Including Me Ch. 03

"You're mine, forever, completely..."

My heart skipped and jumped. My exhale contained the word inside it.

"Yesssss..."

He turned his right hand turned over then, I hadn't noticed he was holding something. In the mirror, sparkles. A ring? He was slipping it on my ring finger now. My son was putting an engagement ring on my finger. My gasp said everything. My knees were weak. I let my body lean backwards into him.

I gazed at the ring he now worked softly over my knuckle, now brought to rest at the base of the finger. He let go of my right hand and lifted my left. My eyes dropped from the reflection look at the ring directly. A silver band. An unostentatious but brilliant diamond. Glinting a thousand times in the low candle light. I swam in its significance. I was engaged to my son.

"I love you more than life itself..."

Now he pulled with his right hand so that I turned into him, looking up into his ocean eyes.

"I love you, I'm yours... all of me belongs to you..." I whispered adoringly.

And he leaned in, so that our lips touched, so softly. Held them for just a moment that was an eternity burned into my memory. He let go and stood up straight. Looked into my eyes and grinned.

"We have a table booked in an hour to celebrate. You've got thirty minutes to get ready."

I'd expected to be making my man something myself, knowing he'd soon be ravenous after making love to his mother for the first time. Instead there'd been an unexpected turn of events, I was now engaged to be married and I was being taken to dinner to celebrate. I didn't fuss myself over the cost, he was in control now. I'd been through everything with him in such detail, and been sure to teach him about the pitfalls he'd be likely to encounter: those which are ever present, those which come from inexperience.

Over his life I'd worked hard and built up a variety of assets including the house, various stocks, bonds and I always kept a healthy float easily convertible to cash. My life had been about preparing for his future, and hard work had paid dividends. Now they were his to utilise as he saw fit. Giving up control was easy the way I saw it, because I never really had control, I was just looking after it for him. He was everything.

He'd put on some soft music in the car and I let him set the tone and didn't initiate conversation. Not that I felt I couldn't, but I loved being there at his side, in the light of the setting sun. I was hardly aware of the road, I was just gazing at him driving. He kept glancing over and smiling and I felt like I was inside pure happiness. We didn't need words.

Once we sat down at the small, intimate table though, it was almost as if we'd gone back to the day before. My son is sweet, funny, insightful. A joy to be around. We'd never struggled for conversation and while the delicious tension of the occasion remained, it was wonderful to know that the changes that were now happening were built on such a close and solid foundation. He led this, and as was my place I followed and that was easy to do. I felt carefree as I joked and laughed with him. We enjoyed a light meal and each of us had a small glass of wine, which he toasted to his fiancé, to my delight.

After we'd finished eating and the waiter had taken away the dishes, he took my hand and complimented me on how I'd prepared everything for this evening. He described the setting I'd created in the bedroom as ideal, and perfect, with such feeling that I beamed. Then he kissed my hand and told me about his plan. He wanted us to have some time to get to know each other in this new way, he explained, before we took the ultimate step.

Ultimately I discovered that this meant that we were going to wait until we were married before we engaged in sexual intercourse. Not because of old fashioned virtue, but because he chose it. He had determined that it was in our best interests. And I suppose he was demonstrating that, whereas I was now powerless to refuse him under any circumstances, he was free to exercise his right to dictate what would or would not happen.

I felt disappointed, yes. I was worked up, ready for him. I hadn't been taken or even touched by any man since his father - our father - just over eighteen years and eight months ago. I was seriously hot. In addition it augmented the impression of his growing authority over me, and that was an excitement and a pleasure of its own, and that only served to make me even hotter. He would have me on his own terms, and isn't that what I'd always wanted for him? We'd be in this new phase of our relationship, yet not, and I'd need to accept that. I readily did, because obeying him was a reward in itself and sustained me. In the event we went home, got changed and snuggled on the sofa, and I was inflamed with desire for him but still I was there in his arms and that was happiness.

When he told me to go to bed I turned to embrace him and he held me close, as he did each night. But then, after a moment, I felt him turning into my neck. Nuzzling me. Nudging my hair out of the way to clear a path to my skin. Kissing me. Kissing me on my sensitive neck, and I moved my head to give him easier access. I melted against his lips working there, my mouth opening and breaths came heavily in response to his attentions.

Presently he started to move upwards, over my jaw to my cheek, my face turning to follow his line and give him what he desired. He clamped his mouth to mine and held almost motionless, holding me, pulling me with his hands, creating a suction with his mouth so that we were joined, our hearts beating against each other hard, just being one with each other. I was so in love with him, I'd always been in love with him and I would be in love with him forever.

Maybe a minute, maybe more. An eternity, an instant. He began to move his mouth and I reciprocated, into the softest, most intimate of kisses. No tongue this time, just feeling our lips together, moist, not wet, letting them run over each other again and again and again... we held and kissed and loved like that for a good long while, slight movements of bodies, tiny caresses of hands, and all the while our lips worked softly against each other, over and over.

Finally, he broke and pulled me in for another long embrace, and when his hold around me loosed I took the cue and moved away to follow his command and go to bed, only softly whispering a final happy birthday to my new fiancé. I lay there in my nightdress, sleep refusing to come quickly, my pulse still heightened, pussy throbbing. I guessed it had been half an hour when I heard the sounds of my son heading for his room and only after those noises had subsided then so did my body relax and release me to sleep, at the end of the most incredible day of my life.

I awoke to a sharp pain. Not a terrible pain, but clear and insistent. I waited and the pain eased. As it subsided I almost managed to convince myself it was nothing. But then it came back again. I moaned. A stirring beside me. Was I okay? I think so. A hand running over my swelled belly. Is it time? It might be.

My son was the most wonderful husband I could ever have wished for that morning. We had prepared well and giving birth to his child had been a world away from the nightmare experience I'd had giving birth to him. We arrived home two days later with a healthy little boy and my son, the proud Dad, had never looked so happy in all his life. Not on the day he took possession of me, not on our wedding day. Not on the day we'd confirmed that I was carrying his baby.

I don't know how to describe the feeling it gave me, that I could be a part of this happiness in him. What had I done to deserve this honour, to serve my King in this way. The nursery was all ready for our little one to come home to in our new house, a couple of miles from his university. He'd decided to let our old home to tenants and bring me with him, he'd never entertained any other living arrangement. He wanted to be with his wife and children, he'd maintain his studies and social life around that.

And he did maintain a social life, sports, clubs, parties even on occasion. I kept working as before, only now my income was paid into a bank account controlled by him. He arranged for me to have access to funds for shopping, sundry items, and discretionary purchases. Clothes, make up, whatever. All the practical matters were taken care of by him, and when anything unusual came up I brought it to his attention.

So we had a good pattern of life, we were excited about his education, about the pregnancy, and we were happy. We had sex whenever he wanted it. However he wanted it. If he wanted to romance me, take me to dinner or a picture, or ask me what I'd like to do, then take me home and make love to me slowly, taking his time over his mother's body, bringing her to pleasure and fulfilling her body's needs, then he did so. If he wanted his whore to bend over and beg for his cock, he'd signal it and I'd comply. When he'd been out at a party, I knew what to expect. I had choice lingerie and I'd make sure I was ready for him to make use of his property when he arrived home.

There were occasions where, the worse for drink, he'd collapsed on the bed and fallen asleep without using me. I'd been at pains to teach him how to manage drink, and he understood that he'd be more able socially if he stayed in control of his faculties, unlike some who he'd see going overboard and making fools of themselves. He'd have to get his own experience but he really took on board the lessons I'd taught him and rarely went too far, much less lost control. There were also a few nights where he stayed with friends. I didn't want him to miss out on such things, but I did everything I could to provide him with reason to come home. Ultimately it was his decision anyway.

But my desire inside, to be with him, never waned, not a fraction. I'd be jealous whenever he mentioned a girl. If he'd told me to help him to fuck them then I would have done so despite the jealousy, but he never did. He hadn't overtly spoken about sexual interest in anyone other than me, still I felt jealous when he mentioned in conversation one of his female classmates, or a lecturer.

That emotion was a part of me, it drove my obsession with my son, my husband. My master, my King. It kept me focussed on serving him, on being sexually available to him. Ensured I continued to work hard at keeping my figure trim, even through my pregnancy, and regaining it quickly after giving birth. Made sure I dressed in any way that increased his attention on me, such as micro dresses, or miniskirts with crop tops, especially once I started showing and I realised how much that bump turned him on. And I'd regularly strut around in just lingerie, perhaps a babydoll with stripper heels, or maybe a corset and hold ups. I tried different things and the more I found out the things he liked the more I'd explore those styles.

Once our son was born things changed though. I hadn't had a child in nearly nineteen years, but it was still significantly easier, both physically and emotionally. Even more so because, instead of looking after the baby on my own, I had a loving and attentive, and young and energetic, husband sharing the workload.

I had suggested that he leave the nighttime duties solely to me, in order that he could focus on his studies which were far more important than me getting more sleep, especially since I was on maternity leave anyway. He saw the wisdom in that, but decided that only after the first month or two, when I had recovered sufficiently from giving birth, would he allow me to take the lion's share of tending to our son during the night. Even then he wouldn't give it up completely, taking the lead a couple of nights a week. He doted on our son and he doted on me, we were a family at last and he was never more of a man than he was now.

After a couple of weeks getting my strength back I returned to working hard on my figure. While he'd used my body regularly, uncompromisingly, right up until I went into labour, he told me that I would have a break after he brought me home, a couple of months without; both for the physical recovery, but also to focus on being a mother and father to our son. To become accustomed to this new dynamic between us as parents.

During the last month of pregnancy he took me exclusively from behind, and developed a commanding style that belied the care with which he attended my comfort and safety. My moods ranged wildly, from being absolutely desperate for him to use me on some occasions, to feeling cramped and stuffy on others. I never once refused him, although I was also forthcoming about how I felt at any time and he was largely selective, focussing on caring for me when I was suffering.

In these late stages too, I'd gotten some more comfortable maternity clothing; stretchy, longer nightdresses in particular. Comfort for me, but also still showing off my full breasts and prodigious midriff, which I knew had him proud, excited and aroused in equal measure. At times when I was feeling my size he knew I enjoyed him rubbing my belly softly, and after doing so over my clothing it was always a thrill when he'd stand and lift my top or nightdress over the bump, and masturbate to the sight of me.

If I wasn't too bad I'd offer my mouth for him to use, it made me feel good to know that when he was ready, he was going to ejaculate his load onto my belly, and go back to that soft, rhythmic rubbing, only now massaging his sperm into my skin. I could just sit happily for hours staring at my son as he caressed me in that way. Adoring him. My everything.

On the night before my due date however, he'd fucked me. I'd been tired earlier and had slept, then I'd woken up and he'd drawn me a bath. After a delicious hour of soothing music, delicious scents and warm, relaxing bubbles I'd stepped out and he'd towel dried me from head to toe. Then I'd sat in front of the dresser while he blow dried my hair, gently massaging my scalp with his strong, beautiful hands. He'd taken me downstairs and led me to the sofa, where I lay, naked, head on the arm. He'd brought me a hot fruit tea and rubbed my feet, my ankles for maybe half an hour.

I was feeling pampered and I thought he was going to rub my belly. But instead he instructed me to prepare for him. We'd done it this way before and I positioned myself, leaning over the back of the sofa, my belly propped up with cushions, my feet over the edge and my pussy exposed to him. He didn't waste time and I felt him, already hard, stroking his cock up, and down, caressing the folds of my labia with the head. Up, and down, and he could feel the slickness increase as I responded to his ministrations.

I was quickly soaked and he felt it, plunging deep, achieving full penetration in a single, slow drive. I shuddered and moaned, immediately awash with want, telling my son how good it felt. He'd started off slowly pumping, not really withdrawing but rolling his hips against my rear. The tide rose fast within me and I was pushing back against him, needing more. With that I felt his right hand gathering my hair into a bunch, not yanking it but controlling me, and his left hand reach around my chest to caress and fondle at my engorged breast, pinching lightly at the nipple to urgent moans from me, tugging at it and flicking at it in the ways he knew sent sparks through my senses.

And then he was banging at me and I grunted and wailed and begged yes, please, yes I need you, please have me... his thrusts were studied and firm and each jab into me sent a wave of pleasure through my womb, my son sending pulse after pulse of lust through me as our unborn child rocked contentedly inside me.

I came within minutes, hitting a wet release that felt like I must be soaking my son, buried in me, with my juices in the ecstasy of my orgasm, an orgasm that didn't seem to break but rather keep turning, washing back and forth through my pussy and my womb and my stomach and back again.

My son stayed his rhythm, keeping me at my peak and I was close to being overwhelmed, telling him I loved him and please fuck me and I love you please fuck me please fuck, oh my god please, please, I'm yours, I'm your whore, I'm your whore, please master, please master, fuck me, fuck me, I want cum, I need cum, cum inside me, master please, inside me, cum inside me, cum inside me...

My babbling descended into incoherent ejaculations of sound punctuated with moans and whimpers as he slowly reduced back to gentle squeezes into me and softened his grip on my hair and I knew he was coming inside me and my orgasm didn't so much subside as it collapsed into a swimming sea of warmth and love and devotion, I was spent and panting and he manoeuvred me back to a resting position, on my side on the sofa, and he knelt beside me and kissed me, on the forehead, on the cheek, on the lips and he stopped and gazed into my eyes, as I stared adoringly back at him, breathing my love for him still, my heart beaming, completely in love with my King.

After I'd recovered he'd taken me to bed, where I'd fallen asleep on my side, with my husband beside me, for a few more hours of rest before being awoken by the first pains of labour.

* * *

Eighteen years later to the day, on our son's eighteenth birthday, my husband gave him a present that was entirely unexpected, both to his son, and to me. Certainly to me, although I quickly caught on when my husband bade me recreate the scene of his own eighteenth birthday.

After close to nineteen years of marriage, my husband gave me away and I was as delighted as I was surprised to be moving in to our son's bedroom that very day. For the next three or four months I lived there until the time came to move out of the family home with him, and in an echo of the years I had spent living with my son while he attended university now I had those years ahead again.

The same move from our long term home to our other property that we'd kept after moving back when my son completed his education. And my husband had given our son months of instruction on how to be the lover of his wife - I'd always be his wife, he was clear about that - as well as the owner of a possession, and the master of a whore.

The closeness of our family had reflected the closeness I'd enjoyed with my son all his life. It was a managed closeness though, I took the lead in parenting but always with the overt caveat that it was according to the rules that my husband laid out. If Daddy allowed them something they may have it, if Daddy awarded them a treat they had earned it.

Our children loved me, but were under no illusion that appealing to me for either clemency or reward would have any impact on the outcome. In a way it was like we were three children together, I was the leader certainly, but I was able to hold that position only on the understanding that I would never disobey Daddy.

The demands of mothering our babies while working full time had been a tall order. The flexibility of my work combined with my son's doting support had made a huge difference. He took to fatherhood with an enthusiasm that justified everything that had led to this situation, and my devotion to him was absolute.

After he graduated and started working and we moved back to our family home, and after a few years, with our children at school and his career blossoming, I reduced my hours in order to concentrate on being a mother. Our love life fluctuated according to the demands of raising children, but the flame never dampened, my son never stopped demonstrating that I was every one of the things that he expected me to be. Mother. Wife. Possession. Whore. Being a mother to our young children may have been the overwhelming role, but I was never left wanting for clarification in each of these realms of our life. Mother. Wife. Possession. Whore.