My Mother My Lover – Chapter 1

My sexual relationship with my mother began not long after my eighteenth birthday. From the beginning it was a consensual affair in which we were both willing participants, although I am sure we have been motivated by different needs and desires as time has passed.

 

In that sense, it is difficult for me to fully describe what has happened between us as I can only relate my own experience. We have never really discussed the emotional intricacies of our affair but I am certain that we have both found the sensual aspect of it extremely powerful.


Which is hard for me to separate the strands of how it all began, I can be very clear on ‘why’ it happened. My mother’s divorce from her husband William was a watershed in our lives and had a profound effect on us as a family. It was then that I think that I began to piece together the complicated jigsaw of family relationships that, in a strange way, only revealed their meaning to me when my mother and William separated.


For my mother it was the end of a marriage that I don’t think had ever really made her happy. She had my younger half-sister Alison from that marriage and all of us loved her without condition, but my mother’s feeling for William as Alison’s father was obviously not enough to give her the reason she needed to go on with her marriage.


William had been in my life since childhood but I had always known he was not my real father. The distance between us had always left me feeling slightly outside of the true nucleus of love within our family. So for me, there was no sense of loss when he left. That is selfish and immature I know, the perspective of a spoilt brat perhaps, but I cannot escape how I felt or the truth of the past.


That truth is that the emotional distance between William and myself didn’t ever worry me, nor did it make me feel that Alison was any less of a true sister to me. But, without fully understanding it, I think that I was always unsettled by the way William’s presence created a barrier in the relationship I had with my mother. It hurt me to feel that there was a part of her life in which I had no place. Growing up that was something that I had hidden away from everyone, even myself.


So when William left I welcomed the opportunity to become a more important part of my mother’s world. I am sure that was the reason why I began to think of her differently. It was as if the emotional and physical force that drew me towards her was a consequence of what had gone before. Of course, this all coincided with my growing and chaotic feelings of sexual interest that any teenage boy would experience.


Sometimes I stirred that interest deliberately. The magazines and soft porn that I accessed made me increasingly aware of my rapidly developing appetite for a world that fascinated and terrified me in equal measures. I responded to it as any teenager would, whilst at the same time doing everything I could to hide my embarrassment from anyone that might suspect I had an interest in such things.


At other times, my awakening came in a tide of unprompted feeling that was completely out of my control. Sometimes, during the night, I would dream. These were vibrant and physical dreams that invaded my sleep. When I woke in the morning I would be amazed by the way my involuntary orgasm had soaked me, where the tension inside of me had released itself through some strange trick of my mind. As I drifted to sleep at night I would long for the wetness of these dreams to come.


That they did was a welcome experience, but the fact that my mother began to enter them took me by surprise and confused me. I couldn’t understand why this was happening but nor did I want to block it out. The strange emotions and expression of these semi-conscious thoughts were exciting and hypnotic. Sometimes I would dream of her holding me and touching me as I drank in the attention that I imagined she had saved for me through the years that William had shared her bed.


Occasionally, when I was in that demi-world between wakefulness and sleep, I seemed locked for a few minutes in a place between imagination and reality. I held the image of her in my mind’s eye as I masturbated myself, soaking my stomach with my sperm. Afterwards I felt ashamed, believing that my urge for her would disgust her if she knew. But my shame didn’t stop me noticing her as something more than my mother. Being close to her as we went through the simple rituals of our newly formed family routine meant that I became more and more aware of her femininity.


She was thirty nine at this stage, with a calm gentleness that seemed to fit perfectly with her looks. Her blond shoulder length hair and soft features perfectly matched the kindness and gentleness that exuded from her as a person. The approach of middle age meant that she had gained a just little weight around her middle although, to me, this just added to the sense of loving warmth that she seemed to give off. There was something about the way that she squeezed the fullness of her thighs into jeans that gave her a motherly sexiness that I couldn’t quite define. She was nervous about what she perceived as a slight decline in her figure and looks but, to me, the quiet vulnerability that she tried to hide simply made me want to be even closer to her and to protect her.


If ever I tried to make sense of things in my own mind I always arrived at the obvious conclusions that it was wrong to think of my mother in a sexual way. Yet it was this very knowledge that I seemed to find alluring. I loved her as my mother and I am sure she loved me as her son, but more and more I was drawn to the feeling of risk and taboo that my experimentation with thoughts about her carried. I struggled to find ways to express and satisfy my feelings about her.


When she was out I began to search through her private things. I don’t really know why I did it but I wanted to see into the places that I knew I had no right to look. I read through old letters and cards written to her by others and I looked through old photographs stuffed in envelopes at the back of a cupboard in her room. Sometimes I would find something that would unnerve me. Perhaps a photograph of someone from the past that I didn’t recognize or a message in an old birthday card marked with a kiss. These were all things from her life before me and probably meant little to her now, but I was fascinated by delving into the hidden corners of her life and bringing myself face to face with these ghosts from her past.


I also found a strange thrill in looking through the clothes and underwear that she kept neatly folded and stored in her bedroom. In my imaginings during masturbation she was always dressed in white, a motherly and virgin like white that seemed to entice me into a place of innocence and love. I felt the need to handle and touch the fabric and lace of these clothes that she would wear next to her skin and body.


I was also slightly shocked but excited when I found a box of unopened condoms amongst her things, feeling the indignation that a mother finding the same thing in her son or daughter’s bedroom might experience. It bothered me to know that she had any sort of a connection with a sexual world that existed outside of my head, but I was enthralled by this peek into the part of her that might have need for physical satisfaction.


Alison would spend most weekends visiting William in his new home, leaving me completely alone with my mother for forty eight hours. From Friday until Sunday evening there was just the two of us. We would both go on with things as normal, although I knew that she felt lonely without Alison around. It was the first time in her life that she had been apart from her daughter and it must have been difficult for her to adapt. I did my best to take her mind off things and occasionally she would agree to us visiting the cinema or perhaps going out somewhere else to spend time together, which would help her to fill the hours of Alison’s absence. But on most Saturday nights we would simply stay home together watching TV and quietly passing the time.


On these nights she would drink. Not to the point of drunkenness but perhaps a few glasses of wine to take the edge of whatever emotions or thoughts were nagging at her. We didn’t talk about any of this, but I could tell that she was troubled by the fact that she had to share Alison with a man she no longer loved. For my part this was a double edged sword. I felt jealous that she missed something that I was not completely part of, but also welcomed the fact that she seemed to find solace in building a closer and more important relationship with me.


She would ask me to lie in her bed with her where we could watch TV together. I had no way of knowing, and she has never told me, whether she was motivated by any sexual urge towards me at this stage. It was simply a way for us to share time together and I gladly accepted it. We would stay like that for a while until one of us fell asleep and then spend the night cuddled together in the warmth of that special space. I understood that this was something important to her and that it helped her to stave off the loneliness she must have felt after the breakdown of her marriage. Her asking me to sleep in her bed meant that I was being granted a taste of intimacy that I craved more than anything. Not just the chance to sleep with her, although that excited me, but the sense that I was being taken into her emotional confidence.


The first few nights we spent together she would sleep in a cotton nightshirt and I would wear shorts and a tee shirt. I would lie with my back to her as she held me, one of her hands resting gently against the uncovered skin of my thigh. Her touch was precious to me. The feel of her flesh against mine gave me a flush of delicious warmth which, in my mind, was the fusing of motherly tenderness with something much deeper. Occasionally, we would lie face to face as we drifted towards sleep and, as she embraced me, I would feel a wonderful thrill each time the softness of her body stirred in just the smallest movement.


I could never tell if she was conscious of the way this closeness caused me to become slightly erect. I felt the fullness of her body as it brushed against mine in these moments and I would wait nervously until she rolled away in readiness to sleep. I loved nothing more than spending those nights next to her.


I wonder now whether that simple contact was a natural and inevitable precursor to what followed and therefore the place at which we began the journey towards our sexual life together. As we both grew more used to being together in that way, we seemed to gradually relax to a point where a more physical closeness became normalized.


Late in the evening she would tell me when she was tired and going up to bed, before kissing my cheek and reminding me not to be too long. I knew that was her code to tell me that she wanted me to sleep next to her and she would lie beneath the covers waiting for me to come. By now it seemed normal for her to sleep naked with me and she would tell me to do the same, explaining that it would be more comfortable.


At that stage I was still able to separate my fantasies about her from the loving comfort that we gave each other. There was an innocence to the situation, but I noticed as well how she would watch me undressing and how she would fleetingly touch her hands to my skin as I lay down with her. We would cuddle for a while just before sleep and it was then that I would be most aware of the feel of her body.


I didn’t think too deeply about it at the time and I accepted all of this as the loving companionship between a mother and her son. Perhaps I was too naïve to realize that were edging towards a different kind of intimacy. It was in one of these naked embraces that the feel of her flesh pressed to me caused me to become aroused to the point at which she must have realized. Drifting towards sleep, she moved gently and the fullness of my erection against her thigh caused us both to feel the slight trace of wetness that oozed from me and spread across her skin. I moved away from her in embarrassment but she drew me back towards her by folding her arm across my back.


“It’s all right darling.”


Her whispered words reassured me and, as if wanting to make me take comfort from what had happened, she began to softly trace her fingers up and down the lower part of my back. She drew light circles just at the spot where the bottom of my spine met my buttocks. The sensation was beautiful and that, coupled with the feel of my penis against her thigh, meant that I began to relax into the enjoyment of this contact. She began what happened next by simply flexing and releasing the muscles of her thigh repeatedly, before starting to slightly move her leg against me. As she did it, the gentle sound of her voice soothed me.


“Does that feel nice my darling?”


I didn’t reply. I don’t think she meant me to. When she spoke it was as if her mind was somewhere else and her words were simply something physical that were intended to blend in as part of the luxurious feel of my body pressed to hers. She breathed words out slowly and softly.


“Just relax and enjoy the feeling baby. Enjoy me.”


My response was involuntary but inevitable. I started to rub myself against her, every slightly dragged motion causing a surge of pleasure to pulse through me. The now definite stroking of her fingers encouraged me and I followed the rhythm of her touch as I began to move against her more deliberately.


We gradually reached a point where she was welcoming this contact by massaging my hard penis with the movement of her thigh. The more I began to sense the beautiful erotic tension of myself against her, the more I wanted to push myself to her. I stopped thinking about what was happening and my entire mind focused on the repeated feelings of sexual thrill that built with every movement. It lasted just a few minutes. Then the warm fluid spurted from me as it sprayed across her skin and I gasped at the powerfully strange sensation caused by the release.


Afterwards we lay still together. Neither of us apparently concerned about the wetness or mess that I had created. She continued to stroke my back until I fell into a contented sleep.


What we had done was never mentioned but it became habitual between us on those Saturday nights. She always initiated it with her touch and the movement of her body. I don’t know whether either of us thought of it as being an outwardly deliberate sexual act.


Perhaps we saw it as an extension of the normal loving mother and son closeness that we both enjoyed in the secret quiet of those nights, but gradually we moved towards a different type of comfort.


After those first few times she would reach down with her hand to guide my penis against her, or sometimes she would spend a few moments gliding her fingers over the tip of me before my rubbing against her began. Over time this gentle touching became more prolonged and playful as we moved from something that could be described as accidental sexual relief to a type of teasing and pleasing that signified a sexual game. Then, as I pushed my body up and down hers to make myself orgasm, she would take my hand and lead it between her legs so that she too could take some pleasure from what we were doing. I learned where and how to touch her in order to give her enjoyment. Before long our gentle touching had shifted to a situation where we indulged in mutual masturbation so that we both reached orgasm before we slept.


The first time she came as I touched her shocked me. Lying next to her she guided my hand as I used the tips of my fingers to repeatedly circle the place at the apex of her slit. The gentle pressure of my fingers caused her to push herself back and forwards against me more urgently than during the past occasions that we had done this. Gradually my gentle stroking became firmer in response to her movement. I looked at her face, her head turned just slightly away from me, and saw that her eyes were closed and her mouth was slightly open as she breathed in short and sharp gasps.


In the dimness of the unlit room, I could see a red flushing at her neck and parts of her face and could tell from the thrusting of her hips that she needed me to move my fingers more quickly. She opened her legs slightly as if to implore me to work her clitoris more vigorously and, for the first time, I heard her moaning and felt the twisting of her hips as she climaxed. In the last few seconds she pushed my hand away as the sensitivity she must have felt became too much. She lay back as the sensation left her and it seemed to me that in that instant she didn’t want any sort of bodily contact with me. I was worried that I had hurt her or that she was distressed, but she turned back towards me and kissed me.


She had never done this before. It was open mouthed and deep. I knew that we had reached another level of contact as I felt the slackness of her lips and greedy neediness of her mouth against mine. She reached down to take me in her hand. There was no pretense of the haphazard rubbing of bodies now, or even suggestive and gentle touching. Instead, she was determined and overtly sexual as she skillfully manipulated and caressed my penis until my own orgasm spurted from me.


It was after the first time that we had done this that we had a whispered conversation as she held me close to her.


“Was that something nice for you, did you like what we did?”


My answer was nervous. I didn’t have the experience to be able to talk to her about how it felt but I needed to say something to let her know that I wanted this.


“It was lovely mum, it makes me feel special when I touch you.”


“You know that we will stop doing this if ever you don’t like it. I want us both to feel special and to be able to make each other happy that way.”


“I love you mum, you always make me happy.”


She didn’t reply. She just touched my skin and waited for me to sleep.


Our lives went on as normal outside of the mysterious intensity of those nights and, although I knew that we were doing something that would be regarded as wrong, I began to rationalize what we were doing as an extension of a simple loving relationship. I convinced myself that no one could ever clearly define the borders of emotional love and that our game was just the blurring of the lines of loving care that ran between us. By the time I realized that we had carried our relationship to a very different dimension, it was too late for either of us to do anything about it.


It was the night of her birthday and I had wanted to buy her a present. Something that she would like but also something that would make her regard me as grown up enough to justify the place I imagined myself to have in her life. I chose a set of white silk pajamas.


I had no idea whether it was something she would expect me to do and I wasn’t sure whether or not she would find it ridiculous or embarrassing that I would by her something so personal, but I was determined to do something that would somehow provoke a reaction from her.


Outside of an occasional few comforting words after touching each other, she chose not to discuss our situation with me and I lacked the ability or maturity to articulate how I felt or to ask her to answer the questions in my head. I wanted her to see that I regarded her in the way that a man would regard a beautiful woman and that I was more than simply a teenage boy who was overawed by this new experience.


When I gave them to her she seemed genuinely pleased and I think, for the very first time, I saw a change in her towards me. It was Saturday night and she was more open with me than ever before. Normally, there would be some nervous skirting around each other as we prepared to spend the night together, both of us impatient and unsure about how to creep towards what was to come. On this night though she chatted to me in a calm and uncomplicated way, talking to me as if I was the adult that I was desperate to be.


When we prepared for bed she seemed to take a little longer than usual to get ready. Unusually, she told me to get into bed first and I lay waiting for her in the darkness.


When she came into the room I could see that she was wearing the top of the pajamas that I had bought her. She was naked beneath, her breasts hanging softly below the fabric. I didn’t understand why but there was something even more enticing about this than actually seeing her unclothed. The top reached just down to the upper part of her thighs. I could see the creamy whiteness of her skin beneath and I felt instantly that she had dressed in this way for my benefit and not hers.


That knowledge was the most incredible thing that she could have done and in that instant, and with that choice, she had reshaped the nature of our tryst. This was a woman who wanted to share the excitement of sex with her partner and who had dressed to please him. The fact that her partner was her own child meant that this she had made a choice that others would not.


She sat on the side of the bed and looked at me before kissing me. Her kiss was light, not passionate, just a gentle brushing of my lips. She looked at me again, holding my face in her hands. Her expression was blank and I waited for a few seconds but she didn’t speak. I hadn’t expected her to. I knew that this was different to the way in which she had come to me in the past and I was turned on by the tension between us and the sense of her so close to me.


I slowly moved my hand to place it on the soft skin of her thigh and nervously slid my fingers over her skin to the place between her legs that I knew she loved me to reach. This was the first time that I had touched her vagina without her offering it to me and I had no way of knowing how she would receive this. She placed her hand over mine and drew it onto her, my fingers finding that she was already wet.


We stayed like that for a while. I touched her in the way that she had taught me to and she opened her legs a little to let me press my fingers slightly inside of her. Eventually, she put her hand to the back of my head and pulled my face towards her breasts as I continued to finger her. She was still in a sitting position.


My lips found her nipple as I kissed through the fabric of her top. Instinct took over as I began to suck and I was amazed at how she stiffened instantly at the contact. She began to guide the movement of my head and in turn the movement of my mouth. I could tell that she was taking enjoyment from what I was doing. This was my first real introduction to the mental delight of knowing that you are giving another person sexual pleasure.


By now I had stopped the movement of my hand and was focused on sucking her. The silk of her top was soaking wet from my mouth and created a flimsy barrier between my lips and her breast. She reached down to unfasten it and we parted momentarily as she opened it, before guiding my face back to her. I sucked at the warm bare flesh of her and she gripped my hair as if to encourage me to increase the pressure.


When she spoke it was quiet, broken words punctuated with short gasps and the softness of her voice seemed to cast just a shadow of words through the silence of the room.


“That’s beautiful my darling, it’s beautiful. I love you doing that. I wish that had milk for you, I wish that I could give you my milk my darling.”


What she said took me aback. Until now neither of us had ever vocally expressed pleasure at the incestuous urges that we both so obviously felt, but she made those urges real in what she said. She was confirming that I was her child and that she was taking sexual pleasure from something that otherwise represented the simplest and most natural of bonds. When she said it I realized instantly that the thing which made this so intensely sensual for me was not just the taste and feel of a beautiful woman’s breast, but the knowing that I was sucking the body of my own mother and that we were both experiencing an erotic thrill from what I was doing.


If she was leading me into a deeply dark place of forbidden bliss, then I was a willing participant and I gladly made my own choice to follow her. Eventually she drew back from me and held my face in her hands again. I pressed my lips against the skin of her palms and touched my fingers to the skin of her body. She turned slightly from me and moved to open the drawer at the side of the bed. This was one of the places that I had secretly searched in the past and I watched as her hand reached through the garments and things that she kept there.


I don’t know why I had forgotten about them, but I was surprised when I saw her bring out the box of condoms that she kept there.


I watched as, without looking at me, she unwrapped the cover and opened the box. It was such a mundane and tiny thing to do and yet it signified something important. Still without looking at my face, she tore the cover from the sachet and squeezed out the rubber sheath. She drew back the quilt from the bed and I felt the gentle touch of her fingers brushing over me as she placed the condom over the wet tip of my erection and expertly rolled it down over my shaft.


Now she at last looked into my face as she spent a little time just pressing her fingers around me, a mixture of the practicalities of making sure that the condom was firmly in place and of touching me in a way which confirmed my readiness for sex.


It occurred to me that she was seeking some sort of reassurance from me before she went any further. Her eyes looked into mine and I thought that I could see just a shade of doubt or nervousness. I had no idea what to say or do but I knew that I didn’t want her to stop. I placed my hand on hers and moved it slightly against my penis, trying to transmit to her my need and willingness for this.


When she moved she made no attempt to remove the loose hanging silk top she was wearing. I could see the soft plushness of the pubic hair at the center of her as climbed across me and then felt the weight of her as she moved across my lap, still facing me. My penis slid into her as she guided me between her legs and I realized that I was about to know how it felt to make love properly for the first time.


She held my head against her shoulder as she moved slowly up and down on me. My own hands rested around her waist and back and I could feel the shallow rise and fall of her hips as she gave me her body. With each movement of her, I felt a tremor of pleasure rush up through my own body. I wasn’t conscious of her reaction to what we were doing but could feel her hands at my head and neck as she steadied herself on my body.


She seemed fragile as she slid herself smoothly up and down me and I was aware of how tight her insides felt as she wrapped them around the fullness of me. But if, in my naïve inexperience, I had wanted to ease back from her in the fear of causing her any pressure then I would have been unable to take any sort of control. Whether this was for her own or for my pleasure was irrelevant, she was controlling the movement between us and in doing so she was leading me towards my orgasm.


When it came it was rushed and full. She made no sound but I gave sharp and audible exhalations of breath as the sperm pumped up and through me. She felt the start of my release and squeezed the floor of her pelvis tightly around me in what I now know was a simple technique to increase the power of my orgasm.


Although I didn’t realize the intricacies of how she was using her body to give me the most she could, I think that I did understand that she was making choices about the physical sensations that I was experiencing. That knowledge must have triggered something deep in my mind as the reality of my mother screwing me like this pushed me into a deep and tumultuous feeling of sexual pleasure.


Afterwards she took over the necessary, and I suppose messy, business of separating our bodies and removing the condom full of my fluid. I don’t think she had herself climaxed but that wasn’t anything that would have concerned me as I lay back against the pillow.


She took me in her arms and held me as I came to terms with the experience of that first time with her. Neither of us said anything. Being with her like this was not a new experience for me even if what had just happened was. My mind was empty and the pleasant exhaustion of having made love dragged me into sleep.


The next morning when I woke she was already up and about. When I went downstairs she was preparing breakfast and was her usual smiling and beautiful self. She made no mention of the night before and to anyone looking in on this scene there would have seemed nothing unusual as we went about the normal routine of a mother and son.


To me it seemed that nothing had changed, even though everything had. Whatever fumbled and daring games we had played before this meant little now. We had become lovers.


END


The author does not condone child abuse or incest, this story is meant as an erotic fantasy not depicting anything in real life.


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