Including Me Ch. 03

Mother's Day might have been my favourite. I was nothing but a mother being pampered and spoiled by my three children, with big bunches of flowers from each of them, and home made cards from the two little ones. Invariably some delicious present from my son, maybe a pair of earrings or a bottle of perfume. And whether on the day itself or the nearest weekend, a day trip to the spa for a day of relaxing, and home to takeout and fun and games with my family for the evening. And after the children had gone to bed, some special time with my son, a glass of wine and a loving cuddle on the sofa. We'd make love there, or in bed when our children got older, but we always had that day and I adored it.

My son kept me on the pill after I gave birth to his daughter, our second child. He worked more as he grew into his career and became increasingly senior and successful. Sundays were always a sacred family day, and he'd rarely miss the opportunity to spend that time with us, during the week his hours were often demanding. Not always though, and I remained at the centre of his world, waiting on him each night, his doting wife, the mother of his babies.

I always worked hard to stay in shape, to dress seductively, signalling my availability to him. It was his choice whether to use me or not, but it was my responsibility to ensure that I was enticing to him, and whether he wanted me sexually or in any other way I would seek to proactively be what he desired.

On the day I moved in with his son, my prophylactics disappeared. By the time we moved out of the family home together I was pregnant. My husband hadn't used me since giving me to our son so there was no question of the parentage of my fourth. With my new lover frantically using me in a way that my body became immediately addicted to, and with late onset menopause meaning that I was still fertile at the time I was gifted to him, it was a change in life I couldn't have predicted and a joy I simply cannot describe.

At 57 years old, I was carrying my eighteen year old son's baby in my womb. There was worry too, pregnancy at such an age doesn't come without risk. But the love and care I received from my lover, and also from my husband, was second to none. Along with the best medical care we could get, things went well and my worry was minimal. I stayed positive. If I could bear a healthy child. If only I could. I had to stay positive.

In moving out my lover and I lived a separate life from my son and his daughter, far more so than I had imagined. Since my son gave me away, it had been important to maintain a deception for the sake of his daughter, at only sixteen she wasn't ready to be exposed to that truth. Not easy for a period of months under the same roof while I was sleeping in her brother's bedroom every night, but we managed.

Later, perhaps, when she was older herself, we would find a way to share with her the happiness and joy of our situation. She'd find out abut the baby sooner or later anyway, unless my husband intended on the family separation being permanent. I wondered if perhaps he didn't want his daughter to know anything of my relationship with his son? In the event, after moving out I didn't see her until well after I had given birth to a (thankfully healthy) baby boy. Sadly, my baby didn't grow up with his aunt or grandfather around. They didn't meet him until he was five years old.

My lover and I arrived back at the family home close to six years after leaving. I might have been overwhelmed at the prospect of seeing my husband for the first time in so many years, but I was in the best of hands. My young lover, our son, had been every bit the provider of the care and nurturing I had missed from my husband in all that time.

The fire of his passion for his mother's soul and her body had driven him, and serving him had given me all the purpose I could ever need. We had just moved back into town, into a new house not far from the family home. My husband had kept me informed, that his daughter had been to university, that she had graduated and that they were both living at home, our family home. My son and I had kept in regular contact, but I'd heard nothing about her in all this time. It was a loneliness that had become a part of me, missing her, but my husband's instruction was my law.

Now as we stood at the door, my lover and I, and our son together, waiting for our knock to be answered, I was in for the shock of my life. A life that had seen its share of shocks. I knew my son and his daughter would be here, that we would be together as a family again. I'd always stayed strong in my faith in him, in how he chose to administrate the family, without hiding for a moment the sorrow of missing him for years, of missing those important years of his daughter becoming a woman. It contrasted sharply with the joy at my relationship with my lover, with the birth and growth of our son. Having that, being a family, the three of us, what joy my life was I could never count myself unlucky.

My mind flashed back to that day, when my husband had sent me to our son's room dressed in an outfit that was designed to excite, a tight scarlet corset with black trim that held my breasts firm and drew attention to them, with straps taut to the matching holdups with which they were connected. Black satin panties with red trim contrasting the outfit. My long hair in bunches, makeup thickly applied with false eyelashes and nails completing the look.

He sent me with a message for him from his father, that I was to be his possession now. Instructions to teach him about what I had been to his father, what I was to be to him, if he would accept me. Notes on how to take the initiative, ensure that there was only one answer our son would give to that offer. I was given the ultimate command. I was to make certain he did not refuse me.

Always close with his son, I had held on to him, told him I needed to explain, indulged his patience, worked on him with soft tones, arousing him, then with alluring tones, exciting him. Using my hands and my body subtly, persuading him, impeaching him. I talked of what a woman ought to be for a man. What a man ought to expect and the duty she had, to comply. To accede. To obey.

I informed him that he had certain rights as a man, that there were demands he should make about how women should respond to him, that females were subordinate to males and every one of us had a built in need to be taken, to be dominated... I whispered in his ear and brushed at his neck and his chin with my lips as I told him that nothing was off limits if he wanted it, that it was his to reach out and take, his to hold, to own...

When the moment came I could smell it, I sensed the fog in his mind and I pounced. Or rather, I dropped. In a single movement I slipped from his arms to my knees, pulling free his manhood and drawing it fully into my mouth, working it with my tongue, from engorged it became rock hard under my attentions.

I pulled off quickly then, I wanted to hold this moment, to use it to its greatest effect. I licked from the base of his cock all the way up to the tip, then I leaned back slightly, gazing up at him, holding his cock to my cheek, giving it little licks and kisses as I spoke. This was his choice to make, to accept his father's offer. His father was giving me to him for his birthday, he would be able to have me and use me in any way, at any time, without limit. All he had to do was accept. Just give his word that he accepts the offer and the deal is closed.

My husband had ensured that our son knew the value of his word. He was trained to hold it as his bond. If he gave it now, I knew what it meant. His father had known when he sent me to him. I would be his property, he would own me. I made sure that it was perfectly clear what offer our son would be accepting if he gave his word now. I licked at his testicles, suckled at them, licked with the flat of my tongue up his shaft. Held the head of his penis against my lips. Looked up at him under heavy, lust filled eyes. Waited for him to say the words.

Of course he said the words, and it didn't feel like he'd been tricked or coerced. After the initial surprise of the situation, he'd relaxed more and more, accepted more and more. He wasn't minded to fight this, his mother, in her late fifties, dressed and made up in a way that her loving, inflamed son, now come of age was only too willing to have, to take.

He said the words and I stood up and wrapped my arms around his neck, plunging my lips onto his, my tongue seeking out his lips, his tongue, invading his mouth as his arms encircled me. Our passion joined, our hearts pounded together. Our loins burned and I pulled him onto me as I fell backwards onto his bed, dropping one hand to pull my panties to the side and reach with my fingers to guide him into me. Crying out as he made contact and pushed, that beautiful moment of his first entry into me. Moaning that I was his with abandon as the fire filled me and stoked my need. A need for another son to take me, to own me. To be mated to me.

Our mouths ground love and lust and saliva, my juice lubricated the join where he thrust into me, inexperienced but large, welcome, wanted, needed. All too soon he jerked and held, pressed himself deep once, twice and the come flowed into my womb. I accepted him with pride, my job accomplished and my life again changed. I'd teach him, my lover, I'd show him with my body and his father might give him instruction, guide him on how to dominate me, or otherwise we'd find our path. I was his, now.

And so it proved, and my new lover fast became proficient, skilled, in giving me love, in using me. Both for sex and for reproduction. He took me away from our home as my master and as the father-to-be of his son. And now, we had returned a family. My son was still my husband, but I was here with my lover, the proud father of our young son who stood now between the two of us, waiting with a breathless excitement to meet his aunt and his grandfather.

We'd heard crying, just before the door opened. A baby, there was a baby here. It came to me and I knew. My son, my husband, had taken our daughter. As his property. As his wife? I imagined her, probably on her eighteenth birthday, moving into that master bedroom with my son. Her father. Pledging herself to him. Becoming his. I knew what I was about to see. He'd kept it from me, kept her from me, for all the years since I left. But I knew he was going to tell me all about what had happened. I knew my son.

The door opened. On the one side I stood with bated breath. Now 62 years old, with my 23 year old lover and our five year old son. The anticipation turned to pure joy as the door swung to reveal a whole other family on the inside. My husband, now 43, and his 23 year old wife, his daughter, her gold ring matched mine as I could see, with an eternity collar and anklet. In her arms a new born baby, not more than I month old I guessed, half settled, half yawning. My husband held a little girl with one arm, pretty with wispy hair, around eighteen months I thought. At their feet, a boy of two, maybe two and a half years stood looking enquiringly at the three of us.

Our two families were united at last, and never have I dreamed, could possibly have ever dreamed, the happiness that was in our lives that day.