Mother's Good Deed Ch. 02

But, you'd be wrong.

Rather than seeking to help her, my wicked, cunning, and sex-obsessed little brain was exploring the idea of using her current state of mind to get what I wanted. She was down for the count. She was broken, confused, and lost. And looking at it from my point of view (and of course from the purely logical, rational, point of view), this was in fact the perfect time to 'throw her to the wolves' ... or in this case to just one wolf ... me!

I sat there in silence for a moment, and then a familiar warm glow started to tingle in my loins. Suddenly I knew exactly what to do. It came to me all in a flash, fully formed and clear as crystal. I felt a sudden rush of power. I was in control of this situation, not her!

I looked at her face, smiled innocently, and then slid along the sofa and took her in my arms.

She instinctively pulled back.

"No," she whispered through her tears. "It's best if you don't touch me ... ever again."

"But I want to touch you Mum," I said gently.

"Peter, no," she said pulling back even further and becoming alarmed.

"It's too late for that. That's what you said. Remember?"

"No, keep away," she said pushing me back with her elbow.

"I can't Mum ... I don't want to."

She started to get up but I grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. She struggled for a moment but I wouldn't let go, so she turned to angrily face me.

"Let go of me this instant! How dare you grab me like that! If you don't let me go right this instant I'll ... I'll..."

She stopped in the middle of the sentence, and I looked at her with a knowing smile on my face.

"Yes?" I said. "What will you do exactly? Call the Police? Tell Dad maybe?"

I watched her closely, revelling in the feel of my new-found power. I could see the realisation of where I could go with this slowly dawning in her eyes. She sat there stock still for several seconds, her mouth open, the tears frozen in her eyes. Then she made as if to speak, but stopped and said nothing. She closed her mouth again and blinked at me. A look of horror and disbelief began to form on her face.

With a feeling of triumph and satisfaction I let go of her arm, and relaxed back into the sofa. I think I actually grinned at her. I knew now I had her where I wanted at last ... but rather than pouncing straight in for the kill, I decided to play for a while. After all I was enjoying myself.

"So tell me," I asked quietly. "What d'you think Dad would say if you told him? I guess he'd be angry. He'd have a real go at me wouldn't he?"

She said nothing, just sat staring at me with real fear in her eyes.

"But then again I don't think he'd be too happy with you either ... would he? In fact it's just possible he may be far more angry with you than with me. Don't you think?"

"You ... you wouldn't," she whispered, but so softly that for a moment I wasn't sure what she'd said.

"I'm sorry?"

"You ..." louder now. "You wouldn't ... tell him ... would you? You wouldn't ... sink that low?"

And there it was. Obvious now as I look back. I can't think why I didn't see it sooner. I had all the control I needed.

All that was left now was to negotiate the terms.

"I might ..." I said, crossing my legs in a dignified manner and folding my hands across my lap. "I might just have to ... you never know."

Did I say mum wasn't the sharpest knife in the tray? Well maybe, but in this instance she saw it all without any prompting or explanation. She knew where I was coming from, she knew where I was going ... and she knew very clearly what I wanted. With a long heavy sigh, she sat back on the sofa and looked upwards towards the ceiling. She shook her head in a gesture of defeat and lay back against the pillow. Slowly she closed her eyes.

After a moment of silence she said simply. "So what exactly do you want?"

V

Now a curious thing happened at this point that took me a little while to get my head around. My terms were actually quite simple. She had to do whatever I wanted ... for one weekend (I'd worry about next week on Monday!). But once the terms had been agreed, Mother seemed to subtly change in some way. All the anger and rage and frustration seemed to vanish in a moment. It was like she had accepted it all instantly. In fact it was more than that, it was like she didn't mind anymore. I was puzzled and more than a bit dismayed.

It was only much later I realised what probably happened. I think I'd taken away her choice in the matter, and with it went the guilt. Whatever happened now wasn't her responsibility, and as there was nothing she could do to stop it happening, it simply wasn't her fault. Moreover, I think in some dark and secret part of herself (as I've indicated before) she wasn't that adverse to a bit of 'nooky' with her young, attractive, and handsome son (well, good looking son anyway!).

As I said, at the time I didn't understand what was happening (I mean in those days I wasn't even sure if women enjoyed sex or not!). All I could see was the power I'd just acquired, inherent it the threat to 'shop' her to dad, mysteriously ebbing away. I should have been in control: she should have been a puppet in my hands. But it just wasn't like that, and I confess I was slightly disappointed. There was of course still the prospect doing all those dirty and disgusting things to mother I'd always wanted to do, so I just tried to make the best of it. I mean you can't win 'em all, can you?

As I sat on the sofa mulling all this over, mother was upstairs getting changed. I'd told her that for this weekend at least the 'baggy' look was out. I wanted pointed boobs and fully-fashioned stockings. I also wanted her to make herself look as elegant and attractive as possible. In fact what I wanted was an 'untouchable look'. A smart sophisticated female that was as far out of my league as it was imaginable to get. Making such a woman, especially when she's your own mother, into your own personal sex-slave, that's about as erotic a fantasy as you can have (well, at my tender age anyway).

I'd first noticed the change in power relations, however, when she'd made some suggestions about how she should look. She'd suggested, for example, black seamed stockings rather than brown, and what about stiletto heels and a really red shade of lipstick ... oh, and a slit up the side of the dress?

I confess I was a bit put out by this sudden enthusiasm. I mean this was supposed to be MY fantasy for God's sake, not hers!

I kept trying to get back control by telling her things like, "you damn well dress how I tell you, when I tell you. You understand? You are going to do whatever I say tonight. Whatever I want. Is that clear?"

But she'd say things like: "yes dear I understand. I have agreed to do this for one weekend only ... would you prefer suspenders or a Basque?"

I mean, damn it, it just undermined the whole power thing. It's like I wasn't doing it TOO her, but more like I was doing it WITH her. She was supposed to be my sex slave, not my bloody fantasy advisor! I was quite pissed for a while I must admit ... but as I had no real idea how to get the power back, I stopped worrying about it after a while and concentrated on just being as lustful as possible.

All that said, she looked pretty stunning when she came back downstairs. She was wearing a smart two-piece black suit, cut just below the knee, and with the merest hint of a white stripe in the cloth. Her heels (the tallest I'd ever seen) made her legs look long and slim and elegant. Her hair was pulled back and up, and she had some small black feathers in the centre of her hair overlaid with black lace. She wore a necklace made of large pearls, and two small chains of delicate pearl earrings. Her lips were bright red and her face carefully crafted to look mature, sophisticated, and attractive. The top buttons of the suit were left undone and her massive breasts thrust the lapels apart to reveal a glorious cleavage. She was every inch a desirable but untouchable woman.

She walked over to me, her heels clicking on the wood floor, and stood there with a half-stern look on her face.

"Do you approve ... Sir?" she asked in a 'professional' sounding voice.

My cock was rock hard and my mouth dry with excitement, and for a while I didn't know what to say or how to react.

Then I took a deep breath and whispered hoarsely. "No! I Don't."

I could see she was looking at the bulge in my trousers, so I guess she knew I didn't really mean that. She reached up and undid another button revealing even more of her breasts.

"Is that better Sir?"

I nodded in approval. Then I said. "The skirt is too long. Pull it up a bit ... and turn around."

She eased her skirt up a couple of inches above the knee, revealing the black edge of her stocking-tops, and turned slowly around. I stared in awe at her seams, climbing straight and true from the top of her heels right up the immeasurable length of her legs to the back of her thighs.

"Higher ..." I croaked, and she lifted the skirt another three inches to reveal the back of her black stocking-tops. I stared intently, taking in the details of how the seam finished in a little circular hole in the blackness of the nylon.

"Turn back," I whispered.

She turned to face me, keeping her skirt marginally above the stocking-tops, and standing tall and proud, and kind of defiant. Her breasts and dazzling cleavage were thrust outwards in all their magnificent glory. My mouth dropped in sheer wonder at the vision before me, and without even realising it my hand found its way to my cock and started to rub it gently.

"Do you want me to do that ... Sir?" she whispered, looking down at my hand.

I nodded, but after a moment's thought I said, "Remove the skirt first ... Bitch!"

I'd added the last word just to try and rack up the control side of things a bit, which I guess I was still fretting about. It sounded dominant and irreverent to call your mother a 'bitch'.

Slowly she undid the clasp of the skirt and slid the zip down. She stood there for a moment, her hand holding the side of the skirt. Then she just let if fall to the ground, and after brief pause (presumably for effect), she lazily lifted a long high-heeled and stocking-clad leg out from the crumpled remains. I watched in total fascination, my mouth having this annoying tendency to keep falling open. Very slowly and carefully she lifted the other leg up and over the skirt and stood patiently before me.

The top of the jacket reached down to just below her panties. Below was this amazing expanse of leg and nylon. The heels had the magical effect of making her legs look impossibly long, and my eyes seemed caught in the act of following each leg up and down. They were so indescribably fascinating, from the sharply pointed heel of the shoes and the black supporting band across the ankle, right on up the tight sheer nylon of the stockings, to the dark ribs of those instinctively erotic and sexually exciting black stocking-tops.

They were so close to me now I couldn't resist the desire to reach out and touch the material. As I laid my hand on her thigh and eased it gently up towards her stocking-top, I realised the material felt as exciting as it looked. It had this strange soft yet harsh texture that was exhilarating to touch. It felt silky smooth under my hand, yet it snagged the rough skin on the end of my fingers as they wandered lustfully up, as if trying to prevent my incestuous hand from travelling too near the forbidden places above. My God, I thought to myself, this stuff must be as exciting to wear as it is to feel.

After a few moments my other hand joined its brother, and they both lustfully explored every inch of her nylons, right up to the straps hanging down from her garter belt. I don't know how long this went on. As my hands roamed up and down her stocking-clad legs, I seemed to be immersed in a timeless world of erotic fantasy, based on visual stimulation and the exotic sensation of touch. I was lost, hypnotised ...'away with the fairies'.

Mother waited with infinite patience until I had fully satisfied my desire to feel, caress, and fondle her legs, intimately attired as they were in those exquisite stockings. She seemed curiously unconcerned, as if my fascination with her hosiery and my need to touch her body were entirely normal and perfectly acceptable. Only later did I realise how rare it is to find a woman who really understands the needs of a man.

Eventually my cup was filled to overflowing, and my hands dropped down and away from her legs. As if this were a sign, she slowly sank to her knees in front of me and reached to undo my trousers. I leant back in the sofa, intrigued to see what would happen next.

Methodically, and with what seemed like practised hands, she undid the buttons and parted my trousers. To my surprise she lifted my buttocks and slipped my trousers to the floor, and then proceeded to remove my shoes and socks. Before I quite knew what had happened, my underpants followed and I was sitting there bare-arse naked, my cock sticking skywards like a miniature totem-pole.

For a moment she sat back on her heels simply studying (or maybe admiring) my cock, and then she reached out with both her hands and embraced it gently. She held it firm and straight as her head lowered down, and she kissed the crown with the tenderest of kisses.

"Mmm ..." she murmured softly, as if to herself. "So beautiful ... you are so beautiful."

For a while she gently played with my penis, rubbing it slowly and kissing and licking it, all the while muttering soft words of praise and admiration. The sensation of her warm tender hands on my dick was exquisite, and I lay back against the sofa, head on one side, watching in fascination. I remember thinking to myself that she seemed to be enjoying doing what she was doing almost as much as I enjoyed receiving it.

Then, slowly and gently, her lips parted and she took me into her mouth. As before, her tongue was like velvet: warm and moist, and so so soft, and yet with a definite texture that brushed sensually against my cock. Her head began to move rhythmically up and down, sinking lower and lower with each downward movement, engulfing more of me each time, until I couldn't understand how she managed to take so much in. The sensation was awesome, and I felt my balls straining and beginning to boil.

But I didn't want to cum in her mouth. This time I wanted something else, something more. Gently I took her head in my hands and lifted it upwards. With her mouth still open, she looked up at me with a quizzical look on her face. I smiled at her and shook my head.

"Not this time mummy," I whispered.

VI

I wasn't sure how keen she'd be to take things further than just oral sex, so I didn't give her time to think about it. In a flash I was up on my feet. I steered her around me, and half pushed, half-lay her down on the sofa, and before she knew what was happening I was easing myself down on top of her.

"No ..." she breathed in my ear. "No Peter not that, please."

Needless to say that's what I wanted to hear. I felt the power coming back just the way I liked it, and it really turned me on. I put my hands on mother's shoulders to hold her down and lowered my lips on to hers. As I crushed my lips down I pushed out my tongue, trying to force a way into her mouth. For a moment she resisted, but then her mouth opened and we kissed passionately.

At the same time, my hands scrabbled down to find her breasts, and I crushed them against her body. In a fit of frenzied passion I grabbed the jacket of her suit, which was still done up with a couple of buttons, and ripped it apart. The buttons flew off, and as I pulled back slightly to enjoy the view, I realised for the fist time she was wearing a tight black Basque. Her breasts were crushed in to the top of the Basque so tightly they looked like squashed balloons. I ran my hands around her waist, enclosed and contained by the hard material of the Basque. The feel of this new and different garment was almost as exciting as her nylons. My hands ran up towards her breasts, and I roughly pulled down the part of the Basque that contained those wonderful melons, exposing them fully to my lustful gaze and my rabid hands.

To my minor annoyance, instead of fighting me Mother squealed and stretched herself out, forcing her breasts upwards and into my grasping hands. I grabbed them and squeezed as hard as I could. Mother cried out, but apparently not in pain. Indeed, rather than resisting, she started rolling her body around, giving me as much access to her breasts as possible. She seemed to be enjoying (indeed loving) the punishment I was dishing out to her. I tried pulling and ripping at the Basque but it was firmly attached, so I returned to her breasts, and like an animal I snapped at her bosom with my teeth, actually biting one of her nipples. As I crushed them with my hands and licked and sucked and bit at her breasts, she again cried out, but again she didn't seem to be begging for mercy ... far from it!

As my passion increased I began to force her legs apart with my knees. I reached down with my hand and felt in between her legs, exploring an area of female anatomy I knew little about, except via the odd dirty photo I'd seen at school. It felt warm and hairy and wet. I slid my fingers along till I found the gap and inserted a finger into her vagina.

"I gonna fuck, you dirty old bitch!" I whispered into her ear.

"No!" she breathed. "Don't fuck me ... I'm your mother. You can't fuck you own mother. It's too ... too dirty."

I thought for a moment she was resisting me and I'd have to force her to comply, but then as she went on whispering I realised these words we not for my benefit at all ... they were for hers.

"Don't do it Peter ..." she moaned. "Don't put your big cock in mummy. Don't fuck your poor mummy. It's ... its incest. It's wrong ... so wrong and so dirty. What are you doing to me? You dirty dirty little boy ... fucking me ... fucking mummy. Fucking your own poor mummy ..."

She was, of course, turning me on just as much as she was turning herself on, and I struggled to pull her panties apart to get access for my cock. Then I found her hand beside mine, taking hold of my penis and guiding it into her cunt. After a moment of frantic fumbling I felt myself enter her, suddenly and deeply. She moaned loudly, and I think I did too.

It was a strange sensation, entering a woman for the first time. She was warm and tight and moist, and it felt somehow natural. Almost before I knew what I was doing I found my cock thrusting in and out, and as my hands reached up to cover her breasts, her hands reached down to take hold of my buttocks.

"DO IT THEN, YOU SHIT!" she shouted in my ear, at the same time forcing me so deep into her cunt I was sure it must hurt. "FUCK ME YOU LITTLE BASTARD ... FUCK ME!!"

But I didn't need to be told. I was ramming my cock home with all my strength whilst at the same time clawing and clutching at her tits. I could feel her cunt muscles contracting around my cock, and she was squirming and moaning at me.

"Harder you Bastard!" she breathed, her hands behind my buttocks forcing down every stoke. "Harder ... fuck me harder. Fuck mummy ... fuck your mummy!"

Suddenly she seemed to slide down on the sofa, and I found her legs up and encasing my torso. My hands left her breasts and felt for her stocking tops, and with each thrust I rubbed my hands over the material revelling in the sensation of the nylon. Slowly I seemed to get into her rhythm, banging down as she thrust up.

"Bitch!" I moaned, as my passion increased. "This ... is ... what ... you ... get ... mummy ... bitch," I intoned to the rhythm of my thrusts, my hands now tearing at her stocking-tops.

"BASTARD!" She screamed. "FUCKING BASTARD!"