Incest/TabooMothers and Secrets
THIS STORY IS LONG. 112 pages on Word. If you prefer shorter stories, please skip this entry, and consider reading my "Finding Our Way" series, broken into easily consumable parts. Incest between a mother and her son should almost never be practiced in real life. But it's the kind of obscenity that I like to read and write about (as long as they are consenting adults.) I have other stories with no adultery, but this isn't one of them. Finally, my stories are slightly over the top in terms of character beauty, stamina and action. If you are comfortable with these caveats, then I hope you will enjoy this story.
Please post a response about the story. Honesty is respected, but cruelty isn't. As long as you're thinking about response, please vote (be generous if you can.) I'm slow responding to the comments, but I will respond to all comments by those who post with a moniker. If you comment anonymously, it's a coin toss whether I'll respond to what you say.
Extra special thanks to sddconst for his thorough and swift editing.
On one long drive of a vacation trip I had the first page of "All Mom's Love" by Sonatatre on my tablet. Only that first Literotica page of this tale could be read until I reached my next hotel. I had many hours in the car after I'd finished to mull over what the author had built. I dreamed what I might hope would follow. Elements from other stories mixed their way in.
Even after I read the "real" remainder of the story, I still wanted to write my alternate universe.
Mothers and Secrets
By Only Fiction
…he is coming home from college…I will need support…coping…he ever had any idea what his mother wants to do with him; how I yearn…
From a post by MadMommy1980 five weeks ago
Patricia's well-manicured blond eyebrow rose, floating away from her crystal blue eye. "Do you mean, hypothetically?"
Grant knew Patricia could be literal-minded. They'd worked together as trainers for five months at the gym. He'd figured her literal way of thinking and talking could make them a good match.
"Uhm," he stammered. "Okay. Yeah. Sure. Hypothetically. What if you and I went out some time? Hypothetically."
He'd never been good at the sort of flowery language he imagined most women wanted.
Outside of the rumor-fueled dating spurt of his senior year of high school, Grant had never been able to get a date. For a few weeks the girls had pursued him to verify the stories they'd traded about him — that he was well hung. Several 48-hour-girlfriends agreed it was true, but their developing bodies were not ready to handle his length or girth. He'd never inspired anyone to keep dating him. He couldn't catch their interest with words. He'd always been a clear communicator, but he guessed they wanted more clever patter.
"I guess it depends on where. And also it would depend on why we were going there." Patricia, a slim hard-muscled twenty-something with straight blond hair and cornflower blue eyes, seemed to have no need for pretty talk.
Deep down, Grant knew he had the right stuff physically to attract a straight woman: long muscled arms, strong thighs and calves, broad shelves of pectoral muscles framed by broader hard shoulders. He had abdominal muscles so well defined, each cast it's own shadow. But Grant was inexperienced. Patricia's mind clashed with his meek approach.
"Well. Um." The young trainer could feel his face flush. "We could…"
Patricia raised her hand and closed her eyes. "No! Never mind. It probably doesn't matter." Grant nearly swallowed his tongue. "No matter where or why, I guess it would be okay. You and I work together pretty well. I'm sure if you and I were out somewhere, we'd manage it okay."
The young man was dumbfounded. Was she really this literal minded? Or was she stupid? Maybe she was blowing him off in a particularly devious way. Trying to clarify would just make her look stupid or superior. He wasn't interested in either.
He made a smile weaker than grandmother's tea. "I guess you're right, Patricia. You've given me something to think about."
His pretty colleague shone a gleaming smile in response. "Cool."
Grant didn't bother to check for sincerity.
I have read and reread the thoughts posted by DrBabyRuthie777, specifically how a son expresses gratitude for life by gratifying his mother…. like the idea… embracing and entering the giver of his life is entering and embracing life itself… a natural extension of sexual growth? …hint of dominance over her son… seems typical of negative stereotypes…
…I reflect on my son… that he could be grateful to me does not give me the most satisfaction. I am most proud of how I have served him from the very start… life and development is credited to me only insofar as I cared for, supported and guided him… a kind of service that always filled me with joy… would DBR777 say it is unnatural? …didn't raise him to be my servant! …he could be in charge.
from MadMommy1980's response to DrBabyRuthie777's post, "Mom on Top: The Natural Place"
"For one thing, Grant," Madeline told her son. "You could have said, 'Then let's go out on a date tonight. I'm sure we'll manage to have an okay time too!' Something clear and direct."
"I know. I know, Mom." Grant leaned back into the living room 2-seater sofa and dug his fingers into his thick unwashed brown hair. "Her bizarre answer threw me. I…Y'know what?"
"I didn't want to go out with her after that answer."
"Good!" Madeline blew an equally brown and thick lock of hair from her own forehead in exasperation. "That little twit doesn't deserve a night out with you."
"Woah! Harsh!" Grant started to laugh. His mother disliked every girl who'd ever gotten close to his heart. In earlier times he'd found it shocking and worrying. But today it cracked him up. Her venomous loathing of the girls back in high school had gotten him through the rapid fire string of heart breaks they'd given him a few years ago. To see it poured out over Patricia and her silly responses tickled him.
Madeline crossed her arms in a huff. She leaned over to crash her soft right shoulder into Grant's big hard left upper arm. "Ouch." Her crossness mixed with a giggle at her own silliness.
"Patricia didn't do anything to me. I just asked her out –"
"After agonizing about her for weeks."
"I admit I took a day or two to get my nerve up, but it wasn't weeks."
"Whatever," the mother mumbled to her shoulder.
"She gave an oddball answer. At worst it was a twisted attempt at letting me down easy. At best she showed that doesn't have — " Grant struggled to finish the sentence.
"A fucking clue?" the jealous mother growled.
"Wow. You really have a problem with this girl? You've never even met her, Mom. You can relax anyway. That's done."
Madeline turned away from her son so he couldn't see her naked possessive relief. Patricia was out of the picture. It may not have been weeks. It felt like months of Grant talking and worrying about precious Patricia. She knew she was overreacting. But the idea of some dingbat girly turning her nose up to someone like Grant! It was maddening.
She took a steadying breath, and said, "I guess you're right." The emotional mommy plastered on a warm smile and turned it to face her no-longer-little man. "I'll try to be more open to the next one you choose. Just remember that most women want a man to be assertive. That doesn't mean you should be aggressive. She — whoever she ends up being — also won't want someone overbearing like your father."
"No," Grant answered, soft and solemn. He had heard late night arguments when he'd returned from University. But they'd died down after just a week. His mother got sad for a while. His father, Gabe, often indulged a mean sort of play that prickled with demeaning humor. Other times he flared with anger. "I'm not gonna be like Dad."
"Just say what you want. Plain and honest," Madeline said into his eyes. Both mother and son had gray eyes with a touch of blue. "Smile when you tell her you're taking her out." She stroked her hair. It was identical in color and thickness to Grant's, but longer; down to her shoulders. She stood up, and Grant could see the lovely figure that his mother had once rocked.
Maybe it was his work as a trainer that made him notice. All she needs is a regular workout and a healthier diet, and she'd… "What?"
"I'm serious, Grant," she said when she saw his attention drifting. She crossed her arms, and looked at the couch cushion she'd just vacated. "She doesn't deserve you. You look a woman in the eye and tell her you want to do something with her. If she hesitates or doesn't seem to get what she's just been offered, move on. I promise there's better out there; a woman who can appreciate you. If she jumps up with a smile, and she knows how to enjoy what you have to offer…well then…" she sniffed. "Then that would be alright."
Grant stood and wrapped his big arms around his mother. "Aw, Mom! You don't ever have to worry. You'll always be my favorite girl!" Madeline shivered in her sons embrace. He assumed it was surprise at his sudden movement. When they pulled apart, Grant said, "Now that I think of it, I think I'm assertive when I'm training clients." He frowned in thought. "But only when I'm wearing that particular hat."
"Well, use that next time, sweetheart. Act like Mr. Training Guy when you want to be assertive." She traced his bristly cheek. "You'll be irresistible." Two heartbeats passed in silent thought. "Well," Madeline finally said. "I'm going up to my room to get some work done. They only let me do some of my work from home as long as I actually get work done. Try not to disturb me for the next couple hours. And if you must disturb…"
"I know," answered Grant. "Knock and wait first."
No, you are right. I don't think I will ever be able to confess to my son. Nevertheless, I'm going to pass on your offer. I'm married, for what little my husband is worth. I don't have plans to sleep around outside of my own house (I'm sure you take my meaning.)
No offense taken. No harm done.
Direct message sent 13 months ago
There would be no need to knock and wait the next afternoon. Madeline had to work at the office on Tuesdays until five or six, so there was no question of disturbing her when Grant entered his parents' bedroom.
Most of his life, the 'rents room was off limits. He had no interest in going in there anyway. But his father, Gabe, had called.
"Thank fuck you get Tuesday's off," he'd growled. "I need you to find a manila folder marked 'Hudson Group' and there will be a nine digit code written under the name. Check the kitchen table." It was not there. "Try the mini-office. If it's in there, it'll be right on top." Grant could find no such file on the modest desk in the tiny space set off from the living room. His father snarled frustration and impatience. "Shit. Go up to my room. I need that folder."
Grant stumbled at this. By and large, Madeline had been a permissive mother; especially over the last few years. Most days, there was nothing he could do wrong. Nothing he did upset her. There was one exception. Three summers ago Grant had walked into her room unannounced to tell her he was home early. Madeline had slammed her laptop shut with a crash, and jumped out of her chair. Her face was beet red, and she'd shrieked. "Ohmygod! What are you doing in here!? Get out! GET OUT!" He'd shrunk back, terrified at a side of his mother he'd never seen. "Never just walk into my room like that," Madeline had hollered. Grant slammed the door behind him to cover his retreat. But through the door, the outraged mother was loud and clear. "NEVER!"
Later that day, his mom had sat with her son. She'd spoken to him with a trembling voice, barely able to contain herself. Grant was to never enter her room without her explicit permission and presence. How many times since had Madeline drummed the strict prohibition into her son?
Grant didn't mention his hesitation to Gabe. His father was panicked and irate and would tolerate no delays. The young man sprinted up the stairs, two at a time, and entered the domain his mother had long forbidden.
The king-size bed stood with its headboard against the center of the wall opposite the door. There was ample space on either side. On the side to Grant's left was a low dark-brown oak dresser surrounded by his father's mess: a half-open briefcases, dirty socks, tissues (used and unused) and stacks of papers. Tracking farther to the left was the entrance to the en suite bathroom. To Grant's right was another world altogether. There was a tall pale dresser made of beech. The floor was clear of debris. This left space for his mother's modest white computer table, supporting nothing but her blinking laptop.
Grant ducked to the left. "Is it in one of these briefcases, or should I look in these stacks of paper," he asked his father.
"Just the briefcases," his father snarled into his ear. "Those stacks are from months ago. The Hudson Group file will be in a briefcase if it's in there."
Grant searched with as much speed and care as he could. "Sorry, Dad. Nothing like that in here."
"Shit. Shit! SHIT!" Gabe sounded like he was in physical pain. "I guess I'll have to tear apart the whole…wait…" Grant sat back on his heels and listened. "My car!" cried the voice on the phone. "The fucking thing's in the * click *." So ended the call.
The twenty-something son stood up, and turned to the door. He took two steps across the carpet when he heard a woman's raspy voice.
"Uhh-Oh!" she cooed in a playful tone. Grant looked around. The sound had come from his mother's laptop. The idea that his mother would use such a sultry voice as her message notification surprised him. He crossed the room to raise the screen and see what service she'd assigned the "Uhh-Oh!" notification tone.
It wasn't Facebook.
It took him a few minutes to be clear exactly what he was looking at.
"Holy shit," he mumbled.
New Message! From BoysMommaKrstn
Subject: Response to your post, "Ding Dong The Stupid Little bitch is gone!"
Today at 1:32 PM
My situation is a bit different from yours. But I saw your post the other day about how you are coping with your son trying to date some pinhead from his work. It resonates with me because my son is starting to date a woman from his job as well. His pinhead said, "Yes!" 🙁
They're going on their first date tonight! Since reading your post, I've been devouring as many of your words as I could find.
Congratulations, by the way! It sounds like you dealt with it very well! Your sneaky-yet-honest method sounds interesting, but I don't think it would work for me and my young man.
Not only did Sonny (not his name) get the date he sought, but he and I have already been through the looking glass. We had an incredible week — the best in my life — of cramming every spare moment with exploration of one another in every way. But then he did pretty much what you've always been afraid of your son doing: He freaked out. He insisted that we had to end things and see other people. He hounded me into accepting a date with a man my own age. I'm supposed to see the guy tomorrow.
Right now my son is getting ready to take some other woman on a date that should be with me!
I know you will understand: There's no way she can appreciate him like I do. There's no way she will be able to please and satisfy him like I can. There's no chance he will fit her like he fit inside me that beautiful week!
I don't know that I can trust in that knowledge like you have, Mads. I think he will settle for less with some slag from work, even if he knows he can have it so much better with me…because it's "wrong" to be with me.
I'm not sure I can submit to his judgment like you can with your son. My Sonny's will seems to have overwhelmed his judgment.
Any thoughts or suggestions would be welcome!
The revelation that his mother was on a mother-son incest forum nearly put him on his ass. He was too stunned to know how he felt about it. But he had noticed the reference to being "sneaky-yet-honest." She was keeping huge secrets. He needed more time. More information to process it all and decide what to do. He'd adopt Mom's "sneaky" approach for now. And, like her, he'd decide how "honest" to be once he had a clear picture and a clear head.
Grant had a few hours to copy all the access information. It was plenty of time, since the laptop was logged into the incest forum as well as her e-mail. After reading the message from BoysMommaKrstn, he marked it unread. He noticed that Madeline had a password manager, but she kept the password to the manager itself on an index card in the center drawer. It was not difficult to remember "LoveGrantMyLove." He left the laptop as he'd found it, and retreated to his own laptop in his bedroom.
Madeline had been active in this strange community for years. She'd written long responses to other members' posts. She'd composed thoughts and reflections of her own. She'd occasionally entered into debates on preferred roles of mothers and sons.
Some of her earliest posts wrestled with the questions about which feelings and actions would or would not be natural. But later she seemed to move on from that. Grant found a post from eight months ago in which she poked holes in the idea that "natural" is the same thing as "right" or "moral." many members of the community chimed in on that one. The thread went on for several pages.
There were ongoing direct message conversations; mostly with women who wanted or were actively involved in intense sexual relationships with their sons. A few were sons already bedding their mothers. The sons usually fell into two camps: First, encouraging her to take a leap and confess everything to Grant. Second, inviting her to join into the mix with them and their families. Madeline never took either of these options.
The mothers seemed to have more to offer. Photos of themselves and their sons in various states of dress and sexual poses. They offered testimonials, a broad variety of kinks and fetishes. Most important, many offered sympathy and support.
In the last hour before Madeline's return from work, he came across references to several even more surprising themes (as if the theme of her wanting to worship his naked body with her own wasn't surprise enough.) Among other things, Madeline mentioned being lost in daydreams about her son. She wouldn't know what to do if something ever really happened. Would she take the opportunity or freak out? She described Grant's father as even more cruel and dismissive than he'd seen. She wrote that she suspected Gabe of cheating. But she followed the thought with the statement, "I can't manage to feel any moral outrage. I'd leap at the chance to submit to my own 'forbidden' interest." There was often that theme of wanting to submit. She dreamed of being a passive, almost submissive, partner to Grant.
He wondered if his mother had posted any photos. He'd been through a tenth of the material to be found, but his time was up.
"Heeeey! I'm hoooome!" The one woman who had known him since the day of his birth called from downstairs. Was her tone playful? Flirtatious? Grant's head was swimming from reading so much about his mother's sexual hunger.
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