Incest/TabooMemories of Matt
Authors Note: For a long time I have wanted to explore the idea of a Mom having sex with her son from the mother's point-of-view. What series of events would it take for a mother to allow herself to break that taboo and to truly give herself over to the carnal joy of sex with her son? This story is my take on one way that might happen.
Oh, and one more little detail. I recently read in the forums that readers of these kinds of stories do not especially like when the mother enjoys anal sex. I'm not sure that I believe that. While I realize that anal isn't for everyone (hence this heads-up), I think her relationship to anal sex adds to the story. Okay, enough! On with the show!
Memories of Matt
From a stray dish inside the sink to vanishing leftovers from the refrigerator, finding evidence of her son's continued presence felt more common than actually seeing him. Opening the dryer door, Marjorie found it filled with her son's clothes. "Simon" she cried out, exasperated at the discovery. Of course, there was no reply. There seldom was. Even if he was home, chances were that he would be wearing headphones while playing computer games with his online friends.
She couldn't remember hearing his hoots of victory or cries of defeat. She called out to him once more before pulling his clothes from the dryer. He was so bad about starting his laundry and not finishing it.
With the laundry basket parked on her hip, she walked down the hallway thinking that she should just dump his clothes on his unmade bed. When she reached his bedroom door, she called out to him once more without an answer. Since starting college, he spent so little time at home that catching an actual Simon-sighting felt as rare as seeing a cardinal visiting the backyard bird feeder.
With no reason to knock, before she opened the door she braced herself to expect the usual cluttered mess inside his room instead of seeing him. She expected to see a desk lined with empty energy drinks, an unmade bed, and clothes that needed to visit the laundry scatter across the floor. She inhaled for the inevitable sigh she would release upon seeing the mess before swinging open the door to something very unexpected to go along with the usual clutter.
Simon stood staring at his computer, nude from head-to-toe and clutching something to his face, although that last part took a moment for her notice as her eyes fell immediately on the sight of his long, hard cock and his furiously pumping hand.
Instead of being released as a sign, Marjorie's deep breath of air came out as a swear. "Oh fuck!" Marjorie exclaimed, marking the very first time in Simon's twenty years of life that he had heard her use that particular swear word.
Gravity happened faster than her next reaction as the basketful of clothes fell from her hip, spilling across the floor and blocking the doorway. Recognizing that she had caught her son during the most personal and private moments possible, she tried pulling the door closed as she backed away, except the upturned basket and pile of clean clothes prevented the door from closing.
Close, damn it! her brain screamed as she kept pulling on the door, trying as hard as she could to restore his privacy and shut out the sight in front of her. She couldn't take her eyes off of his nudity, his full erection, his pumping fist held loosely around his big cock, and whatever it was he held up to his face. Finally giving up on the misbehaving door, she backed away and darted down the hallway towards the living room and the rest of the house. Anywhere but there. Anywhere out of sight of her son in his moment of self-pleasure.
She made it as far as the kitchen before slowing to a stop at the sink. She saw the dirty dishes head left in the sink for the dishwashing fairy, also known as Mom. Clutching the lip of the sink, she slowly shook her head while trying to delete the image of her nude son from her mind. She felt horrible for him. What could be worse than getting caught doing that by your Mom?
"Being the Mom and catching your son jerking off?" She shrugged away the thought as quickly as it had occurred to her. She wasn't offended by what he was doing.
"Because you liked it." She canceled that thought, dismissing it as offensive while smiling at how hard she had tried to pull his door shut all while staring at him.
Another damning thought flickered through her head before she dismissed it. "He sure has a nice one, doesn't he?"
She felt herself blushing. How dare she even think something like that! As she tried to chase away those crazy, impure thoughts, she puzzled over what he had been doing with his other hand. What had he held pressed against his face?
"Mom!" came Simon's mournful howl from down the hall. Was he calling out to her?
"I didn't see anything!" she called back, lying her ass off as she kept thinking about the light blue swatch of fabric against his face. It had looked lacy and vaguely familiar. In horror, she slowly realized those were her panties!
Suddenly feeling lightheaded and a little queasy, she clung to the cool metal of her sink, holding herself up despite suddenly weak knees as the rest of it occurred to her. Those were yesterday's panties! The edges of the world felt dark, as if looking down a tunnel or through an empty roll of paper towels. She felt her head spin without moving and gripped the sink still tighter. This was crazy!
"Bullshit!" Simon called back so loud that he could have been in the next room. Her eyes darted back the way she came, through the dining room and towards the opening to the hallway that led to his room, her room, and the spare bathroom.
"I swear I didn't," she called back as the deep breath of yelling back to him helped to calm her. She no longer felt weak-kneed and the world wasn't collapsing in on itself despite how fast her brain continued to work.
Yesterday's thong, her brain taunted, recognizing the cloth he had held pressed up against his face. Yesterday's used, dirty thong. As if that wasn't bad enough, her mind's eye was kind enough to serve up a captured image of how he had had the inner cotton liner pressed against his face, right against his nose and mouth.
Marjorie felt a new emotion rising inside of her to replace the shock and surprise of seeing her son naked (and hard). She felt the shock of being violated. Simon had stolen those panties from her. To get them, he would have had to go into her room (Violation #1), into the hamper next to the closet (Violation #2), and fished around to find them beneath the rest of her clothes (Violation #3). A funny sensation of anger and indignation filled her as she realized he had stolen from her.
Although voices carried well through-out their small house, she hated communicating by yelling. She broke the rule when yelling, "Were those my panties?"
"No!" he called back, except she didn't believe him. She knew what she had seen.
"Yes they were!" she hollered back, already on the march as if she had caught him using her good sewing scissors for a craft project. Her anger grew with every step, overriding any sense of impropriety over catching him in the very private moment of self-pleasure. When she reached the hallway, she saw him leaning out of his doorway still trying to free trapped clothes from beneath his door. "Give them to me," she demanded, no longer caring if he was naked, hard, or anything else. "Right this instant!"
"Mom! I'm still naked," he said, recoiling from the door hung up on a pair of jeans wedged between the bottom of the door.
"And you don't have a damn thing I haven't seen before," she said, ignoring his nudity. What she meant was that he didn't have anything she hadn't seen before on other men. After all, she had once been married to his father. And his father had been far from her first lover or her last one.
"I'm still fucking hard," he groaned, backing away from the doorway, hands crossed over his privates to hide his erection. The only thing he wore were the headphones hanging around his neck with the curly cord stretched nearly straight as it reached all the way back to his speakers.
"Oh, big fucking deal," she said, scanning his room for her panties. "Where are they?"
"My fucking panties," she spat at him, finding it much easier to swear now that they had both used it. "You stole those from me and I want them back!" She followed the black line of the headphone cord to this desk.
"They're not yours," he lied and that pissed her off even more.
"Bullshit!" she cried, spying her panties sitting on his desktop where porn still played on his computer. Ignoring him, she marched towards her panties, pulling the nuisance cord out of her way. The cord came free of his speakers and sprang back towards him. As she reached for her panties, she caught a glimpse of his preferred porn and heard it, too.
"That's a good boy. Make Mommy happy," said the naked female performer to the naked man fucking her. With just a glance, she saw the age difference between the two performers. While there surely weren't enough years between them for the man and woman to be mother and son, there was enough of a distance to show the age gap.
The woman on the screen looked close to forty. My age, was how Marjorie's mind had interpreted it along with making the observation, Except, I'm probably in better shape than she is. The female actor clearly had big, fake tits, wore too much lipstick, and could stand to lose about twenty pounds.
The guy pretending to be the son looked close to thirty. She vaguely recognized the guy from other porn vids she had seen and wasn't that impressed by him because he looked like a stuck up jock.
"I'm going to make you feel so good, Mommy." the male performer said as he worked his cock between his co-star's legs with the practiced ease of a seasoned professional.
"Mommy?" Marjorie grunted, snatching up her panties and trying hard not to notice how wet they felt as if Simon had been doing more than breathing on them. "What the hell kind of porn are you watching?"
"Mom!" her son groaned. "That's none of your business." He made a play for shutting the lid of his laptop which meant pulling one hand away from his crotch. She caught a glimpse of his hard-on.
"Fuck it, enjoy yourself," she said, turning her back on him. When she reached the door, she paused and pulled his jeans out from beneath the door. "And pick up your room when you're done."
As she felt the dampness of her panties inside her clenched fist, she released them and carried them by the elastic as she returned them to her room and the hamper in the corner. "What the hell had he been doing with those?" she wondered without trying to think too much too far past how they felt. "Was he sucking on them?" She tossed them on top of the second load of laundry sitting in front of her clothes hamper.
Refusing to think about seeing her son nude (and hard!) or his choice of porn, she retraced her steps past his now-closed door, through their tiny dining room and the kitchen. Before all this had started, she had wanted to move her wet clothes from the washer to the dryer. After doing that mindless task, she realized she should have grabbed the rest of her clothes, too. Remaining focused on the mindless chore, she went back to her room.
"Wet," she thought as she walked past his door again. "Wet from sucking on them?" Nothing else made sense. She forced herself to consider an alternative. Maybe he had already had an orgasm. Maybe he had cum inside her panties. Was that better or worse? And, if he had had an orgasm inside her panties, then why would he have had them up to his face? It didn't make sense so she shut out the idea as too taboo to consider.
Marjorie dumped her small load of clothes into the washer taking just a brief moment to see if her pretty blue panties included the creaminess from a load of cum. Instead, they simply looked wet, as if someone had drooled on them. That made her feel funny and she blocked it out, too. She didn't need to think about her son jerking off. She certainly didn't need to think about him jerking off to her panties. If he had done that, what did it mean?
. . . make Mommy happy.
Porn could be so weird sometimes. Why would anyone want to watch something like that? And why would her son want to watch it?
She blocked it out again. If they were going to eat supper together, she would need to lay something out. She moved over to the freezer, found a package of hamburger, and tossed it in the sink. If she filled the sink with water, it would thaw out in plenty of time for her to decide what to make with it. She considered chili-mac as easy to make and one of Simon's favorites. While the sink filled, she wondered if he would still be home for dinner. If he wasn't going to be home, then she would make something she liked and something she could use as leftovers, too.
Still feeling like she was moving through a fog of uncertainty, she drifted into the living room and sat in her favorite chair. She hadn't planned on turning on the TV, then again, she couldn't remember having a different plan, either. She needed something to distract her mind from what she had seen.
Her eyes were aimed at the TV while her brain kept serving up pictures of her naked son and his hard cock. She kept changing the channel, hoping something else would grab her attention and replace noticing that Simon was in very good shape. While her ex-husband had been a jerk, they had still produced a good looking son.
In her mind's eye, she kept seeing his hard dick. She couldn't seem to block it out. Simon had a very nice sized hard cock. She saw his hand furiously pumping on his prick, urging himself ever closer to an orgasm. Damn, she liked watching a guy do that, she always had. There was just something so primal about watching a man pleasuring himself.
She kept changing the channel past commercials. It did nothing to stop her mind from thinking about Simon's cock. His long, glorious looking cock and swaying balls. She paused. Had his balls been swaying or had they been pulled up tight to his body in anticipation of an orgasm? No, they had been swaying back and forth. Swaying a lot as she remembered from the energy of him pulling so hard on his big, long cock.
"And what the fuck was he doing with my panties?"
Her blue thong had been pressed against his face. The crotch of them. The nastiest part of her old underwear, even if she kept herself clean down there. Was he that desperate for a girlfriend? Did he need some pussy that damn bad?
She tried to remember Simon's last date. He went through girlfriends faster than running shoes and he wore-out a pair of running shoes every two or three months. She had known her son was what they used to call "a player." A true Don Juan, she had given up on trying to track the name of his current girlfriend until he brought her home to meet Mom, which didn't happen often.
Most girls could do a lot worse than Simon, although none of them had a hope of tying him down. Eternally restless, Simon needed variety in his life. Still, as long as a girl knew his reputation, as long as she understood he was there for a good time and not a long time, they would be fine.
He was probably a good lover. She had seen the hero-worship in the eyes of his lovers, how they couldn't keep their hands off of him. She knew first hand that a man didn't earn that sort of affection without being able to make a woman very happy in the bedroom.
Marjorie remembered dating a man like that in college. Matt had been funny, kind, handsome, and sexy as hell. While Marjorie became just another notch in his bedpost, but she had never regretted it because Matt had made her feel sexy, too. Yes, he could pleasure her beyond expectations. More importantly, he had taught her how that pleasure had nothing to do with shame. That was the hard part, letting go of the shame that having a good time could somehow be wrong.
For Matt, she would do anything and had, including her first threesome with another woman, her first threesome with two men, and so much more. For three months in her sophomore year, she had given herself to him in every sense of the word, no hole was off-limits, no sexual request felt out of bounds.
Recalling the raw sexuality of that relationship made her squirm as she recalled his suggestion that she should stop wearing bras, ever, including to class, because her breasts were too perfect to cover in bondage. Then he had convinced her to go without panties, including while wearing a skirt or a dress because he liked running his hand up her thighs and teasing her. She would never forget the excitement she would feel whenever he would put his hand beneath her skirt and finger her just to watch her squirm.
With kind words and playfulness, Matt had transformed her into a wanton slut, willing to do anything to please him because it had brought her so much pleasure. She had become such a bad girl she had no longer recognized herself. It wasn't until she spent the summer away from him that she had reclaimed her center. A small part of her still pined for him. Now on the wrong side of forty years old, she would give anything to find a man who could make her feel that way again.
Like Matt, Simon seemed to have an endless supply of girlfriends. Like Matt, Simon's girlfriends worshipped him, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings. With a jolt, it occurred to her that she was still thinking about her son.
She recalled one of the few times Simon had brought home a girl to meet her. The cute little blonde stood on the far side of the breakfast counter, chatting away while Marjorie chopped veggies until Simon had moved next to her and she seemed flustered. As the poor girl's face flushed, Marjorie caught the subtle motion of her son's shoulder and realized Simon was groping her from behind. That was such a Matt thing to do!
Of course, her son was hypersexualized. All men his age were and so were most women. People talk about the frustrations of that initial hormone flood when you're a teen, but that's nothing compared to the lust and thrill you felt once you had some experience behind you. In her very early twenties, Marjorie had been more of a horn-dog than at any other point in her life. She always blamed Matt, but in her heart, she knew he had benefited from her secret desires to explore every aspect of her lust.
Marjorie glanced over her shoulder at the empty hallway. Could she risk heading to her room for a quick thrill? She thought about her toy drawer and considered how good it would feel to fill the ache between her legs with a big dildo or press a buzzing buddy against her aching clit. Except that would require her to walk past his room again. And walking past his room might trigger thinking about seeing him naked, hard, holding his big cock while pressing her panties to his face . . .
What the fuck was up with those panties?
And why was he jerking off to that kind of porn?
"Had he gone back to it and finished?" she wondered, unable to push away the thought. "Did he watch the rest of his video? Had he pulled and jerked on his big cock until it sprayed across the room?" She hated her thoughts. "What did he do when he came? If she hadn't interrupted him, would he have orgasmed inside her panties? How many times had he done that?"
Thanks to Matt, Marjorie understood being kinky. She understood the pull of the taboo. She had felt the thrill of flashing strangers and putting herself out there like a cheap slut. She knew what it was like lust so hard that she would do anything to relieve the painful need for release.
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