Editor's note: this submission contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sexual situations.
*
I was eighteen when my father, who had been diagnosed with cancer, had to give up work, resulting in him being home all day, much to mom's displeasure. Throwing his weight about, giving her orders, he virtually doubled her work load by expecting her to run around after him. Two years later he was confined to bed causing his demeanor to deteriorate further, continually shouting and upsetting her, and again increasing mom's work load. I was twenty when I realized the kitchen was mom's comfort zone, where she would hide away from my father's nagging, and where I could console her. I would wrap my arms around her waist, pull her close and nuzzle her neck while I told her how wonderful she was and how much I loved her. It was when I pressed myself up against her body that I started having sexual thoughts about this woman. Even though she wore drab and shabby clothes I recognized the sensual body and outstanding breasts concealed beneath.
She became the object of my fantasies, even asleep she dominated my subconscious, becoming the heroine of my dreams. In my fantasies, she never rejected my advances, allowing me to undress her, kiss and cuddle, explore her body and accept all my sexual ministrations. Sometimes I fantasized that after sucking her large plum size nipples I would tie them together so that I could work myself off between her tits. She would perform oral sex on me sucking, until I shot my load in her mouth. I would often dream about making love to her, shooting my seed into her womb. Occasionally I would even dream about taking her from behind to use her ass. In my fantasies I would force her naked body across my lap and give her a good spanking. After a while, providing she was still in that position I would slip and work my finger inside her causing her to have an orgasm.
Mother was not a forceful person in fact she was rather a timid soul, she had no friends or family apart from me and my father and rarely left the house. The majority of her day would be spent in the kitchen, away from my father, and would only go shopping if I accompanied her. It almost had a semblance of a nineteenth century household with a master overseeing a skivvy, with Jennifer being submissive and dominated by my father almost dictatorially. He ordered her around, even cruel at times, verbally that is. I never saw him abuse her physically but that wasn't to say he didn't, there were never any bruises to be seen on her face, arms or legs, as for the rest of her body I couldn't say. Although one night when I arrived home very late I could hear my father shouting at my mother. He wanted her to do something, I couldn't say what, and from the sound of it he threatened to pull her hair. He must have grabbed it and started pulling, because she screamed begging him to stop, I heard him shout at her telling her to be quiet.
Mother didn't drive and with my father confined to his bed she relied on me to take her wherever she wanted to go. Each week I would look forward in driving her to the mall, knowing it would be just the two of us alone in the car, even if it was for only twenty minutes just to take her shopping. Men would give her a brief glance then turn away, their interest becoming distracted elsewhere, unable to see the goddess beneath her shabby exterior. Because of my feelings for her I found it difficult to form a lasting relationship with other women, but was unable to tell her how I felt. I was twenty one and running a successful business from my office at home, when one day mother called to me.
"Scott your father would like a word with you."
She followed me into the bedroom; although my father was confined to bed he still chastised her.
"Jen did I ask for you to join us? I only need to talk to Scott, so get out and close the door behind you."
Father knew he was dying and didn't have much longer to live. He called me into his bedroom to instruct me how he thought I should look after my mother after his demise, which basically was how he treated her. Although I listened to his rhetoric, I had already made plans about my mother's future ensuring she wouldn't remain in her bed alone for very long.
He died several weeks later, my mother was upset but not heart broken. Since my father had taken to his bed, my life and behavior had been deliberately geared to ensure that my mother was reliant on me. She would say that I was the perfect son doing everything she asked driving her around, managing the garden and cleaning the pool. I continued to console her, flatter her, telling her how beautiful she was, and how much I loved her, while increasing the physical contact between us. Depending on our situation, as we talked I would place a hand on her shoulder, her arm, even the top of her thigh if we were sitting close to each other. She enjoyed my attention; it was more than my father ever gave her.
My plan was to allow my mother three months to mourn my father's death, during which I assumed his role of running the household, paying the bills and taking her shopping. Generally controlling her life, but in a nice way. As I explained, my mother was a submissive, and my father called her stupid because she couldn't organize herself or the house. He would write out a lists of daily chores she needed to carry out, check the items on her shopping list, crossing off any items he didn't think we needed. Of course over time mother only got worse. I refused to write out a list of household chores, if things continually got missed it would be mentioned casually in conversation. At first she would ask me to check the shopping list but that practice was gradually allowed to lapse, and if during the week she ran out of money, unless it was urgent, she just had to go without. By the end of the three months she had become more organized.
The last Saturday, three months after my father died I had arranged to take her out to dinner in the evening to a restaurant in another town, some two hours' drive, far enough away to avoid people we knew. I thought it would be the perfect setting as it was especially known for its romantic ambience, a dance floor and live band. My mother's wardrobe was shabby and old fashion, so I decided that she should have new clothes. As expected she really didn't want any new clothes, being quite content with her current wardrobe. However, I insisted that for an evening at the restaurant she needed new clothes. Two weeks before our date I suggested that we look on the internet to get some idea of what was available and suitable for the occasion. Even before we started I knew that our ideas for the style of dress she should wear were miles apart. As you can probably imagine my ideas were for a tight fitting, low cut dress to show off a little cleavage of her voluptuous breasts, and short, with the hem above the knee to show off her legs. Mother on the other hand started picking out high necked maxi length dresses. Fortunately she was still sufficiently timid for me to insist she needed modern new clothes, and eventually after wearing her down I got my own way.
We scanned the web sites discussing the pros and cons of the dresses until, what I thought was the perfect dress for her. She almost fainted when she saw the dress I finally picked out, having previously warned her there would be no discussion on the matter; she would wear what I chose. Her acceptance of the situation went better than I expected, although she did make the comment about them having a dress in her size and would it fit. I pointed to the form whereby the purchaser can submit their measurements to get the perfect fit. Now we were approaching an unexpected bonus in my life. When mother said that she cannot measure herself I offered to measure her and suggested that she go upstairs, get a tape measure, take off her dress, and return wearing only bra and panties. The look of shock on her face was priceless, and when she suggested that it was inappropriate, I asked the question what was the difference to wearing a bikini on a beach? The fact that mom never wears a bikini seemed to escape her, but she wandered upstairs muttering that it didn't seem right to stand in front of her son scantily dressed.
When she walked back into the sitting room, her hands were strategically placed over the more sensitive parts of her body. My initial thoughts were she needs new lingerie; although that's not strictly true, my initial thoughts were, look at the size of those tits. It was obvious that she was terribly embarrassed standing before me, but I acted nonchalantly as if it was an everyday event when actually I was boiling over inside. Having shown her the details of the form copied to a sheet of paper I took the tape measure from her hand. For the length of the dress I measured from the middle of her shoulder to a point about two inches above the knee, she thought it was too short, never having worn anything that short before.
Her blushes made her look so sensuous when I told her she would look wonderful, and the dress fantastic on her. Next I measured her waist which was a pretty nothing thing to do, although I did manage to slip my fingers under the waist band of her panties. Kneeling down to measure her hips I wrapped my arms around her to position the tape, while pressing my cheek against her panties breathing in her aroma, allowing my lips to rest against the upper part of her pubic mound. Measuring her bust size was for me the most exciting part of all. Placing the tape behind her I pressed my chest against her breasts. When bringing the tape to the front to complete the circle, I ensured my fingers brushed up against her nipples, as their shape was clearly defined beneath her bra. Unfortunately the tape kept slipping off and I had to hold the tape against her breasts to complete the measurements.
The thing which surprised me the most was the fact that while I was enjoying myself positioning the tape to measure her breasts, her nipples became hard and enlarged, increasing in size quite considerably. Just for devilment, and to let her know that I was checking out her body I mentioned the fact of how her nipples reacted. This time when she blushed it was not only her face that changed color, but her neck and shoulders also. She grabbed the tape and almost ran out of the room.
I inserted her measurements into the website's form and ordered three dresses. Eventually she came down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. Several minutes elapsed before I went to join her and as I entered, she was standing at the work surface with her back to me.
"I think we need to order you some new lingerie."
When she replied her voice sounded a little croaky. "Do you want to measure me for them as well, haven't you embarrassed me enough this afternoon?"
Suddenly I realized she was crying, moving in close and placing my arms around her trying to console her by nuzzling her neck, telling her how important she was to me and that I loved her dearly. "Sweetheart I want you to look and feel beautiful, I want every man in the restaurant to envy me, it's not only dresses and lingerie you need it's everything, skirts, blouses, sweaters and shoes. In fact you need new shoes to match your dresses, and you need to book a hair appointment for that Saturday we go out. You need a complete new wardrobe and I'm going to buy it for you, your clothes are old and unfashionable."
By the time I had finished my little speech, just like the actors on the screen I had managed to set myself off crying. Sobbing my heart out as I apologized to her. "I'm so sorry, so sorry that I upset you, can you forgive me, I'm so sorry please forgive me, would you rather I moved away, shall I pack my things?"
Mother was horrified at the thought of me moving out, she turned and pulled me close to her, I felt her breasts pressing into me, my leg sandwiched between hers and my cock pressing into her groin. I could have remained like that all day. She apologized for upsetting me. When I looked up at her, several tears were still rolling down my face; she kissed me on both eyes then briefly on the lips.
"Darling I'm so sorry that I upset you I will wear whatever you say, whatever you buy, whatever you want me to wear."
All I needed now was the cup size of her bra. I could of course look in the laundry basket but I preferred to hear it straight from her, somehow my mother telling me her bra size seemed more erotic.
"Mom, if we are going to buy you lingerie can you tell me your bra size?"
