A Mother's Persuasion

Looking back, I suppose that I was shocked because I was so unprepared for what I'd heard. I've subsequently come to appreciate that many young men have sexual feelings for their mother. Sometimes very strong feelings. But not me. I'd never lain in bed and masturbated as I fantasised about my mother's naked body. Nor had I secretly sniffed the crotch of her soiled panties, or any of the other shenanigans that some adolescent boys apparently indulge in.

I stayed in my room most of the day. In the evening there was a gentle knock on my door and when I answered it my mother was standing there and asking quietly if I wanted any dinner. Oddly, I was hungry and I followed her down to the kitchen and we ate in silence and afterwards I went back to my bedroom.

Sleep eluded me again that night, not surprisingly. I lay staring into the darkness wondering how I was going to continue living in the same house with my mother after what had happened. After what she'd said.

And indeed, a few days later, mum did ask me if I was planning to move out. We'd hardly spoken and she looked tired and washed out and it suddenly occurred to me what it had taken to say what she said to me. And on top of her husband leaving! She must be going through hell, I thought, and a surge of love and protectiveness welled up in me and I crossed the room and hugged her tight.

'I'm not going anywhere, Mum,' I said. 'We can work this out.'

She smiled. It was a bit watery but it was a smile and I knew that we both felt better.

In fact so much better did I feel that that night in bed that I reached for my cock and stroked it to hardness while I imagined Judith, the personnel manager, naked and sitting on me, my erection buried deep in her cunt. Then it happened. Just for a second or two it wasn't Judith on me it was mum. I threw the thought from my mind with a shudder of repugnance, but it returned and, perversely, the more I tried to think of Sophie, or Valerie or Julia, the more I thought of mum. On top of me, underneath me, kneeling before me, sucking my penis. Her hair loose and glorious, her breasts heavy, the nipples erect, a thick bush of hair at her loins.

In the end I surrendered and wanked myself as her words echoed through my head. "I could give you a very good time, Charlie. A very good time indeed."

Then my orgasm overwhelmed me and I arched my back as the feelings consumed me and semen spurted from my cock and splashed onto my stomach and chest.

'Oh God, Mum, I gasped.

I slept like the dead that night and woke feeling refreshed and reinvigorated. Not unusually, I was sporting a morning stiffy, and my mind went back to the previous night and the thoughts of my mum.

Well so be it, I said to myself. If that's what it takes to get this out of my system. I reached for my cock, already oozing a sticky fluid, and coated my glans with the seminal discharge. Now, as I masturbated, I thought only of my mother. In my head I kissed her and took her to bed where we made slow, languid love and she gasped and called my name as she came and I called her "Mummy" as I ejaculated.

Well this is weird, I told myself as I showered and dressed for work.

My thoughts at work that day were much more focussed on my mother, and sex in general than they were on being a supermarket assistant manager. The store was the same and the staff and customers seemed not to have changed, but everything was subtly different, as though I were looking though a distorting lens. How many other young men in the store had been propositioned by their mother? How many in the city? In the country? There must be some, I reasoned. Perhaps a great many. It wasn't the sort of thing you went and shouted about was it. As my mother had pointed out, the chances of discovery were small if you were very discreet.

But odd though it may seem, in those first few days after the bombshell, I never considered taking her up on her offer. I suppose the taboo was too deeply embedded in my psyche. My plan, such as I had one, was to continue to masturbate to fantasises of my mother until I became bored with the idea and her image was displaced by Valerie or Sophie, or that striking-looking girl who ran the bakery.

So most evenings and mornings I stroked my hardness to orgasm. And boy was I hard! The visions of my mother performing sex acts on me made me so stiff it was almost painful. And sometimes, after an ejaculation, it would refuse to subside and I'd have round two, wanking until my arm ached and my glans became angry-red and sore.

I also started looking at my mother in a different light. Where before she was just mum, now I covertly observed the swell of her buttocks, the curve of her thigh, her voluptuous breasts, the fullness of her lips. And I would mentally record these observations and play them back as I masturbated, imagining my hands on her curves, my lips on hers. I imagined undressing her and stroking and kissing her, smelling her scent and feeling her flesh, warm and soft, under my hand. I tried to visualise her naked breasts and her nipples. And darkest of all, I tried to imagine what her pussy would look like and how it would smell and taste and how it would feel as I pushed my rigid meat into it.

All of which was odd, because I wasn't usually attracted to ladies with a fuller figure. Or with my mother's colouring, for that matter. Sophie was slender and blond; Valerie and Julia were both slim and small-breasted.

Eventually, after this cycle of wanking and fantasy had been going on for a few weeks without any sign of abating, I began to admit to myself that the reason I was so excited must be because it was my mother, and I began to seriously contemplate taking her up on her offer. What harm could it do? I asked myself.

Well, in the first instance I might be assailed by guilt and revulsion. We would both be meddling with some pretty deep-seated societal taboos. Who knew what emotional effect this might have on one or both of us. It could wreck our relationship for ever. And what if someone found out?

These arguments went around in my head like a fairground carousel, over and over, day after day. Examining each point from every conceivable angle. Balancing the pros and cons. Assessing the risks.

Looking back I was kidding myself. I was always going to try it out.

But all the time I'd been agonising as I approached the inevitable conclusion, life had gone on pretty much as normal in the house. Neither of us ever made any reference to what had been said; mum had stopped the touchy-feely stuff and the hugs but otherwise life went on as before, except of course for my secret examination of my mother's physical assets.

The next step was clearly to let mum know that I wanted her and, as her fifty-sixth birthday was looming, I decided to break the news over a meal in a restaurant.

She said afterwards that she was totally surprised by my declaration, but I'm not sure she didn't have some inkling or another; I'd never taken her out for dinner before and she dressed very sexily for her birthday meal in a red, knee-length silk dress and black stockings. Her make-up was carefully applied and she used her most expensive scent. As we waited for the taxi to the restaurant I thought she looked very lovely and I felt the stirrings of an erection and I wondered how the evening would end.

The restaurant was really just an up-market bistro, but it was intimately lit and the tables were well spaced and I had judged it the most suitable of the local eateries for my declaration. And being a Monday evening it was only sparsely populated with diners.

We started with a cocktail each and the drink flowed well during the starters and main course so that by the time we finished dessert and were waiting for coffee I think both of us were pleasantly fuzzy; I know I was. The conversation had been varied and interesting and amusing but now I dabbed my mouth with my napkin, looked around to make sure none of the other diners were listening and looked at my mother across the table.

'There's something I wanted to say, Mum.'

She looked worried and it crossed my mind that she might be expecting me to say I was moving out.

'It's about what you said to me a few weeks ago, after we'd been to Isobel's wedding.'

Mum looked even more concerned and passed a hand across her forehead. 'Go on.'

My stomach tightened and I had a had a momentary vision of diving off a high board. 'I want to take you up on your offer.' There, I'd said it.

Mum licked her lips delicately and took a sip of water. 'I see.'

I waited for a few seconds but she just sat looking at me.

'That is if the offer's still open.' More silence. 'Is it? Is the offer still open I mean.' I was starting to gabble.

Then I felt her foot in its black, sheer stocking slide up my left leg and her red lips stretched in a wicked grin across the table.

'Yes, Charlie. The offer is still open.'

I felt my stomach dissolve and run down into my small intestine. At the same time my heart started beating harder and faster and my vision seemed to blur.

'Shall we get the bill?' my mother suggested.

On the taxi ride home I sat next to the driver; I don't think I could have trusted myself to sit with my mother in the back. Thank God it was only twenty minutes before we'd arrived home, paid the taxi and it had turned in our forecourt and sped off back into the city for the next fare.

I reached for my mother but she stepped back. 'Not out here, Charlie.'

We went in through the front door and slammed it behind us and then we were embracing and mum's back was against the hallway wall and my arms were around her and hers were around my neck and our mouths were fastened together, working against each other, tongues writhing, fingers pressing into flesh.

I was massively, mountainously turned on. My cock was like steel, tenting my trousers. I was breathing in gasps, tasting my mother's lipstick and her saliva. I could feel her nails on my neck, pressing my face to hers. In her heels she was about the same height as me.

Suddenly she broke the kiss, her breathing heavy, her eyes half-closed. 'I'm going upstairs now Charlie. Give me ten minutes then come to my bed.'

I released her and she disappeared up the stairs, her bum wriggling under the red silk.

I stood for a few seconds like a zombie, still feeling and tasting my first french kiss with my mother. Then I shook myself and went up to my bedroom, drew the curtains, switched on my bedside lamp and went into my en-suite where I brushed my teeth. Then I undressed slowly, trying to make it last ten minutes.

It took five, so I sat on the bed, naked, and looked down at my prong and imagined where it would be going in the very near future and I touched it and felt almost faint with desire and apprehension. At length I switched the bedside lamp off and went out onto the landing, which was unlit. My mother's bedroom door was ajar and I pushed it slowly open. Her bedroom was in total darkness, her thick, velvet curtains blocked any light from the two windows.

I edged slowly towards her bed, wondering which side she was on, concerned about crashing into something or stubbing my toe. Soon I felt the bed against my leg and sensed, or heard, rather than saw, the duvet being thrown back in invitation.

I climbed into the bed, the under-sheet pleasantly cool against my skin, and my mother pulled the duvet back over us and there we were, in bed together. Naked. Or at least I assumed she was.

'Come here, Charlie,' she whispered and her voice had never seemed deeper or sexier.

I edged across the bed and, as my eyes adjusted to the gloom, saw the blackness of my mother's hair on the white pillowcase and the dim blob of her face. I felt her hand on my shoulder and I reached out to her and found the swell of her hip. Her hand went to the back of my neck and she drew my face to hers and our mouths met and I felt the soft fullness of her lips against mine and my guts contracted with excitement as her mouth opened and her tongue slid into my mouth and her lips moved against mine and I was transported to a higher plane, where sensation was king and a wave of intense emotion swept through me.

We kissed for long minutes and, as we kissed, my hand stroked her waist and her fleshy buttocks and her heavy thigh and as I stroked my mother's naked flesh and tasted her spittle in my mouth and felt her tongue against my teeth, a feeling of unease crept over me. A sense of the wrongness of what we were doing. This was my mother, my middle-aged mother, who had borne me and raised me. I shouldn't be naked in bed with her, touching her in this way.

But perversely, the sense of wrongness just fed my arousal. What could be more erotic, more exciting than being here like this with my mother. The ultimate deadly sin. Perhaps the most taboo of all incestuous couplings. My hand ranged over the flare of her hip and I applied pressure and my mother rolled onto her back, her face still pressed to mine, lips mashed together, feeling, tasting, working against each other. Now my roving hand touched the yielding softness of her stomach and I felt her quiver as my hand slid lower, finding the dense tangle of her pubic bush, feeling her legs part to give me access.

I cupped her vulva and squeezed gently and mum broke the kiss as her lips slid over my cheek and her nails dug into my neck.

'Oh my darling,' she moaned.

I found her mouth again, sucking her big lower lip into my mouth, taking it between my teeth and stretching it out, pushing my tongue deep into her mouth, feeling her tongue rasp against mine. It was exquisite. I'd come across a few good kissers in my time but I don't think any of them could compare with Eleanor Macintyre. She was sensationally sexy. Giving herself completely to the kiss.

And, as we kissed, my hand began to explore her pussy, stroking the thick, silky bush, stroking down between her legs, feeling for her labia, parting them with a finger, my heart racing with a mixture of intense excitement and arousal and faint tendrils of horror, that I was touching my mother's most intimate place.

Mum was very obviously aroused too. Her labia were slick with her secretions and my middle finger slid in easily, feeling the hot, silken walls of her vagina. She moaned again, under my mouth, and her nails dug painfully into the flesh of my shoulders, although the pain felt only pleasurable to my sensation-overloaded brain. I added my forefinger, pushing both deep inside and curling them slightly, seeking her G spot, feeling her muscles grip me.

My mother now bent her knees and opened her legs wide, giving herself to me completely. And as we kissed I slid my fingers in and out of her pussy, fucking her slowly, feeling her sopping labia, cupping her mound with my hand, my fingers deep inside, massaging with my palm, feeling for her clitoris.

Pulling my fingers out I felt for and found the little nub in its protective hood and as my juice-coated fingertips started a gentle massage she arched her back and her mouth opened under mine in a silent scream. Then she was fastened on to me again and her free hand was pressed against the back of my hand, urging me to masturbate her harder and faster and I was rubbing her clit with little circular motions of my fingertips, pressing harder and mum was writhing and gasping and bucking her hips against me and I thought I had never been with a lady so sexually excited before.

Then her orgasm started and mum gave a great big deep groan and her body went rigid and all her muscles tensed and I could sense the waves of pleasure throb through her body. Her climax seemed to go on for a long time, reaching three or four discrete peaks before, with a long sigh, she relaxed and went limp and I took my fingers out of her and held her close and she snuggled against me and put her arm across my chest.

We lay like that for long minutes as her heart rate slowed and her breathing became soft and regular.

'You've just given your mother one of the best orgasms of her life,' she eventually whispered in my ear. 'Did it feel strange, touching me like that?'

'Yes,' I replied, slowly. 'It felt very strange. Very arousing.'

'It felt naughty, didn't it?' she said softly.

'Yes,' I agreed. 'Very naughty.'

'I want it to be even naughtier,' she whispered. 'I want you inside me.'

I'd been acutely conscious of my cock as I'd masturbated my mother. It was painfully erect and dribbling fluid onto my stomach and thigh and I was aching for release after the eroticism of our coupling. But there was a tiny part of me that was dreading her request. Worried about committing the final and irrevocable act of sexual depravity. This still small voice of conscience was never going to triumph over the primal urge to penetrate the naked, sexually aroused and exciting lady in bed with me, but it made me pause for a second or two.

'Are you ok with it?' asked mum, anxiously.

And suddenly I was. Suddenly the place I wanted to be was deep inside my mother's sopping pussy. I manoeuvred myself between her outstretched thighs and lowered my torso, one hand on my erection, guiding it by touch, feeling her silken bush, then her labia and then I was pushing and her labia were parting and the big swollen head of my cock was penetrating my mother and she was gasping, 'Yes. Yes!' and I was sliding in up to my balls and it felt so wonderful I wanted to scream aloud.

Supporting myself on my elbows I started to fuck my mother for the first time with long, slow strokes that took me almost all the way out of her vagina before thrusting back in with a wet, squishing noise. Mum hooked her ankles over the backs of my calves and used this leverage to meet my thrusts with jerks of her hips. Her arms were around me, her fingers on my deltoids, her nails digging into my flesh.

The overall effect was sensational. I'd never experienced sex like this before, even with one of my 'mature' ladies. Mum felt as tight as a virgin and her muscles clamped round my shaft as I slid in and out. I leaned down to kiss her and she pulled my face to hers and kissed me and bit my lips and my neck and scratched my back and I used one hand to cup one of her heavy breasts, surprised at how firm it was, cupping and squeezing the grapefruit-sized orb, finding her erect nipple and stroking and squeezing it between finger and thumb.

The intense eroticism of the moment, the whole fact of me being buried balls-deep in my mother's sopping pussy meant that I was never going to last very long. Indeed, there was a little conflict going on in my brain; on the one hand, I wanted this to go on forever, because it felt better than anything had ever felt before; on the other, I wanted to come inside my mother, to possess her fully.

I slowed down, my thrusts still long but gentler and more sensuous, my body rubbing up and down against my mother's, her nipples hard against my chest, her stomach warm and round against my abdomen, her legs and mouth locked on mine.

Eventually my climax began to build, starting with that familiar tingling in my loins. I think mum sensed I was close because she broke off our kiss and hissed in my ear: 'Yes, darling, do it, come inside Mummy!'

God help me that last phrase sent me way over the edge and an orgasm ripped up my spine and shattered itself in my cortex and the night seemed lit with fireworks as I pumped my seed into my mother's cunt. I thrust hard into her to maintain the sensation but it died away all too soon and I lay motionless, on top of my mother, dazed and disorientated by the shattering experience of our first coupling.

Rolling off onto my back I put my arm around my mother's shoulders and drew her into me and we lay like the spent lovers we were, in a warm cocoon of satisfaction and release.

For a while we said nothing. I was trying to gauge if I felt any of the guilt or revulsion that I imagined could follow an incestuous orgasm. But there was nothing like that, just a feeling of euphoria and closeness with my mother. A feeling of love, but not the love of a son for his mother but the love of a man for his wife.