It was a warm summer evening, and my mother and I were catching the last of the sun on the balcony of my apartment. The balcony was fairly narrow, and our sun beds were angled towards the sun, with me beside and slightly behind my mother, which gave me the opportunity to study her body without her being aware of my scrutiny. She was wearing a new two-piece yellow swimsuit — not exactly a bikini, but surprisingly revealing and very daring for my mother. The top consisted of two half-cups that supported rather than concealed her breasts, and the bottom rode low on her hips, affording me a view of much of her slightly-curved belly, and when seen from behind stretched alluringly over her bottom, barely covering her cheeks, and for a moment I felt my penis stiffen slightly before I remembered it was my mother I was looking at.
I'd moved to Canada a decade or so ago, and I hadn't seen my mother for a few years, when I'd gone home for her wedding, to a man I didn't know and didn't particularly like when I met him. It had come as a surprise when she'd written to say she was getting married again — my father had left her shortly after I was born, and they were divorced soon after, and I always assumed that she would remain unattached. There had been plenty of men in her life, I knew that, but as I got older I realised that it was mainly just sex, and perhaps it was that which attracted her to her new husband — certainly she was all over him, and I kept getting glimpses of her kissing and fondling him with her hand between his legs.
Naturally I gave her away at the ceremony, and afterwards to my surprise my mother kissed me on the mouth, pressing herself against me, and staring at me with a look of what seemed like sadness for a moment. It was particularly surprising because she'd always been quite cool towards me — kind and loving, but always physically remote, rarely hugging me or kissing me, and then only lightly on the cheek, but this time it was almost a passionate kiss, and I assumed she was carried away by her obvious sexual relationship with her new husband, and shrugged it off.
We wrote to each other regularly, and after a couple of years I noticed that she rarely mentioned her husband, instead telling me about what she'd been doing, and the weather — the usual things. But then her letters seemed to get increasingly more affectionate, telling me how much she loved me and how she missed me, even to saying she missed me holding her and wishing she could kiss me goodnight.
Then she wrote to say she'd joined an art class, and how much she enjoyed life classes. She also said that the students took it in turns to model for the rest of the class to save money, and then a few months later she sent me a sketch that somebody had done of her — naked. She was reclining on a sofa, and her full breasts were emphasised, with erect nipples and heavily stippled surrounding aureoles, her legs slightly parted and at their juncture a luxuriant bush of pubic hair, while she was gazing at the viewer with an expression on her face that was almost a provocative, or perhaps questioning.
I promptly had the sketch framed, and hung it in my bedroom where I stared at it every night — I often got an erection for a moment, until I remembered that she was my mother... and then she sent me a drawing of a youthful male student she'd done, because she said he reminded her of me. It, too, was a nude study, not very expertly drawn, but startling because his penis was semi erect, lying across his thigh, and I could hardly believe this was the straight-laced mother I'd known all my life.
Finally, my mother wrote to say that her husband had left her for another woman, or to be precise another woman and her daughter, who was barely in her teens, and apparently he was sleeping with both of them — she thought he preferred the daughter. It was then that I'd suggested she come out for a holiday, to give her a change of scenery and help her to get over it. I'd never been able to convince her that Canada wasn't constantly covered in snow — my birthday was in August, and she'd always sent me heavy sweaters, and when she arrived she'd brought nothing but thick winter clothing, despite the temperature being in the nineties.
Almost from the moment she'd arrived I'd found her presence disturbing. She'd kissed me in a very un-motherly fashion when I met her at the airport, her lips wet and yielding as she moulded her body to mine, and she'd called to me to come and talk to her while she was unpacking, and I'd found she'd stripped to her underwear, which did little to hide and nothing to hinder her rippling breasts and bottom. It affected my sleep, too — I'd been disturbed by dreams every night.
I'd taken her out shopping, and she'd bought a selection of dresses, blouses and skirts that went to the other extreme from the clothes she'd brought with her - very thin, and mostly quite revealing. She'd insisted on my helping her choose, and I was subjected to the sight of her in a succession of half-buttoned items that seemed to reveal more than they concealed, including the yellow swimsuit, and between fittings seeing her in her underwear again.
We'd done the usual round of sightseeing, and again I was given frequent glimpses of thigh as she climbed in and out of the car, and the deep valley between her breasts exposed by low-cut necklines. With any other woman, I'd have taken it for an invitation, or at least been aroused, but this was my mother, and I assumed that she was just being careless.
It was the same in the apartment — there was only one bedroom, and I'd given it to my mother, while I slept on the couch. I often had to go into the bedroom to get clothes, and I always knocked, and often when she called me to come in I found her in just her skimpy underwear yet again. She'd been delighted to see the framed sketch of her on the wall, and once she'd hugged me, with only a flimsy bra and panties on, saying how flattered she was that I'd put her picture up. Her body was soft and warm, and once again for a moment I experienced the beginning of an erection, until I remembered it was my mother.
My reverie was suddenly interrupted when my mother rolled over onto her tummy and propped herself up on her elbows, smiling at me. Her breasts were practically falling out of her swimsuit top — she must have noticed me staring at them, because she glanced down at herself.
"I'm getting a nice tan already, aren't I, darling! I wish I was nude, and getting tanned all over!"
I gulped, and mumbled something about her looking nice, and then she suggested going down for a swim. The apartment building had a pool, and she thought this was the height of luxury, and we'd been down several times since she arrived.
It was getting late, and there weren't many people using the pool, so we were able to swim in comfort for while. Mum was a good swimmer, and I noticed that she accidentally touched my penis several times in the water, and then, when we were at the deep end, she laughed and put her arms round me, dragging me beneath the surface. Her leg was between my thighs, and her breasts were pressed against my chest, and without thinking I held her tightly as we sank to the bottom, and then when we came up for air, laughing, somehow my hand was cupping her breast. She didn't seem to notice, but when she turned to swim away my hand accidentally ran down her back until it rested on her bottom. I quickly snatched it away, and swam to the ladder to hurriedly climb out of the pool and dry myself, although I couldn't help thinking about her leg between my thighs, rubbing against my penis...
Back in the apartment my mother changed into a black see-through blouse under which she wore a black lace bra that was almost as transparent, certainly enough to give more than a hint of her shadowy nipples, and a white wrap-around skirt that parted to reveal her thighs whenever she moved. I put on a shirt and slacks, and poured us both a glass of wine, which we took out onto the balcony.
For the first time, I mentioned the break-up of her marriage, and she shrugged. I turned the sun beds round so that they faced each other, and when she swung her legs up the skirt parted to bare her tanned thighs, but she made no move to rearrange it.
"I suppose I always knew it wouldn't last," she said. "I never really loved him, but the sex was terrific. He introduced me to S&M, and that was marvellous, too. Some of the things he did to me..." She shuddered and smiled, then took a long drink of wine. "Since then, I haven't been short of company — to start with, most of the men in the art class have had me."
Not for the first time since she arrived, I could hardly believe that this was my mother talking — of course, I knew about her frequent nights out when I lived at home, but neither of us had ever mentioned them, or anything else relating to sex, either.
But now it seemed that the conversation was constantly turning to sex — she'd asked me about my girlfriends, and whether I enjoyed sleeping with them, and I'd confessed that it was OK, but that there always seemed to be something missing, and she'd looked at me with a funny expression on her face, saying that she'd have thought I'd be more passionate. And last night she'd seen me glance at the picture of her in my bedroom, and she'd started to tell me about it.
"It's one of dozens that Roger has done of me — he runs the art class, that's how I came to join it, and he just came up to me one day in the street and asked if he could sketch me. I was flattered, and we went back to his studio, and then he told me he wanted to sketch me nude, and he'd laughed and said he always had sex with his models. I thought he was joking, but I enjoyed taking my clothes off for him and letting him see me naked, and then he sketched me for about an hour, and then — we went to bed... now we do that every time I pose for him."
Then, later, she'd asked me if I liked the sketch she'd done of the youth. "His name is Norman, and he's eighteen, but he looks about four years younger, and exactly like you were at that age. I've done lots of sketches of him — I've brought some with me, but I don't know if I should show them to you..."
I was intrigued, and asked her to let me see them — she hesitated for a moment, then she took my hand and led me into the bedroom. She got her suitcase and rummaged in the bottom, to produce a cardboard folder. She hesitated again. "Are you really sure, darling?" she asked, and I nodded.
Slowly, she took out a drawing and handed it to me. I recognised the boy instantly — this time he was leaning naked indolently in a doorway, but now his penis was fully erect. My mother gave me another sketch — again he was naked, with an erect penis, but this time he was holding it, apparently rubbing it, and she looked at me expectantly, seeing my reaction. If it had not been my mother who'd drawn it, I'd have been instantly aroused, but as it was I just swallowed uncomfortably.
"I'm always naked when I sketch him," she whispered. "To inspire him — and remind him of how I'll pay him..."
Then she gave me another drawing. It took me a moment to take in what it depicted — a naked woman was kneeling between his legs as he sprawled on a sofa. He was naked too, and she had his cock in her mouth, one hand gripping its base while the other cupped his balls. One of his hands was gripping her shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh, while the fingers of his other hand were tangled in her hair, pushing her face into his groin, and his hips were rising to meet her - and then I realised that the woman was my mother.
"It's from a photo," she said softly. "I set the timer just right, setting it off as he was about to come, and got back to him just as he started to spurt..."
I handed the drawing back without a word — for a moment, my cock had started to harden involuntarily, but then I was in control again, and I watched as she put the sketches away.
She cooked an omelette for dinner, and we ate it and drank wine while she proceeded to tell me about the other men she'd given herself to since her husband had left her. There'd been a seaman from one of the Baltic countries who hardly spoke a word of English — he'd picked her up in a pub, and she'd let him feel her and then taken him home. Language was no problem - they hadn't needed to talk about what they both wanted. And there was a black cook with a huge dick — he was insatiable, and fucked her again and again until she fainted. She said it was wonderful. Another man was a member of a semi-religious group who called themselves the Brotherhood, and she'd gone to one of their meetings. They'd used her naked body as an altar, and afterwards they'd taken it in turns to have sex with her. Finally, there was a man in his seventies — she'd spent a weekend with him, and he used her as his sex slave, keeping her naked the whole time and whipping her, making her eat her meals from the floor and sleep at the foot of his bed. He'd fucked her whenever he felt like it, and made her suck him, and she'd loved that too.
But tonight she didn't want to talk, at least at first. "I'm here on holiday with you, and I want to relax and enjoy every minute of it!" She finished her wine and held out the empty glass to me.
"Fill this up for me, dear, and phone out for some food — I don't feel like cooking anything, or going to a restaurant."
When I returned to the balcony she'd closed her eyes, and again I found myself looking at her barely-concealed breasts and her uncovered legs, sipping my wine and I stared at her until the door buzzer sounded. My mother opened her eyes and swung her legs off the sun bed, in the process giving me a glimpse of matching black lace panties.
"That'll be the food, dear. I'll go, and give the delivery man an eyeful!" She glanced down at herself, her eyes sparkling, and went inside. I heard her laughing as I followed her, and then she appeared with the food.
"I told him he deserved a special tip for the way he looked at me!" she giggled, and then she put the food down and threw herself into my arms. "I let him have a feel!"
"I'm so happy being here with you, darling!" she whispered, and kissed me on the lips as for a moment I held her soft body close. Then I released her, and she sighed before turning away to serve up the food. I wasn't really hungry, and just pecked at the food on my plate as I looked at her, my eyes constantly returning to her breasts, almost completely visible thanks to that see-through blouse and equally revealing bra.
My mother looked at me, her concern showing on her face as she took my hand. "What is it, dear? What's troubling you? I know something's wrong..."
I took a deep breath, and swallowed some more wine, and then it all spilled out. "Mum — I'm so ashamed. Every night since you've been here I've been dreaming about you — about us. I'm always a small boy in the dreams, and I seem to relate what we've done during the day to what I dream about. After the first time we swam in the pool, in the dream we were swimming naked together, and we — touched each other. And that blouse — after we bought it, I dreamed it was a short black nightie, and you took it off and held me naked. I dreamed you looked at me in the bath, and washed and dried my penis to make sure it was cleaned properly. And I held you on top of me on the bed — you were wearing a housecoat, it was white with little blue flowers, and I had my hand up the back, gripping your bottom while I kissed your neck... Once, I helped undress you, and took off your stockings, and then your bra. Mum — I'm sorry — I can't help it! I don't know why I do it!"
My mother squeezed my hand. "Fill up our glasses, dear, and let's sit on the couch."
We settled down, and she asked me to put my arm round her. She tucked up her legs, heedless of the skirt falling away from her thighs, and once again took my hand.
"Darling — what would you say if I told you that all the things you've been dreaming about really happened? And much, much more?" She paused briefly. "It started when you were just a baby. You loved me to play with your dickie, and I loved doing it, and feeding you, holding my breast while you sucked me. Usually we did it naked together... I didn't wean you until you were four or five, I couldn't bear not having you suck my breasts... I started sucking your dickie for you — I don't know which of us enjoyed it more... we'd always get in the bath together, and afterwards I'd dry you, sitting on my naked lap while you played with my breasts... sometimes on a Sunday we'd spend all day naked, and we'd go to bed and you'd explore every inch of my body..."
My mother took a long drink of wine. "When — when you invited me out here, I thought that we might pick up where we'd left off..." She shrugged and smiled wanly. "But it seems you've got over me — no matter what I do, I can't even give you an erection any more..."
I stroked her shoulder, my mind in a whirl from what she'd told me, and not knowing what to say — or think. Then she smiled at me almost timidly.
"Darling — I know it's silly, but — but could I look at your dickie, just once more? Please?"
I hesitated a moment, then unzipped my trousers and took my cock out. I glanced at my mother, and saw her staring at my cock with a look of wonderment on her face.
"Dearest — it's — it's so beautiful!" she whispered.
Then, to my amazement, I heard my voice saying hoarsely: "Feel me, Mum!"
My mother caught her breath, and then gently took my cock in her hand. The touch of her soft fingers was incredible, and suddenly my cock started to harden. I tightened my arm round her, and then she had my rigid cock in both hands, fondling it lovingly, and trailing her thumb back and forth across its head. Suddenly she shook off my arm and slid off the couch to kneel between my legs, and started kissing my cock, saying "Oh! Oh!" repeatedly in a choked voice.
Her kisses increased in intensity, and then she began licking me, before briefly taking the head of my cock in her mouth and kissing it again, rotating her tongue round it and sucking it lightly. Then she ran her slightly parted lips up on down my shaft as if she was playing a harmonica. Soon her cheeks were wet with her own saliva, and she took my cock deep in her mouth, rubbing against the inside of first one of her cheeks and then the other. I heard her sobbing as she kissed and fondled me frenziedly, and I reached down and drew her up. She stared at me as if seeing me for the first time.
"Undress me, darling! Strip me naked! Please!"
I needed no urging. I took off her blouse and then her bra, freeing her magnificent breasts to swing as I unfastened her skirt, and then she got to her feet as I eased her flimsy panties down over her hips, and suddenly she was standing naked before me. I stared at her body, as I must have done scores, hundreds of times as a child.
"Mum — I can't explain it! It's as if I've been hypnotized — brainwashed — and I'm just waking up for the first time in years! Christ, I suddenly want you!"
"Take me then, dearest — fuck me!" my mother whispered, and I picked her up as effortlessly as if she were a feather and carried her into the bedroom. She watched me breathlessly as I stripped my clothes off, and then I ran my hands over her body, closely followed by my mouth. I kissed and sucked her breasts, licking her engorged rubbery nipples and crinkled aureoles, and I sank my teeth into her quivering belly before burying my face between her legs. I wanted to use my mouth on her, but that could wait — first, I needed to fuck her.
When my cock slipped into her, she cried out and gripped my arms, digging her nails into my flesh. I hardly noticed — feeling my cock in her vagina was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. I started to fuck her slowly — very slowly. I wanted this unbelievable feeling to last forever. We began kissing, again slowly at first, but then wetly, open-mouthed, our tongues fencing with each other, as I kneaded her soft, yielding breasts with their contrastingly rigid nipples, and our kiss intensified.
I had never imagined it could be like this — the feel of my mother's body beneath me, my hands roaming over her, my mouth on hers, and my cock deep inside her. Minutes went by, and then I knew I had to pump my semen into her, take her, ravish her, possess her. I started to ram my cock into her with increasing speed and force. She responded eagerly, arching her body to meet me and making little crying noises. I held back a little longer, but then suddenly my semen flooded into her in great spurts, and she screamed, clinging to me and kissing me wetly.
At last my loins emptied, but my cock remained hard, and I kept fucking her remorselessly until I erupted into her again. I think we were both semi-delirious, kissing and touching each other constantly, and saying how much we loved each other.
My mother looked at me adoringly. "Darling — even on my wedding day, if you'd said you wanted me I'd have never gone through with that bloody marriage. When you gave me away, all I could think of was you fucking me."
Suddenly I was angry at her for all those wasted years, and I slapped her face, hard. Her head jerked sideways. "Oh, yes..." she breathed, and I started to spank her as hard as I could. Then I used my belt on her, whipping her bottom until she turned over, and then I whipped her breasts. Finally she parted her legs and raised her hips, offering herself to the belt, and I whipped her vulva, but then I wanted to feel my hands on her body, and I slapped her until she collapsed limply, and then I fucked her again.
My mother used her beautiful mouth on me, sucking my cock frenziedly until my semen exploded against the back of her throat, choking her, and I slapped her face again.
She found a jar of Vaseline in the bathroom cabinet, and smeared it on my cock while I coated my fingers with it, and eased them into her backside until she was loose enough for me to insert my cock into her back passage and fuck her on her hands and knees, her breasts swinging under her as I fondled them, then slapped her bottom just before my semen spurted into her.
We finally fell asleep, but then I awoke to find her straddling me, my cock inside her once more, and she rose and lowered her body on my cock until yet again I ejaculated violently into her.
We fucked all the next day — I lost count of how many times. My mother took my cock between her breasts and used them to masturbate me until my semen spurted over her face... I fucked her bottom again, and she sucked me, and I fucked her again lying down, standing up, kneeling on all fours.
We decided to take a swim, but I couldn't keep my hands off her in the elevator, kissing her as I fondled her, and in the pool all I could do was look at her and touch her at every opportunity, and then we kissed again on the way back up to the apartment, and as soon as we were inside the door I tore her swimsuit off, followed by my trunks, and fucked her on the floor, unable to wait until we got to the bedroom.
Later, we went out onto the balcony in the hot, humid air, and I entered her from behind and fucked her as she braced her hands on the railing, her naked body gleaming in the moonlight and her breasts jerking with every thrust, not caring if anyone saw us.
The next few days were lost in a haze of sex, neither of us seeming able to get enough of each other, but then I told my mother that we had to talk about the future. She looked at me apprehensively, and I saw tears forming in her eyes.
"Does that mean - it's going to end, darling?" she whispered.
"It means we have to decide whether you're going to stay here with me permanently," I said, "or if I'm coming back to England with you. Either way, I'm going to keep fucking you!"