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  • Behind Closed Blinds Ch. 03

Behind Closed Blinds Ch. 03

12

1

Where to begin after a night like last night's? When I came to, Saturday, I should have been tired and sore. In fact I should have been ruined, being that my mother and I had fucked each other into the morning like old lovers, which we were -- no doubt about that!

Aside from the dull headache which only lasted about as long as the fifty push-ups I cranked out on the bedroom floor, I was wide awake and full of energy, surprised at myself evermore when I realised it wasn't yet half-past ten.

I heard Sara in the bathroom with the distinct snap of the shower cord sounded and the rush of a torrential downpour lashing the bath's basin hard, and then more acutely her feet creaking along the floorboards before she stepped under the shower head. I needed no encouragement. I was there in a shot, naked and willing.

Already mum was wet from head to toe behind the folding glass screen, hot water running down her fair-skinned curves in waving rivulets, her hair like molten gold as it slithered down her back and curled at the ends. I was treated to the whole godly view as I stood there in the doorway, my cock straining and rising to the occasion like a hydraulic crane.

The sensation of my body next to hers, and then coupled with hers is heavenly. There's little to no modesty there, just intimacy and security. In the throes of passion, making sex together when the animal takes over, every inch of flesh is fair game.

To see her naked, standing up, assuming a pose such as this -- twirling under streams of water and steam as she lathers her hair with shampoo and strains it, letting the soapy lather wash her naked form like milk -- she is the living Greek statue of a goddess, no gym membership necessary.

There is muscle and there is flesh and there is artistic structure and it doesn't conform to the glossy pink celebrity ink standard that boys will masturbate to until the day they realise they're lusting over narcissistic obsession, systematic starvation and emotional instability.

My mother is still my mother, but she's more than that. She's a woman in every, but she's more than a woman too. She's the golden motherly standard, the golden standard for beauty, and for sexuality, and to drink in such a sight is akin to drugging oneself to overstimulation.

Beyond the taboo of wanting her, and that of having her -- many times and for many years -- I now face the challenge of balancing the roles of loving son and lusting motherfucker, not to forget myself or what I love about her.

Sara flashed me a grin, which spanned from ear to ear when she saw me standing at full-mast and grinning back. Next thing I was in the shower behind her, and she was leaning back against me, as my soapy hands romantically slipped and slip over every hot wet curve, from her heaving breasts to her hips, and the generous V leading to that place I loved so much, between her thighs.

'You just can't help yourself can you?' she purred, her own hands roaming my muscular arms. She gasped and her whole body spasmed as my fingers found what they were looking for; that stiff little panic button located under the hood of the cockpit.

'No, but I can help you,' I teased, flicking the sensitive skin of her neck with the tip of my tongue before planting a kiss there. Her head rolled back against my shoulder, and another louder gasp came as she trembled against the gentle circling of my fingers around her clit.

'Oh behave,' mother chuckled and then hissed pleasurably through her teeth. So I took my roaming hand back north over her belly, but she immediately grabbed it by the wrist and put it back to work. 'I didn't say stop.'

This time I ran two fingers between her fleshy labia and melted into that slippery, silk vestige of motherhood -- met with a single breathless moan. My cheek was rested against hers then, as I gloated over the ample valleys of her soaked and glistening breasts. Feeling her breath against my mouth, now that she had moved her head so that she was looking up at me with glazed, lusting eyes, I craned my neck to move my lips to hers.

'I just have to,' I murmured before engaging her willing mouth with mine, withdrawing only once to say, 'I just want to snog you all day.'

'You're pleased to see me,' she said, a hand gripping my straining cock, and then we were at it again, pleasuring each other as we kissed beneath the steaming torrent.

'As soon as I try to get myself clean you want to make me get dirty again,' Sara chuckled some time later, looking up at me with love and mirth, her arms tight around my chest, squashing her beautiful body against mine. I loved to feel her breasts slipping and sliding up against me that way. The only problem, always, was that there was no place for my hard-on to go. But then, a wicked thought...

'Well I'm going to be a good son and let you get clean, for now,' I said, and then whispered in her ear, 'but only because I'm going to be cruel and make you wait until later...'

'You're just awful,' mum said, offering a mock scowl, before blushing and grinning again as I stepped out of the bath tub.

'The absolute worst,' I agreed on a gleeful whim and blew her a kiss.

2

I took us out to lunch in town that afternoon, while the weather was nice. It had been a while since I hit the city centre on the busiest day of the week for shoppers. I'd grown disdainful of it all the longer I spent time in my own company. Nobody wants to be alone any town, any afternoon, and for any reason.

Couples and groups walk with the enthusiasm of a funeral procession. To want to just go do your own thing makes you the arsehole that's always in a rush, always bumping into people, and otherwise always swearing under your breath when you're stuck in human gridlock on even a relatively empty street.

Today was my opportunity to become the pain in the arse that was causing the gridlock, taking his sweet-ass time escorting his date around, and it was the most wicked fun I'd had in a long time with my clothes on. Don't get me wrong, I have respect and manners for the mutually minded, but if you're like the girl we encountered that day with the face like a raging bull, you were in for an experience out of whatever way you were used to having.

Mum liked to visit the curiosity shops and little department stores, now rare, and kept alive by the alternative crowd who sought their shady corners to socialise from. I didn't believe she'd ever been to a shop that sold nothing but drug paraphernalia like bongs and pipes.

Already the owner/sales assistant didn't seem too thrilled that we were treating his lot like a museum, even though the place was a bit heavy on the Che Guevara and Bob Marley. Nothing like a bit of golden age communism to mellow your mother!

We were headed for the door, which I took the lead and opened for mum, when this wide-bearing, hoodie-wearing girl with black lipstick and metal in her face started whining about the fact she didn't need a man to open the door for her, that she was perfectly able to do it for herself. I couldn't believe my ears.

I turned to mum with a queer grin, then turned back to the girl, assuring her, 'I didn't do it for you,' blocking her entry while Sara came out from behind me with a polite smile. The girl tried to push past. I didn't let her. Instead I made a point to close the door again, until the glass pane was inches from her offended little upturned nose, so that she could open her own damned door.

'You're welcome,' I said.

'Misogynist prick,' she said at my back as we walked away.

'When's the last time you think she had a prick?' mother asked.

'I don't know, but I don't think the drugs are working either,' I said and smirked as I looked back. We were honestly surprised we didn't see her at the Ann Summers store twenty minutes later, screaming at "The Elite Guard of the Royal Dong"...

I hadn't ever been to one of these places before. The crazy bitch (the ex) and I ordered online, never daring to expose our private lives to the world. Mum had been to the local one plenty times with her friend, Elaine, so she confided with her arm linked to mine as she dragged me through the sliding doors.

There was just something so comical about the place, with sex toys and lubricants stood on their little pedestals like someone had swapped the signs and products of a JD Sport but didn't bother changing the layout. Now I was the one feeling like I was in the museum, but for all my effort not to blush beet red and laugh consistently from start to finish, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the retail assistant here.

One, they were nearly all "college girl age", awkward looking girls between 18 and 21 selling sex to trendy couples -- all but for the supervisor, a woman dolled up to look more like a uniformly flight attendant, who seemed to take a more clinical approach to her job.

And then there was the security guard, this near seven foot tall black brick wall standing at the centre of this circular display wall, a hundred premium-priced dildos, vibrators and dongs all staring back at him like the crowd of a coliseum. Mum was taken aback by the sight, as was I, and because for how deadpan (if not apathetic) his expression, it was his duty to protect the prize dongs, as though they were the crown jewels of this prestigious and magical dick palace.

'Does he guard the dicks then?' mum asked and it was goodnight from me. Once I started laughing I couldn't stop. Meanwhile I was trying to pay attention to the selection of massage oils on display. I was having some seriously x-rated thoughts about what the weekend would have in store for us.

'He appears to be like a tactical version of the Beefeaters, mum!'

'O, like an elite dick guard?'

'I think we're going to get kicked out here,' I had to warn her as one uncomfortable looking wallflower started to magnetise towards us with some hesitance. Her nametag read, "Shauna".

'May I help you with anything,' Shauna asked plainly. Mum was quick on her heels.

'I was just wondering if that large black specimen over there is actually guarding a vault of dicks or if he's for sale too,' she said equally plainly. I snorted, forced it hard to the back of my throat. I heard the same from somewhere else in the store and had to turn away.

Embarrassed, Shauna was too heavily caked in skin foundation to be seen blushing, but mum quickly disarmed her. 'I was just joking, love. My son and I are wondering which of these massage oils you'd recommend...'

3

'May I say that I am really glad that I stepped in and convinced her that you were just in a pranking mood,' I said as we hurried away from the store, Sara in tow and barely keeping up in her mid-heel boots. 'Jesus Christ, you gave me a heart attack!'

'Can we drop by the H&M before we head back?' she asked, and I could hear the laughter in her tone, loud and clear. So we went there next and while my mother perused the skirts, I stood around hands in pockets, cheeks burning from that close shave with utter shame.

Mum liked her skirts long and flowy. I liked skirts for ease of access, but I wasn't about to mention that before we ended up having another unlikely conversation with another retail assistant. Mum found a skirt she really liked -- a white one with a dark red flower print -- and pulled me over to stand in front of the changing cubicle curtain.

There I stood, like the Elite Guard of the Royal Dong himself, arms crossed and staring into space as a few women started to line up in front of me. Just how weird was my day out on the town going to get?

'Could you give me a hand here, Steven?' she said from behind me. 'I'm having a bit of a silly moment...'

I don't know why my eyes then met with the woman standing face to face with me, but we both smiled politely at each other before I turned to oblige my mother, whatever was going on now. Discreetly I inched out of sight behind the curtain to find her stood in skimpy white lace panties and otherwise bare from the waist down.

My tightly packed cock stirred in my jeans, but little did I know that she was experiencing something the same. Before I could ask what was up, she grabbed my hand by the wrist and with the other free hand she yanked forth the crotch of her panties and stuffed my hand inside.

My mother was feverishly hot and leaking that slippery natural sex lubricant I was so well accustomed to. Immediately my fingers went to work, while her teeth went to work on my shoulder to stifle her gasps.

'There you go,' I said helpfully, anxious of what might be heard beyond that thin curtain, or what might not be heard enough before someone started to ask questions. Hopelessly I couldn't think of what else to say as my fingers worked her into a daze, her pussy throbbing and clinging to me tightly every time I stroked her stiff clit with my thumb.

'Thank you, darling,' she said unsteadily, and with sinful mischief plastered all over her tightening face, her mouth open but silently moaning. 'My fingers just don't seem able to work for me lately...'

'Well that's what your son is for,' I replied with a dutiful tone.

'I need more than your fingers, son,' she whispered close to my ear, her palm pressed flatly against my growing erection as it straightened downward against my inner thigh. When we stepped outside of the cubicle and back into the store, I noticed as did my bounding heart, that the woman waiting at the front of the queue had turned ashen white, eyes wide open as they evaluated the both of us. As we walked away I saw her put a hand to her mouth. She had heard everything. I'd never felt such a thrill and such a jolt of terror at the same time.

4

Town had been quite the experience with my mother. As we drove home, now happily just us with no prying ears or eyes, we could be more open about what neither of us could seem to stop thinking about. It was becoming evident that old animals had been re-awoken and that the following week was going to consist of not much else other than having sex -- shamelessly committing glorious, pornographic incest with each other!

But I couldn't just let this go, the dangers and the risks we were taking like never before. It was as if my mother was becoming a completely different person, and that she felt no shame in wanting to be sexual around her son in public.

'Do you have no fear at all?' I asked her. 'I notice you're being very casual about us now. I know times are changing, but the laws aren't.'

'Wasn't it a thrill though?' she countered me, and I couldn't deny it. She was right. I was stiff in my pants now and the head of my cock was throbbing and twitching, threatening to make me unload there and then. That look of mischief was still there too. I glanced over whenever possible, feeling the pressure build in my loins with the desire to bottom out and breed her.

'Seriously, you really have been doing a lot of thinking lately, haven't you?' I tested as I navigated the traffic. I couldn't put too much thought into it right now, playing chicken with the taxis that didn't seem to care which lane they were supposed to be in. So I decided to be the one to ask the questions for the meanwhile.

'Fantasising is more like it. I thought it'd get better once I'd had you again. Well... it is better, definitely better, but...'

'But now you can't stop?'

'You disapprove?' she tested. I shot her a smug frown, smiling all the while. Some call that Trump-face these days.

'I can't stop thinking about sex when I get started,' I admitted candidly.

'I never stop,' Sara hinted. I looked to her with a hopeless grin. She winked at me with that mischievous look. 'I'm on Literotica every day, morning and evening, reading every Mother and Son sex story ever written, and I think about us.'

'Tell me more,' I said, suddenly short of breath. The needle on the speedometer began to rise as the ride home took on greater urgency. I had to get us there.

'I got Elaine into it too!'

'You're fucking joking,' I yelled out of sheer disbelief. Elaine, who I'd mentioned earlier, was my mum's best friend. At 48 Elaine had only two adult daughters, so none of that business was happening under her roof, but I was truly taken by surprise to hear that the conservative divorcee could be coaxed into such an acquired kink.

'She is! She's not the prude you think she is, you know? We talk about our favourite stories and what turns us on about them,' mum assured with the argument to back it up. 'And do you know what my fantasy has been lately?'

My mouth ran dry as we ate up the miles, faster and faster, the road ahead of us crumbling into ruin where the council had abandoned it the last winter. The ride soon became bumpy, forcing me to slow down again.

'I want her to know about us!' she admitted after quite some silence.

5

How could I process such a huge thing? My mother who had pushed my fat baby body out of the canal that I was now more used to sliding my hard cock in and out of might have put me in my place and assured me that anything was possible when done right. She might have done a U-turn instead and assured me that it was not some whimsical desire to flirt with destruction.

But this was different in so many ways. This was a whole new level of daring and dangerous. This was not something you did for a cheap thrill. It was something you did in great faith and endless trust. It was something for which trust was near impossible to find.

When my mum and I started having sex, it was in great trust and faith that we were more than just okay with what we were doing. It was partly educational, and it was partly frustration and loneliness -- not just on her behalf. We were both consenting and it had built up through a matter of months after I'd turned 18. I was in college, I still wasn't courting with girls, and obviously I was still a virgin.

For the record, the first time it became physically sexual, mum was paying me a lot of attention after learning that I liked to fantasise about her, by way of finding a pair of her used panties under my pillow. Slow and cautious masturbation turned into mutual masturbation. That eventually led to her daring to give me a blowjob, which led to mutual oral.

It was only a matter of time before one day she picked me up from college and, on the drive home, asked me to go into the pharmacy and buy a pack of condoms. I cannot recollect in words how big a deal that moment was and how incredible, though brief, the first time we had sex was.

The act leading up to it, the act of stripping and getting intimate with her, with that in mind -- the act of rolling a condom onto my erect cock with the intent of sliding into her pussy and experiencing sex for the first time WITH MY OWN MOTHER...

It was a huge step in our relationship. Getting over it, learning to live with it, and then deciding that we wanted to carry on was a huge deal too. Learning to hide what we were doing as we became closer and more comfortable, more emotional and intimate, all of it was a huge deal.

I never would have imagined though that Sara, my mother, would want to endanger what we had by confessing not just her fantasies to anyone other than me, but also by letting someone in on our secret.

Which one of us was crazy, or the most crazy; her for thinking that it was perfectly safe to tell her friend and neighbour that she was enjoying a years' long on and off sexual relationship with her son; or me for thinking that nobody in the world was that trustworthy just because they liked to fantasise here and there?

Fantasy was one thing. Reality came with terms and conditions, and very real dangers.

6

'I just... I'm not sure you appreciate how quickly even the tightest friendships can end, mum,' I tried to make her see what scared me. 'Look at where I am, please. The things people love about you they always use against you the moment they decide they hate you!'

12
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