This is a work of fiction. I do my own editing so any grammatical errors are down to me. Please check the tags.
It had been a busy morning for Claire and even though she'd barely had more than a few hours sleep, she had diligently maintained her routine for Charlie.
Routines are important. She'd been taught that throughout her musical career. Routines, practice, repetition and dedication. It had been drummed into her, over and over until she knew nothing else. Her tutor had been tough. He'd been demanding. When she'd failed he was brutal, bringing her to tears, but when she'd achieved his praise filled her soul. A simple "well done, Claire," or a "good girl" from his smiling face made her feel like she'd had wings. It was no surprise that she'd worked ever harder purely to see that look in his eyes. To receive his praise. She'd even developed a crush for Mr Gibson, to the point she'd thought she was in love.
Charlie needed routines too. His psychiatrist had been quite clear about that, stressing the importance of balanced emotions and routines to maintain his equilibrium. So Claire, her vagina still swollen and wet, had begun her morning with her newest routine.
She was certain Charlie couldn't help hitting her body when he urinated. The shower cubicle, while quite large, didn't afford enough room for her to avoid it. Some had splashed her labia and the hot liquid had had a stinging effect. Most likely because she was so sensitive. Bizarrely, it had excited her, but she put that down to her need for relief, which was pretty much constant. Still, something played on her mind. If she didn't know better, she could have sworn that somehow, Charlie managed to direct the stream at her on purpose.
He'd insisted she suck him whilst "finger cleaning" his anus rather than just masturbating him too. The remnants of his urine were pretty sour and made her cough initially, but the taste was soon replaced by precum and the resulting ejaculation had been quite prolific. She'd managed to swallow more than half. If she continued in the same way and learned to time her breathing, she felt sure she'd soon be able to take it all. An achievement that even Joshua hadn't been able to accomplish according to Charlie and Claire couldn't help feeling quite proud of herself. She was winning that battle too and soon Joshua's name would be nothing but a faded memory. The guilt of feeling it was wrong was diminishing so quickly. The only guilt that remained as strong as ever, was that which had driven Claire to this point. Survivors guilt.
Most importantly, it kept Charlie happy. That was the whole reason behind bringing him home wasn't it? To make him happy and if last night was anything to go by, she was succeeding. Charlie was happy, so why shouldn't she feel happy too? Why should she feel guilty? The taste of his semen was.......well.........it was just so good. It was a blessing really, because Charlie clearly had no intention of stopping, so why deny herself pleasure too? Why deny herself the pleasure of drinking his semen? Or the unusual, but intensely erotic sensation of his sperm on her face and body for that matter.
My God, he really did have a beautiful penis. She'd been thinking about it a lot. Maybe too much. About more too. More than just masturbating or sucking him. Again, she put that down to her constant state of arousal, but she knew the truth. The real truth that is. The truth she was trying to deny.
Charlie was reason she was so aroused. Charlie the man, not Charlie the son. She'd felt it at dinner the previous evening, perhaps before then even, but mostly at dinner. Maybe it had been building up. She couldn't be certain when it started, but then she wasn't certain about anything anymore. Mother and son boundaries had been shattered and lines had become blurred. Only a few days ago she would have been certain that any form of sexual contact with her son would have been abhorrent to her. But now? The mere prospect of "making him happy" aroused her.
He was so demanding, so strong willed and controlling and it made her weak at the knees. He only had to look at her the right way or say the right words and her stomach did somersaults and her vagina weeped. He was the polar of his father and unlike him, Charlie needed relief often. Very often. It was actually mind boggling how often. In just a couple of days she'd had to relieve her son more times than his father would have needed in over a month! And when he was in need, he came to her. He chose her. Claire Simpson had never felt so wanted, so needed by anyone and it sparked something in her. Something basic. Something primal.
Only briefly did Claire consider that Charlie was in many ways, very similar to Mr Gibson.
After their shower, she'd made him breakfast and Charlie had insisted she stay naked. "You dress when I tell you to dress from now on, mother," he'd told her. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen her naked, but nevertheless, it had felt erotically uncomfortable. She'd felt like a mannequin in a shop window. On display. There to be observed, critiqued, admired or maybe even desired. Not unlike performing on stage in many respects, yet completely different. Charlie's eyes had never left her, making her feel embarrassed, humiliated, yet overwhelming excited that her arousal was so abundantly clear. That he was the source of her arousal. The feeling was transformative. Like a dream or an "out of body" experience, but oh so........real. Every fibre of her body had felt alive.
In an almost trancelike state, Claire had followed him upstairs to her walk-in wardrobe. Charlie, phone in hand, had sat on her bed directing which items of clothing were suitable and which should be consigned to the bin bags. Suffice to say, all of her old panties went first, followed by her leggings, T-shirts and bras. When she'd explained she wore them when she exercised, he'd told her she could purchase new gym gear when she went shopping "You're not keeping any of that fucking shit you dumb bitch," he'd told her. "I'll send you some photos of what I want you to wear in the gym."
What HE wanted her to wear. In a strange way, she'd felt comforted. Even more wanted. That he was doing it for her own good. It was flattering that he cared so much and he'd been right about everything else so far. She'd felt so good yesterday. She'd felt special. Like a new woman. Even Tom, the butcher had noticed. Claire had flushed at the thought. Charlie's change of character had lasted too. Yes, the insulting names remained, he couldn't help it, that was just what he did, but his temperament remained calm and that was what mattered.
By the time she'd finished, her wardrobe had been segregated. On one side, only her knee length dresses and lower heels. Charlie called these her "day outfits." On the opposite side hung one solitary dress and one pair of heels. The much shorter yellow dress and higher heels she'd worn the previous evening. The outfit her late husband loved so much. The outfit that had sparked the dramatic change in Charlie's temperament. Along with that, was a drawer for her new panties. Charlie called these her "evening outfits," to be worn from 5pm every day. Another routine for her remember. Claire had chosen not to challenge him when she noted that her underwear was limited to the "evening outfit" side of her wardrobe. It was what HE wanted and most surprisingly, she was happy to do it.
And now, Claire was in town wearing the red dress and red heels her son had specifically picked out for her. The outfit HE had chosen. Her makeup was perfect too. Charlie had told her as much when she'd knelt on the kitchen floor to suck his penis just before leaving. He'd been thoughtful and not ejaculated saying it would ruin her makeup, even though she'd hoped he would. "It's just a quick 'goodbye' suck you dirty cunt," he'd explained. "You'll get a throat full later if you're a good girl." It didn't occur to her until after setting off that her vagina was tingling at the prospect of being a "good girl" for her son. But it didn't surprise her either.
That was the moment, the point at which everything changed. As if she'd been standing in the shadows and was walking out into the light. Charlie, with that seemingly innocent little phrase, had inadvertently hit on the thing that made Claire tick. That years of relentless training had driven into her. Praise. Praise and reward. It was as if a switch had been flicked.
Thankfully it was a warm day because not only was the dress quite flimsy, but she was completely naked underneath. Her permanently erect nipples seemed to be attracting glances and her vagina wouldn't stop leaking. She could feel the warm air washing over her bald mons and wet thighs. It was delightful. Goodness knows what people would think of her if they knew. Quite a few men smiled and said "hello" as she made her way through the streets. Wow, that hadn't happened in, well, forever and the attention made Claire feel good. Really damned good. Like she had yesterday. It would never have happened without Charlie. She really should be more thankful. A "good girl" would be thankful.
Day 4 and his stupid mother had just stood there and let him piss right over her twat. It was even better when she had her finger in his arse and his cock in her mouth, coughing on the little bit of piss he'd held back. How fucking stupid could she actually be? Give the dumb bitch her due though, it didn't stop her. Fuck no. She really went at it and he could see the look of concentration on her face as she tried to swallow his spunk. It was admirable really. Charlie had counted and the bitch gulped down 9 squirts before it started dribbling from her nose. Far better than Joshua ever did. It seemed only fair to give her a compliment and just as his research suggested, she'd responded positively. Licking and slurping on his cock like a spunk obsessed whore until every last drop of cum was gone. Charlie thought he'd seen pride in her eyes when she'd finished. He'd certainly seen pleasure. His mother LOVED the taste of spunk.
It was easy after that. Like she was drunk. Drunk on spunk. The phrase had made him smile. They had breakfast and Charlie kept the dumb bitch naked. She had to learn it would be her default state. That clothing was no longer her choice. After that he took her up to her wardrobe. She didn't even try to argue, clearing out everything other than what he wanted her to wear. Not only that. The dirty whore had been sopping wet the whole time. The bedroom reeked of her cunt. Watching her organise her wardrobe into "day outfits" and "evening outfits" was like watching dream turn real.
He could have chosen any of the "day outfit" dresses. They were all pretty much the same style, perfectly "normal" yet suitably sexy at the same time. Tight around the body to show of her huge fucking nipples and flared knee length skirts, to give him easy access to her cunt and arse. Charlie chose the red one. It was pretty thin and with her shopping trip planned, he wanted the dumb bitch to feel as exposed as possible. Most importantly, he wanted her to know she was wearing it because HE chose it.
Fuck. She looked smoking hot before she left. Better than any of the models on the internet. Better because she was real. Better because Charlie's long held fantasies of his mother were coming to life, right in front of his eyes. The red dress was a good choice. Her elongated nipples were sticking out like fucking beacons and Charlie couldn't help putting her on her knees and shoving his prick in her "too small" mouth. He couldn't believe how easy it had been looking down at her. Fuck. It took a gargantuan effort to stick to his plan. The dumb bitch actually looked disappointed when he didn't spray her throat, but the promise he would later seemed to cheer her up. He thought the "good girl" line was nice touch too.
