Incestuous Glamour Photography

How my son got me to pose naked as he photographed me.

*

I remembered it so well. It was as clear as if it was just yesterday. Each moment, every move and gesture even the words we used flooded into my mind.

"Undo the buttons on the cardigan Cat."

I did and he took several shots as I moved around showing increasing amounts of my breasts.

"Take it off now."

I did. More clicks as he took photos of me removing the dark blue, cashmere cardigan.

"Turn round."

Click, click, click was all I heard as I turned my back to the camera.

"Bend forward, let me get that bum."

I was wearing a black, pencil skirt that ended just above my knee. It was very tight indeed round my hips and buttocks.

"Further, bend more hold your ankle, look round to me."

I leaned forward my champagne blonde, shoulder length hair tumbling over my face. My bum, which some say is my best feature was being digitally immortalised.

"Ok Cat, now the bra."

I straightened up and turned to look at him. Fixing my gaze on the camera lens I removed the black lace, see-through acutely cut bra very slowly knowing he would photograph every movement. My coral pink, medium sized nipples were, naturally, erect and as hard as acorns

"Fuck me that looks so good" he said as I stood there in the tiny, net shorts, which formed a slim band of black round my hips and the black, lacy top holdups.

"Lie on the floor" he said indicating the cream, thick pile carpet of his bedroom.

I lay on my back.

"Spread your arms." I did. "No wider, like as if you are being crucified. I want to see all of your tits."

He took several shots in gradually greater close up of my breasts. He knelt beside me his knee almost touching my hip. I was extremely worked up and could see the bulge in his jeans that indicated that he felt the same. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but it was too soon for that.

"God your tits look great."

I smiled. "Maybe that's because they are great."

"Mmmmm probably the reason" he said rubbing the end of the lens across my nipple.

"Lie on your front, spread your legs, raise yourself up, kneel" he ordered taking shot after shot as I moved around. "Ok on your back again. Now hold your tits and push them together. Imagine my cock is between them as it will be very shortly."

*

I do have quite large tits. 'An ample handful' as my husband describes them or 'D going on DD' as the seamstress at Janet Reger advised me as I had them measured when I was buying some hugely expensive bras.

My breasts looked even larger in the photo. I was lying on my back on the floor wearing just a pair of black net shorts and black, lacy top holdups. My hands were holding my bare breasts pushing them together and pinching the nipples at the same time. My eyes were half-closed, my mouth was slightly open and I looked as if I was about to cum. Remembering the shot I recalled that indeed I was about to cum and did so very shortly after.

I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I had no comprehension how it had got there. I couldn't work out why this photo of me was on my son's memory stick. I had booted up the PC that I shared with the kids and clicked on a folder believing it to be the last I had used. Wrong. It was the last my eighteen year old son had been looking at. And there was me in nearly all my glory!

I clicked a few more times, then more and more quickly as my panic increased. He had loads of photos of me. It could well be that he had my entire collection.

There were some where I was fully clothed, loads where I was undressing, even more of me in underwear. Many were of me naked, there were numerous shots with me holding my breasts and some where I was masturbating. There were shots of me with my fingers on my clit and inside me and shots of me cumming. There was even shots of me sunbathing in the garden and swimming in our pool. I didn't remember those and assumed that Peter had taken them without me knowing. He was, like his father quite interested in photography.

My husband Richard and I used photography as part of our sex life. After twenty years of marriage one's desire for the other often reduces. In my case it wasn't a reduction in desire for sex, I wanted that as much as I always had, it was deterioration in my sexual fancying of my husband. He's a lawyer and very conservative. He rarely tries anything new in life in general and sex in particular. In addition he works murderous hours when in London, rarely getting home before nine and he travels a lot, at least seven nights away every month, usually in New York.

I had contemplated an affair numerous times. I had also thought of trying to find a toy boy. I didn't want to part from Richard and mess up my son and daughter, but I needed more than the cursory one or two fucks a month in our marital bed that he now provided.

To an extent, his suggestion of him photographing me overcame, well at least temporarily, the problem. After being very reluctant when he first promoted the idea three or so years ago, I quickly got used to it and began to enjoy it. It played to a latent exhibitionist tendency in me and it got both of us very worked up; the camera became my lover, the lens my own personal cock. We rarely finished a session without writhing around on the floor fucking each other's brains out. It certainly helped our sex life, well for a while.

The portfolio we had built up over the years also became a valuable aid to masturbation, certainly for me and so he explained for him when he was overseas in his hotel rooms.

But now my eighteen year old son had all the photos.

'Fuck' I thought what can I do now?'

*

Peter was waiting to go to university. As was the fashion with many young people he was taking a gap year. He'd travelled throughout India and South East Asia and had been at home for a couple of months before leaving for Peru, Chile, Argentina and Brazil in the next few days.

Richard was, as fucking usual, in New York and my daughter was at a friend's parent's house in Southern Spain for a couple of weeks. I knew Peter would be home soon and I felt terrible.

'What the fuck should I do?'

Should I ignore it? Should I confront him now or later, tell Richard, maybe phone him right now and ask his advice? Maybe it was best to ignore it, but how could I?

How had he got them? Well he is amazing with IT so I guess it wouldn't be that difficult and neither Richard nor I are that IT literate other than with Word and Excel. The key questions were: Why did he have them and what did he do with them?

Maybe he sells them I thought smiling as I visualised the headline 'Public schoolboy sells porn pics of his mum.'

As I was increasingly doing when I felt under pressure or the loneliness of a long distance traveller of a husband got to me, I poured a drink; vodka and tap water with a squeeze of lemon. I felt so nervous. I wasn't sure that I had the guts and fortitude to do anything. On the other hand I knew that I had to.

Peter was very much a man's man. Good at most sports he was just over six feet tall with a lean, muscular body. His longish blonde hair, blue eyes and angular featured face, even if I say it myself, made him very good looking. He also had a strong personality, being fairly outgoing with a fair amount of charisma; well that at least is what the 'girls' at the tennis and golf club told me.

When I had my fantasies, usually in bed alone when Richard was away, of having sex with a toy boy, it was usually my son's face and body that came into my mind first. When that first started a couple of years ago I thought nothing of it. However, when I masturbated thinking of being fucked by a young guy, I had to work hard to push Peter from my mind. I didn't always succeed.

Like many mothers I had feelings about my son that I knew were wrong and would never happen, but I couldn't stop them and they wouldn't simply go away. Maybe it's completely normal to imagine having sex with your son, I often wondered.

I had to confront him I concluded as I finished the first vodka and poured another. But how? What can you say? I couldn't reprimand him for having them for, from his perspective they shouldn't exist. It was Richard and I who were really in the wrong. If there were no photos then Peter would be in the clear.

I flicked through the photos. God there was so many. They brought back such memories. And even with the prospect of having to talk to my son about such a difficult situation I found myself becoming turned on as I looked at myself. That also worried me. That I could look at photos of myself a forty something year old woman in various stages of undress and become aroused, is weird, isn't it? But that is what happened as I looked at my bare breasts, my bum in slithers of black lace, my landing strip of pubic hairs, my hands on my 'quite big tits,' wearing the variety of underwear that I bought specially for those sessions and at my fingers between my legs. I felt so wanton, but also immoral for it was wrong wasn't it? Mothers and women my age shouldn't behave like that should they?

I won't say anything I was thinking. I'll just ignore it, let sleeping dogs lie. I'll tell Richard and see what he says. I knew, though, that he would confront Peter and have it out with him. How he would do that I had no idea, but I knew he would. I equally knew that I couldn't let that happen. That was unthinkable, it was impossible and it would be disastrous for the shots of me in those tiny, black lace boyshorts and lacy top holdups had not been taken by Richard.

*

Shit there he is, I thought hearing the buzz as he opened the electronic gates to the driveway. I was in the family room on the front of the big, horrible six-bedroom Victorian pile Richard had inherited from his grandparents. I hated it. There was only one room that I liked and that was the conservatory I'd had put on the back. It looked out over the grounds down to the pond. It was where I worked doing my part time editing for the publishing firm my family once owned, writing erotic stories for Literotica and reading and composing emails with people who sent feedback to my Lit submissions. It was also where I most frequently masturbated lying back in the green leather, office chair or flat out on the Chesterfield.

Peter got out of the Mini we had bought him for gaining great A level results. I looked at him, my heart almost missing a beat at how good he looked and at what I had to do. I won't be able to, I told myself. You have to another part of me insisted.

I heard his key in the lock and he walked in. He was wearing blue jeans and a white Abercrombie polo shirt, which was not tucked in. Both were fashionably tight.

"Hello mum."

"Hi darling, how are you?"

"Good, what's for dinner, it's just you and me isn't it?"

"I haven't decided yet" I replied, dinner being the furthest thing from my mind. "Yes it's just us."

"Good."

"Why good?"

"Because I like it when we're on our own and we can chat" he replied looking deep into my eyes, something I had noticed he did more frequently recently.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" I asked him

"Yes please"

"Go into the conservatory, I'll bring it through."

*

"Oh sorry mum" he'd said a few months ago, when he walked out of his room to go to the airing cupboard to get a towel. He was naked.

"Oh yes, oh yes" I heard from his room a few weeks later. That was followed by a deep groan. He's masturbating I realised smiling. I had no idea then what he was masturbating over. Now I had my suspicions.

It was the start of summer and Peter had just finished his exams. I heard, or thought I did, the click of the camera on his phone. I was lying on my front on a sunbed by the pool. I was wearing a bikini and I'd undone the bra. "Is that you Peter?" I called out lifting up a bit, holding the bra against me and turning.

"Yes, home earlier than I expected" he explained.

I sat up holding the bikini top against my boobs. He was staring at me and sat down on a chair by the table. I couldn't put the bra on without exposing my boobs so I just sat there hoping he would go away. He didn't. After a few minutes I got up still holding the white bra against my breasts and went inside. Once in the kitchen I quickly put the bra on. He followed me in.

"Sorry if I disturbed your little topless sunbathing" he said pointedly staring at my breasts. That gave me a rush of embarrassment tinged with arousal and I may have blushed.

Just a few days later I was sitting at the breakfast table in my dressing gown leaning forward reading The Guardian. I hadn't heard Peter come downstairs until he coughed. I looked up at him smiled and said. "Good morning Peter."

"Hi mum," he replied staring at the neck of my dressing gown.

I looked down and of course it had gaped and my left boob was uncovered almost to my nipple. We stared at each other for a moment or two until I adjusted it.

It was only a few weeks later when I came home early from tennis. I let myself in and walked to the conservatory where the PC was that I shared with Peter and my daughter. He hadn't heard me and I saw from where I approached him side on that he was staring intently at the screen. As I got nearer he heard me and quickly clicked the mouse changing from whatever he had been looking at.

"Hi mum, you ok" he asked sounding nervous.

"Yes darling having fun?" I asked for some reason looking at his waist.

He was wearing shorts and he had a very obvious erection. I gulped and walked out into the kitchen.

Now, as I left that kitchen with his glass of wine and my vodka I wondered if he had been looking then at what I had left open on the PC now?

*

I had decided what to do. I had to broach it. I didn't dare get Richard involved so it was all down to me.

I went and stood by the desk with the PC. I was wearing white, pedal-pushers that were cropped just beneath my knee and a black, lowish cut, short sleeved silky top. It wasn't very tight but did show the outline of my breasts quite clearly. Peter was sitting on the green leather Chesterfield facing me. He was looking at me.

Plucking up all my courage I said, very tentatively. "Peter we have to talk."

"Sure, what about?"

"This" I said clicking the mouse so a photo of me in a white bra and panties with my hands behind my head came up on the screen.

"Oh shit" he said. "Have you er.......?"

"Yes I have looked through the whole file."

"Bugger it."

"Why have you got them?" I rather inanely asked.

"I just have."

"How did you get them?"

"I was checking some other photos and the PC referred to another set of photo folders. I clicked on it and there you were."

"Oh God. What have you done with them?"

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

"Just that."

"I don't understand" he said quietly keeping his face down and not meeting my eyes.

"Have you shown them to anyone?" I asked nervously as I sipped my vodka.

"No of course not, why would I?"

"I don't know. I don't know why you copied them do I?"

"Well I could ask you the same couldn't I mum?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well why have you got them?"

"Never mind."

"And I could ask who took them?"

"Your father."

"All of them?"

"Look Peter, this is not for you to interrogate me you know."

Like me, my son has a sharpish wit and a quickish, but not violent temper. He hit back.

"But you can me."

"Yes you have something that belongs to me. In fact in a way you have stolen it, haven't you?"

He looked a little deflated and tried to cover that by finishing his wine. "May I have another?"

"Of course" I said finishing my second vodka.

"I'll get it" he said getting up as I leaned forward to take his glass.

"It's ok I'll do it" I replied as we paused in those positions for a moment or two. Naturally my top gaped and I knew that most of my breasts and bra would be on show to him. Our gazes caught as he dragged his away from the gaping sweater.

"Sorry"

"What?"

"I was staring"

"Yes I know." Feeling a little more relaxed and slightly more in control now that the subject had been broached I smiled and added. "But then you have seen it all before haven't you?"

He smiled back as we walked to the kitchen together. "You mean the photographs?"

"Yes of course, what else?"

"Nothing and yes I guess I have."

We got to the kitchen. I took the wine and vodka from the fridge and filled his glass and poured a healthy measure into mine that I topped up with water. We stood close together alongside a work surface.

"So do I get an answer Peter?" I asked my head swimming a little from the alcohol and lack of food for I hadn't been able to eat lunch after finding the photos.

"To what?" He replied quite coolly.

"Why you have them and what have you done with them?"

"Look I didn't go looking for them, there were just there so I copied them and I have done nothing with them."

"Nothing, so why keep them?"

"Mum it's awful."

"What do you mean?"*

"It's complicated and awkward."

"Well nobody said having personal and intimate photos of your mother would be easy."

"No of course not, but you won't understand."

"Darling I am just about the most understanding mum in the world. Try me."

He sipped his wine as quite clearly he contemplated what to say. He looked up and our eyes locked, but he couldn't hold my gaze.

"I just like looking at them."

"But they're of me, don't you look at photos of younger girls?"

"Sometimes yes. We all do. Most blokes look at porn now and then."

"So are my pictures porn?"

"No. No not at all" he said quickly. "They are gorgeous. They are erotic art. I love them."

"How often do you look at them?"

"Most days. I have some on my phone too."

"Jesus Christ Peter, this gets worse."

"No it doesn't, not a bit."

"What then."

"I love your photos, you are so beautiful and you have a great body. Now does that tell you what you want to know?"

I didn't know what he meant. "No it doesn't, I don't understand."

"How" the hell can I say this?" He asked, almost to himself.

"They excite me, now does that tell you?"

"Photos of your mother excite you?"

"Yes."

"Oh my god."

"Don't be annoyed mum" he said putting his hand on mine, which was resting on the work surface.

"Peter, I am not annoyed, just confused."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be it's not your fault. How long have you had them?"

"About a year or so."

"But some are newer than that."

"Yes I know. You can find out when they were taken and......." He paused before adding. "What camera was used."

"Really?" I said realising that he would know some were taken by a camera other than Richard's.

"Some of the more recent ones were taken by a different camera."

"Were they, I didn't know?" I said lightly, now feeling guilty.

"Yes and actually they are raunchier."

"Oh" I blurted out not enjoying the way the conversation was going, but adding ridiculously. "Do you like those more?"

"Mum I like all of them, every single one" he whispered squeezing my hand.

"Oh Peter."

"Yes, because they are of you" he whispered back. "Do you like being photographed?" He suddenly asked.

Before thinking I blurted out. "Yes."

"And you get aroused don't you?" He asked.

'How the hell can I be having a discussion like this with my son' I asked myself realising that I was becoming aroused right now.

"Peter you shouldn't ask such things of me."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm your mother."

"You're also a woman, mum. A beautiful and sexy woman" he responded quickly.

"Peter no. Stop don't go there."

"Go where?" He asked gripping my hand and moving forward so we were closer to each other.

"Asking about being aroused."

"I know, but I want to know. You did get aroused didn't you?"

"Yes Peter I did. Of course I did."