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.
