Midlife Surrender

"But it's been two days!" Stuart retorted, the exasperation evident in his voice.

Kara leaned forward, resting her arms on the kitchen table that separated her from Stuart Chambers, the young man she called Master, the man who was also the son of her best friend -- better make that former best friend.

"We've already been through this," she said in the most comforting voice she could manage. "The note said she needed to get away for a few days and clear her head." She reached across and placed her hand on his. "She'll be back when she's ready. Just give her a little time."

Stuart shook his head slowly. "I should never have called you out like that."

"We've already been through this," Kara countered. "Maybe you shouldn't have called me out. Maybe I should have disobeyed you when you did, or at least stopped short of seducing her. And what about her? She was certainly capable of getting up and walking away anytime she wanted. It wasn't like we were threatening her or anything."

She paused, then continued. "Listen. Things got a bit carried away. But nothing happened between the two of you. It might be uncomfortable for a bit, but you can work through it. It may be too far gone for her and I, but certainly not for you two."

Stuart took a long, slow breath, then nodded his head slowly. "I just wish she'd come home."

* * *

It was 10:00 the next morning, three days before Thanksgiving, when Stuart again returned home. He pulled into the driveway, turned off the engine and exited the car. Then he headed for the front door and slipped into the house, pulling the door closed behind him.

He sensed her presence almost immediately. A moment later the closing of a cupboard door in the kitchen confirmed it. His mother had finally returned home.

For a moment he held his position, composing himself, visualizing how he'd approach her, how he'd talk to her, how he'd somehow find a way to make things right between them. Then he took a deep breath and started down the short hallway that led to the kitchen.

* * *

It's bad enough when you find out your best friend is having sex with your son. It's worse when you confront her about it, only to have your son turn up unexpectedly and turn the tables on you, revealing himself as your friend's Master before ordering her to undress right in the middle of her own living room. It can't get much worse than that, right?

Well, for Pamela Chambers, it had.

Who would have imagined that she, a 38 year-old widow, would have gotten aroused watching her friend humiliate herself by submitting to her son and undressing right in front of the two of them? And who would have imagined that, when approached by her naked friend, she would allow herself to be seduced, undressed and dominated right in front of her son?

But even that wasn't the worst of it. Not by a long shot. After having been brought to numerous orgasms by her friend, then being forced to eat her pussy, she stood before her son, naked and humiliated, hoping against hope that he'd take hold of her, throw her onto the couch and fuck her for all she was worth.

But not only had he not fucked her, he rebuked her, ordering her to get dressed and leave. He, a kid of 19 years, ordered her, his horny, desperate mother, to get dressed and go home, when all she could do was lust incestuously for his body.

That had to be the lowest, most demeaning moment of her life.

In fact, in Pamela's mind it was so bad that she doubted she'd ever be able to face her son again. So, after dressing hastily, she'd raced home, thrown together a suitcase and headed for an old mountain retreat she'd been to years before.

It was late in the evening when she finally arrived at the Inn. She checked in, then headed directly for her suite, where she hastily unpacked her suitcase and changed into her nightgown and robe. Finally, she pulled the bottle of Scotch she'd grabbed at the last minute, poured herself a drink and settled into the chair on the small patio off the main living area.

Sleep didn't come easily that night, and when it finally did, it was a restless sleep, an uneasy sleep.

. . . . . . 'Yes, Master,' she gasped, moving quickly to remove her clothes as ordered, not even bothering to unbutton her blouse, rather just ripping it open, sending buttons flying everywhere.

'I'm ready, Master,' she said after the last article of clothing had been removed.

Her son -- make that her Master -- moved quickly, grabbing her by the arm and throwing her to the couch. She landed on her back, her legs spread wide, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath. That was when she noticed that he was naked. Had he been naked before? Funny, she couldn't remember. No matter.

She looked around, noticing for the first time that they weren't alone. People were crowded around the couch, more people, in fact, than she would have thought could even fit in her living room. Her neighbors were there, strangers also. Even the mail-man was there. And then she saw Kara standing off in a corner, alone, watching with a knowing smile on her face.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a stinging hand slapped the side of her face. 'Look at me,' her son commanded.

'Yes, Master,' she answered quickly, returning her gaze to his, surprised to find him kneeling between her legs, his large, lovely cock poised at the gates of her womanhood.

She heard murmurs coming from the people gathered around, but she dared not divert her eyes away from her Master.

'Do you think she's really going to do it?' one voice said.

'It's just so disgusting,' another added.

'With her own son,' yet a third chimed in.

And then the voices began to meld together, bringing a chorus of sluts, whores and tramps to her ears until she couldn't stand it any longer.

'Stop!' she yelled out. And suddenly the room was as quiet as a church on Sunday morning.

She refocused her attention on her son. 'I don't care what they say, Master. It doesn't matter. I love you, I need you, and I want you.' And a moment later, a soft whisper eked from her throat. 'Please let me be your slut-toy.'

Her son leaned over, reached behind her head and grabbed a handful of hair, pulling her head from the sofa. 'Is this what you want?' he sneered, thrusting his cock firmly into her pussy, then holding it deep inside her.

'Yes,' she screamed. 'Oh God, yes.'

'And this?' he again questioned, withdrawing his cock before again slamming it home.

'Yes, yes, yes!'

'And this, and this, and this?' he challenged, throwing himself into her, filling her up like she's never been filled before.

'Oh my God,' she screamed out as the most powerful, most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced ripped through her loin. 'Oh sweet Jesus, yes.' And then she collapsed onto the sofa, closing her eyes as she tried to gather herself . . . . . .

Pamela awoke with a start, gasping, shaking as the orgasm wracked her body. "Oh Jesus," she said out loud as the realization hit home that she'd not only just had an amazingly hot dream, but that it'd led to one of the most intense orgasms she'd ever had, and it had centered around her giving herself to her son in front of an uninvited audience that didn't hesitate to voice its disapproval.

She rose slowly from the bed, only then realizing that her nightgown was ripped wide open, hanging by mere threads from her shoulders, a casualty, apparently, of her incestuous wet dream. Without giving it a second thought, she slid it off her shoulders and headed for the bottle of scotch. Then, armed with a fresh drink and dressed only in a pair of cum-soaked panties, she settled into the arm chair in the corner to think.

The following day found Pamela aimlessly wandering the mountain trails, pausing here and there to admire a particularly beautiful view or a deer or two in a distant clearing, all the while with her mind churning through the events of the previous 24 hours.

There was no denying how turned on she'd been -- both in the real life saga with Kara in the presence of her son and in the wet dream that had ensnared her last night. Further, she couldn't dispute that a large part of the thrill had been the surrender, the humiliation, and the taboo, things that had never, ever entered her mind before yesterday.

She found herself torn; torn between giving into her incestuous desires on the one hand and finding a way to do 'the right thing' on the other. Yet despite the fact that this internal war continued to haunt her throughout the day, when sleep finally came that evening there was no contest -- it was the dark side that reared its head as the same chilling dream that had filled her head the previous night returned, sending her once again into the throws of orgasmic bliss.

It wasn't until midway through the following day while she sat in the mountains watching a doe and her fawn romping through a meadow that she was finally able to settle things in her mind. Stuart was her son; her step-son, yes, but her son nonetheless. And the bond they shared as mother and child was one that should not -- could not -- ever be violated. So, with a deep sigh and the hope that, somehow, she'd be able to make things right with Stuart, she headed back to the inn to pack her bags and head home.

* * *

She'd stopped for dinner on the way home, not actually pulling into her garage until shortly after 8:00 PM. Not surprisingly, Stuart wasn't home -- undoubtedly at Kara's. She unloaded her suitcase and, since she'd ripped her normal nightgown to shreds, changed into an older one, a lilac colored teddy. Finally, a bit after 9:00 PM, she settled into bed and turned on the television.

She awoke the next morning calm and refreshed, and more than a little surprised that the wet dream that had haunted her sleep the previous two nights hadn't returned. Maybe that was a sign that she'd made the right decision. Even so, it was with mixed emotions that she slid from the bed and headed for the bathroom.

Once her morning needs were taken care of, Pamela slid her old terry cloth robe --the one that fell well below her knees -- over her teddy, pulled the sash around her and tied it closed. Then she headed for the kitchen. It was forty-five minutes and two cups of coffee later when, as she was emptying the dishwasher, she heard a car door closing in the driveway.

She stopped -- frozen like a statue -- and waited. A handful of seconds slipped past before she heard the front door first swing open, then closed. Her son was home.

Nervously, she closed the dishwasher, then the cupboard, before turning towards the kitchen door. A full ten seconds passed before she heard his footsteps moving down the hallway. A moment after that, there he was, framed in the middle of the doorway staring back at her.

An awkward silence filled the air as both parties eyed each other, both barely able to control their nervousness, and both struggling to deal with the decisions they'd recently made. Could they really go back to the way things were? Could they really just pretend that the other day had never happened? Maybe a better question was 'how could they not?' After all, any other decision, any other course of action was . . . unacceptable. Wasn't it?

It was Stuart who finally managed to swallow the lump in his throat and open his mouth. "About the other day," he started. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have allowed myself to lose control of the situation like that. And I should never have ordered Kara to remove her clothes."

Both the words he'd said and the tone with which he'd said them made it immediately clear to Pamela that, not only was her son stepping up to take responsibility for what had happened, he also was not going to press the matter further. Yet despite the fact that those were the very words she'd hoped he'd say, somehow hearing them didn't provide the relief she thought they would. Somehow, there was a wrongness about them; a wrongness and a large empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"No," Pamela finally replied, exhibiting more control than she'd have thought possible. "It wasn't your fault." Then she took the few steps necessary to close the distance between them and raised her hands to lightly brush the hair from his forehead.

"I should never have interfered like I did," she went on. "You're a man now, more than capable of making your own decisions. I should have treated you like one, not like a still wet behind the ears teenager." She stopped then and ran the back of her hands across his cheeks, even as her emotions were welling up inside her.

She'd known from the moment she'd first made the decision to rebuild her relationship with her son that it wouldn't be easy, but she'd believed with all her heart that, together, they could find a way to get through it. What she hadn't factored in was the effect his physical presence would have on her; how his mere presence would cause her breathing, which had been nearly under control a few short moments earlier, to begin coming in shorter and quicker gasps, or how the gentle stroking of his cheeks would cause her already hard nipples to ache with desire.

Slowly losing her grip on the situation, she found herself unable to stop her mind from drifting back to that fateful evening. She closed her eyes, remembering the feelings that had flooded her body then, knowing they were very much akin to the feelings that were seizing control of her now. She relived the scene in her mind, allowing herself to fall even further under its spell before somehow managing one long, slow breath. Then she opened her eyes and looked at her son.

No, she didn't want to go back to the way things were. She wanted more. She wanted someone who could take her to places she'd never been before, never even dreamed of before. In short, she wanted what Kara had.

"Nobody tied me to the chair and made me stay," she said softly, somehow managing to control her voice. "I stayed because I wanted to. I stayed because I was horny out of my mind and in the middle of the single most erotic thing I'd ever experienced. And I stayed because I wanted to get fucked, not only by Kara, but by you." Another hesitation followed before Pamela finally gathered herself enough to continue, only this time there was a noticeable crack in her voice.

"And God forgive me, I still do."

Stunned and confused may not have been the best way to describe Stuart's emotional state at that precise moment, but it came pretty damn close. After all, in spite of everything that had happened, she was still his mother, and he was very much aware that, while she may not have technically offered herself to him, she'd made it quite clear that, even though it may be skirting the bounds of moral decency, if he were inclined to pick things up where they'd left off the other day, he'd meet little or no resistance from her.

He took a long slow breath to steady himself as that thought settled in his mind, then allowed his mind to drift back to that evening. He pictured the growing hunger in his mother's face as she slowly gave in to her lust, and he pictured her naked body laid open in total sexual surrender before not only Kara, but him as well. And then he pictured the look on her face as she screamed out in orgasmic pleasure over and over and over.

Could he, he asked himself simply. He shook his head slowly. How could he not?

And as simple as that, the decision was made.

"So be it," he said, softly. Then he reached for her hands, pulled them away from his face and lowered them to her sides. And then he began untying the sash that held her robe closed.

Pamela looked down, watching in stunned silence as her son's hands began working the knot free. In spite of how things had gone, in spite of the fact that it had been her that had pushed things over the edge, not him, she was still in a state of shock. After all, she'd essentially offered herself to her son and he, quite obviously, was accepting the offer. And in just a few measly moments . . .

And with that thought her knees nearly buckled beneath her as a spasm shot through her pussy.

With the knot in the sash freed and her robe hanging open, Pamela lifted her eyes to her son's face, only to find his eyes locked on her chest, and on the heaving breasts that were only slightly concealed by the old lilac nightgown the robe had hidden.

He lifted his eyes slowly to meet hers, holding her gaze briefly before stepping to the side and easing around behind her. Then he reached forward, took hold of the robe, slid it over her shoulders and down her arms, before casting it haphazardly across the floor. Then he stepped forward until his front was nearly pressing against her back.

Easing his hands onto her shoulders, he squeezed them lightly, massaging them gently while working his hands ever so slowly from her neck to the edge of her shoulders, and from there slipping them down to her upper arms, dragging the straps of her nightgown with them.

Pamela could feel her body shaking as her son's hands reached the middle of her biceps and paused. She looked down at her breasts, now more than half exposed. Then, with her breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps, she switched her gaze to his left hand, almost as if she was challenging it -- 'hurry up, damn you, stop teasing me!' But her silent challenge went unanswered as the hands held steady on her biceps.

Sensing the effect his hesitation was having on her, Stuart held his position for several more seconds before finally lowering his mouth to his mother's neck. He kissed the neck tenderly, even nibbling on it lightly, before moving up to graze his teeth across her earlobe. It wasn't until she eased her eyes closed and sighed softly that he finally slipped the teddy down her arms and over her hips, releasing it to flutter down her legs to the floor, even as his fingers were already moving back to her waist and slipping inside the waistband of the old white panties she wore. A moment later the panties joined the teddy in a pile around his mother's feet.

Withdrawing his hands, Stuart eased back a couple of steps to admire his handiwork. He drank in the naked backside of his mother's 5' 4" frame, unable to hide the smile that broke out across his lips as he took in her still tight body. For several long seconds, seconds that were intended to both heighten his mother's desire and reinforce his mastery over her, he stood quietly and allowed his eyes to wander freely over the naked backside that now belonged to him.

"So, you want to be my slut-toy." It was a statement, not a question, but it was a statement that demanded a response.

Pamela struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. Then, not trusting her ability to control her own voice, she answered as simply and succinctly as she could. And although only one short word slipped through her lips, it was a word that seemed to echo throughout the entire house, almost as if it were announcing the beginning of a new era.

"Yes."

Stuart nodded his head, but said nothing. He turned towards the island that occupied a large portion of the kitchen and moved towards it, stopping along the long side across from the kitchen sink.

"Turn around and come here," he ordered.

Nervously, Pamela lifted her feet from the panties and teddy that lay draped around her ankles, then kicked them aside and began her turn. But when her eyes met her son's eyes she froze completely.

Unable to control the flood of emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her, she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. She took several breaths, forcing herself to breathe slowly and deeply in an unsuccessful attempt to calm her frayed nerves.

Several seconds passed before she finally felt in enough control to open her eyes and finish her turn. Then, after yet another series of long, slow breaths, she stepped forward, this time not stopping until she was directly in front of her son.