollen cock in her deep cleavage. "Lisa, push your tits together around my cock and suck the head of it when I push." She eagerly followed every command and was able to keep my pole solid and thick.

As if in a trance, Lisa looked ready to follow orders and obey my wishes. And most of all, she was consigned to the notion that her incestuous fantasies should be dealt with, and punishment and humiliation were the remedy. I did not relish the thought of harming or forever scarring my mom. But I could see that she wanted to enjoy this sexual situation, she needed only to get past her guilt. So I decided to make it seem as if she needed sex-therapy. I would treat her as poorly as she felt and hope to relieve her angst so that she could embrace the passion. it was obvious that she wanted to let loose, she only needed the stigma of taboo to be made more palatable.

"Lisa do you like the way my cock looks and feels between your big tits? Is that what a bad mother wants? To see her son's slick, beefy cock sliding between your jugs and bumping against your chin? Do you wish you could suck all the thick, gooey cum out of your son's gigantic rod?"

"Yes Mickey, I mean Master. You're my Master now. I'm your slave, if you want me as your sex-slut. A mother who wants and desires her son's firm cock and heavy balls must be a filthy, horny slut."