Community Mothers -- Illustrated

editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content

AnnabelleBrito is an erotic illustrator making art for feminization & incest authors

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xxx

Pacifica, California 2024

I run a group for mothers who have secret arrangements with their sons. Yes, that kind of arrangement. The one you're thinking about right now. Keep in mind, this isn't about perversion, as much as you're judging me. We're not deviants in any form. We don't condone immoral lifestyles.

This is about healthy households and raising our men. Modern society ignores straight young boys if we're being honest. Alienation has made them admire online alpha males. Lack of ambition, loss of purpose, all common themes.

Years ago, during a book club meeting at home, we read "The Catcher in the Rye," by JD Salinger, where characters in the story faced a similar dilemma. I didn't expect that it would provoke a thoughtful conversation. As the host, I poked and prodded the topic. My college-aged son had similar issues and I shared that with the group. At one point a woman broke down in tears.

"The only thing we can control is our bodies," a mother said.

Her comment was meant to be innocent, but after a few seconds, her innuendo made everyone laugh. That cut the tension in half. It was absurd but there was a level of truth behind it.

Since then, our circle has grown tighter. Mothers taking things into their own hands. Finding new and unconventional ways of motivating our sons, guiding them, putting them on the right track in life.

Am I saying this is the best approach? No.

But it's a solution that works.

My day job is being a realtor, and when I sit in front of my office computer, I see an email response from Jennifer, someone I'd been corresponding with for weeks. I'd never met her before. She lives nearby in Daly City and commutes to San Francisco where she's a financial analyst.

Nothing is truly secret on the internet. Jennifer was doxxed and her perfect suburban life came crashing down. A mutual friend put us in touch. We exchanged emails, the more I explained our book club, the more questions she had. It's not my job to convert people. My life is busy enough. My approach has always been to lay out the facts and let them decide.

Eventually we agreed on a time and date. My home in Pacifica before a book club meeting. We'll have total privacy because my family leaves and does other things. The last thing men want to hear is women discussing literature for hours.

In the morning I wake my son in bed. That means getting undressed, pulling the sheets away, and using my mouth. This is conditional upon his model behavior. A blowjob in exchange for academic excellence and self-improvement. We've been doing this for over a year now. Trust me, the awkwardness goes away, but the heat will always be there.

A few hours later, the house is clear, seats in the living room are arranged for the book club, and Jennifer arrives. She doesn't want to be here, but mentally she doesn't have anywhere else to go. There's very little support system for people like us and she understands that.

I can relate to her. We're both high strung people, career oriented, and dress meticulously. She's dressed office casual, which I gather is how she normally dresses. She offers a handshake when introducing herself, which says a lot about her personality. Her work-mode never shuts off.

She takes off her shoes and we sit on the living room couch. Small talk is just that, small talk. She declines any food or drink because her stomach is uneasy. These kinds of discussions are always difficult, but they're necessary.

"I know this is tough. Especially since we've just met."

"Do you meet many women like me?" she asks.

"That depends on how you define many. In my life, I've met over 30 mothers in similar situations. Over email, probably double that. But the book club currently has around a dozen members."

"How do you know they're telling the truth?"

"I have ways to verify. Many times I've witnessed it. More than anything, I can tell by looking in their eyes and hearing the tone in their voice. Women don't lie about these things, if anything, they try running away."

"Makes sense," she says.

"Tell me about you. What brought you here?"

"A series of life events. People look at me and think I have it all figured out. For a long time that was true, but not recently. A few years I went through a divorce and that was hard on my son. They have a tight father/son relationship. That destroyed Bobby's self-confidence. Is this usually how it starts?"

"Honestly, yes."

"Figures."

"Tell me a little about Bobby if that's okay."

"He's an otherwise normal young man," she says. "19 years old. Interested in tech, he's got the brains for it. A bit shy. Handsome, but never confident enough to be popular with girls. We had a normal relationship."

"Had? Was it the divorce that changed things?"

Jennifer takes a deep breath. "When I was in my mid-20's, I posed for a boyfriend. Bondage nudes. Tastefully done. Nothing overly explicit. It was something I did because he was a talented photographer. It excited me. I was young, very naive. Somehow that ended up on the internet, porn sites. With modern technology, people matched my face with those nude pictures. I was basically doxxed."

"How bad?"

"Some incels sent the pictures to my colleagues, friends, family. It was horrendous. I had to hire a lawyer to get the pictures removed. But anyway, the focus here is my son. He received the pictures in his email. We had conversations about it. You know that instinct that mothers seem to have? That sixth sense?"

"All too well. I know what you're talking about. That intrinsic feeling when you know something is going on, but you can't place your finger on it."

"Yes, exactly. I went through Bobby's laptop. I know his password."

"What was your suspicion?" I ask.

"I wondered if he deleted the pictures sent to him. Or if he saved them. If he did any research. If he looked at the porn sites that hosted my leaked images."

"What did you find?"

"My worst fear," she says. "The images were saved in a folder. I glanced at his internet search history. There were porn sites, taboo content, you know the kind I'm referring to."

"Mom and son."

"Yes."

"Popular searches these days."

"So I've come to learn. There was plenty of that on Bobby's computer. When he came home, I went ballistic. In hindsight I overreacted, but at the time, that was my emotional response. It felt like such a betrayal that he'd save those images of me. We had a big fight, which consisted mostly of me yelling at him. I demanded that we see a therapist together."

"A therapist for the mom/son content?" I ask. "Or for the effects of the divorce?"

"Both, but the adult content pushed me over the edge."

"I'm sure he was thrilled."

"None of that was easy. But the actual therapist appointment never happened. I called a woman named Helena for an inquiry, she listened to every word, then gave me your email address."

"Ah, yes. A dear friend of mine."

"What do you suggest we do?" she asks.

Jennifer's body language and verbal tone have changed for the better. She's receptive now, open to a different point of view, even though she knows the kinds of activities that happen within these ways. She's not fully on board yet. I don't expect that she'll be doing backflips into this lifestyle, but it's one step at a time.

And to be clear, I don't pressure anyone to do anything. Whatever advice I give, it's always my honest opinion. Women respect that about me, that I'm open and vulnerable with my journey. I never claim to be perfect.

"The bond between a mother and son is a strange and complicated force. There's a powerful interplay between that kind of love and sex. As I often explain, what's 'normal' for one person, might not be 'normal' for others. And that's okay. But we can agree that the best interest of the family is sought by all mothers."

Her curiosity is piqued by my candid assessment of mother-son relationships. The process always takes a while, usually months or years for some women, but Jennifer wouldn't be sitting here unless there was an inkling of curiosity on her end.

I continue, "Are you interested in forging a deeper, more authentic connection with your son? One that transcends traditional boundaries of motherhood?"

"Possibly, if that's what it takes."

"May I show you something?"

"Sure."

I get my phone and sit next to Jennifer, we're so close that I can smell her fragrance. I flip through the picture galleries, random images of food, property listings for work, the usual thing. Her eyes are glued to the screen and she's clenching her hands. She has an idea of what's coming, though she isn't totally sure.

After finding it, I play a video clip that shows me fully nude. In the clip, I'm in the kitchen preparing chicken parmesan for my family. That's not what I'm interested in showing Jennifer though. I forward the clip to where I'm naked in bed with a young man, still dolled up after meeting clients. Deepthroating. Cum running down the shaft. I forward the video to where I'm holding the camera to the young man's face, post orgasm, and we're having light banter.

Jennifer looks around the living room and finds what she's looking for. The table counters and walls are full of family pictures. Her eyes search for the young man. When she recognizes my son in different family pictures, reality strikes. She knows this is the real deal.

I stop the video when she gets uncomfortable.

"Thoughts?" I ask.

"You gave him..."

"A blowjob? That's exactly what it was."

"Is it worth it?"

"My son used to have behavior problems. He lashed out. Got in trouble at school. Nothing serious, but it was tough. Nothing worked. The idea came from the book club and the conversations we'd have. Sex was never explicitly mentioned, but it was always implied. I was the first to try it, to make that offer to him. He accepted. It was conditional though. He had to behave for us to continue. If you're asking if it's worth it, the answer is yes. It's worth it."

"How would it work? Assuming I'm interested."

"Well, it could go several ways. Most women start on their own. And they share the stories with the group later. The group is a source of encouragement and knowledge. Some women need guidance and I've been there while it happened."

"This is a lot," she says. "I don't know if it's something I can handle."

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Yes."

"When you saw your old nude pictures saved on Bobby's computer, how did that make you feel? Aroused at all? Some women report feeling a sense of stimulation from it."

Jennifer thinks for a moment. "I wouldn't say aroused, but the feeling was evocative. I don't know how to describe it, I wouldn't know where to begin."

A car parking in front of my house stops the conversation. Sheila O'Grady gets out of her car, I can see her through the window, and she gets a box of her freshly baked cherry pie from the passenger seat. She's a trained chef and her food is delicious.

I ask Jennifer to stay but she refuses. She looks like a woman who's snapped out of a trance and has returned to her normal senses, but the curiosity lingers. Something like this is impossible to forget. She grabs her car keys and stops when she's by the door.

"Can we keep in touch?" she asks.

"We're currently reading 'The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo.' I'd like you to join our book club."

"I'll think about it. Have a great day."

Jennifer leaves and gives Sheila a brief 'hello' when they cross paths in front of my house. Being seen here is humiliating. Not something she wanted. But if she's going to venture down this road, then she better learn to develop thicker skin.

xxx

The most common depiction of the incestuous woman is the white suburban mother. Do any porn search and that's what you're most likely to find. I suppose it started with the cult classic "Taboo" in the 1980's, where Kay Parker became the prototype of this fetish. In my opinion, the fetish wowed people because she was suburban and 'plain' on so many levels, which increased the wrongness factor.

Most often, when watching incest porn clips or reading erotic content, the unholy coupling starts because of an accident, a miracle drug, or some random event that brings them together like being trapped in close proximity. Those are the fan favorite scenarios.

As someone who's been involved in this for a long time, let me give you two pieces of insight:

1) The most common reason mothers get involved, and stay involved, is love. Simple as that. There is no greater form of love. The more you think about it, the more you'll understand. The second reason is lust. Breaking that taboo is an otherworldly form of pleasure if both sides have the same desire.

2) The traditional view of the incestuous mother being white and suburban is outdated. Especially as this country becomes more diverse. I live in Pacifica, California, a mostly white area, located outside of San Francisco county. As our circle expanded, so did the ethnicities of the women.

A large Asian populace exists in the bay area. The east bay is home to many Vietnamese and Indian immigrants. Many of their husbands work in tech. The peninsula (on the border of SF) is home to many immigrant Filipino and Burmese women, many of whom work in nursing or education.

Black and Hispanic women have also been part of our group, but it's the Asian women who are the most interesting to watch. The older generation tends to be reserved, domesticated, and submissive toward men in the family. I notice that Indian and Burmese women bring towels when performing for their sons, then having this detached expression on their faces when giving a blowjob. There's love there, but they show it through physical action rather than words.

Take for example, Joytika who owns and operates an Indian restaurant in the Daly City area. She's currently 53 years old, but came to America around 20 years ago thanks to her husband's work visa in the tech industry. She often wears traditional clothes from her culture. The food she serves is authentic, vegetarian recipes passed down from generation to generation.

No one suspects that she fucks her eldest son in that same restaurant, either before or after service hours. While she's very much an Indian woman, her son is American born who'd rather play video games or sports with friends, than help in the restaurant. She uses her pussy as an incentive to get an extra hand. Joytika hates when I describe it like that, but it's the truth.

Their relationship is closer than ever because of this arrangement. Joytika doesn't have to hire an extra employee, her son collects tips and gains work experience, and they both have amazing sex. She's shy about coming here and telling her story, but the group loves listening, and everyone loves when she brings catering. I gave her the advice to cook naked at home, apparently that's been a game changer.

And then there's Jeanette, a librarian in the east bay. It takes her an hour to drive here, but she always says it's worth the trip. At 64 she's the oldest of the group and also the most socially conservative. When I say she's a librarian, I mean the stereotypical version you'd see in a classic sitcom.

Unlike other women in the book club, Jeanette's reason for doing this remains unknown. She doesn't want to delve into the details of her home life, but she enjoys the relief of getting this off her chest. Our group is equivalent to a church confessional to her.

The biggest influence we've had on Jeanette is the nudity thing. Her son is 19 years old, a scrawny young man, and they've gone nude at her work, usually before the place opens. My guess, she's doing this to make her son a traditionally masculine white American man. Fucking a scrawny young male will do that, turn him into a 'real man.'

xxx

A month later I arrive at Jennifer's home. She lives in Daly City by the beach and the morning drive was full of thick fog. On my way here I stopped by the weekend farmer's market at Serramonte mall, buying a pack of strawberries and a large bag of kettle popcorn.

When I knock on her front door and she sees the food, she almost laughs at the odd choice of gifts. For some reason she's dressed office casual with a cream colored blouse and her makeup is done. Her red lipstick matches her nail polish.

"I have a last minute lunch appointment with clients," she says. "They're coming to town and my boss felt we should all get together. That's why I'm dressed like this. Otherwise I'd be barefoot and relaxed."

"Spontaneous meetings are often the most fun."

"Usually, but today I might be queasy, for obvious reasons."

Jennifer lets me into the house and she's walking around in her stockings. It's a nice place. Daly City homes are similar to San Francisco homes, classic in design, but homes here are built in the 1950's and more spacious. There's a dark shade with the thick fog outside. Family pictures decorate the place, much like my home.

After she puts the food away, we sit in the living room and she explains everything to me, the progress, the escalation with her son. She didn't want to mention this over email or text because she was nervous about anything incriminating getting out there.

"Mostly touching," she says.

"Where does Bobby touch you? Or do you touch him?"

"He's cupped my breasts through my clothes. Never bare contact. I've fondled his private area through his clothes. Not quite a handjob, but close enough. He's been erect during those times. He's a healthy young man."

"Any change in his behavior?"

"I'd say that Bobby has something he looks forward to. It keeps him optimistic. It keeps him positive. His confidence grows each time we touch, which is a great thing."

"What about the nude pictures?" I ask.

"That was a caveat. He had to delete them from his computer. He's not allowed to look at incestuous porn either -- which I know is ironic -- but if we're going to do this, then it has to be on my terms. Again, I know, that's hypocritical."

"In a way, but I understand your need for setting boundaries."

"Do you think I'm making the right choice?"

"These are your decisions to make," I say. "But if you're looking for friendly advice, then I think you're making the right choice. Instill moral values in him. Ignite his passion for life. By the time you're done, Bobby is going to have the confidence of an athlete."

My comment gives Jennifer the validation she's looking for. She breathes slow, then nods.

"So what now?"

Jennifer knows why I'm here but she's too timid to say it. For the last week we've been talking on the phone, having vague conversations about how she's interested in taking things further. Her issue is breaking through that final barrier. She doesn't know how much, or how little, to push this. And she wants an experienced operator at the helm.

"Is he home?" I ask.

"Yes, in his room. He can probably hear us talking."

"Bring him here. I like this happening on the couch. You have a lunch meeting later, this shouldn't take long. I know exactly what needs to be done."

Jennifer takes a deep breath, my confidence on the matter intimidates her, and she fears the next step. But she's aroused. I can tell from her eyes and body language that she's wet. Her palms rub against her thighs, she takes another deep breath, then she stands and walks down the hall.