This is a dark tale of maternal lust. I've always been less of a fan of romantic incest, and more of a fan of the darker side, the lust, the regret, people using each other for their own satisfaction. And if you've ever been part of an upper middle-class WASP family, you'll get the denial, the lies, the cover-ups. If Literotica can have brothers and sisters falling in love, why can't they have a few stories about Mother's bribing their sons to fuck them? Everyone depicted here is over the age of 18, but I will point out that there is heavy drug and alcohol use, so beware.
*
Mother
The rain splashed against my apartment window as I checked my phone for what seemed like the hundredth time. Seeing an empty screen I sighed and slid it into my back pocket. I looked back out the window over the Portland skyline and muttered a curse to myself.
I had expected a text from Janie almost an hour ago, but I didn't want to seem desperate. I'd been looking forward to hooking up with her all week and she hadn't made it any easier with her sly allusions to a debauchery filled weekend. Her family and mine had been friends for years. Attended the same high society functions, golfed at the same country clubs, and I'd bet our parents had the same coke dealers. She'd been dating the same boy since high school, and I'd always coveted her slim waist, perfect skin, and blue eyes. She'd let her blonde hair grow down to her ass since we graduated and her facebook pages had become the object of many a late night jerk off.
So when my sister had told me she'd broken off her engagement with her asshole of a fiance, I jumped at the chance. I immediately texted her, sending her fake platitudes and encouragement that she'd find 'the one' right around the corner. I think she knew it was bullshit, but that was all the better, we both knew what this was.
But she hadn't texted me. She was in town for a month, and said she'd love to see the city from my 30th floor place. It was pretty snazzy for a freshly graduated 23 year-old. Granted most of it was bankrolled by my father's firm, where I worked a cushy internship, but I liked to think of it as my own personal castle. I'd spent the entire morning cleaning it, knowing that if everything went well, it'd be destroyed by this time Sunday. A whole 48 hours of fucking.
But the bitch still hadn't texted me. My erection was straining my pants and I was going a little stir crazy, so I walked over to the bar and poured myself a drink. The bourbon warmed my throat going down, so I poured another. No more, though, needed to be clear-headed, and I wouldn't want to get whiskey dick later on. No, just something to set the mood.
That's when my buzzer rang. I rushed to my intercom and hit the door release button without thinking. Wasn't she supposed to text me? Did I already give her my address? I had a momentarily delirious idea that she had decided to start the games early, and would suddenly appear at my door in nothing but a coat.
How wrong I was.
As I heard the clack of heels approach my door, my phone chimed. Grabbing it quickly, my heart immediately sank.
"Hey hon, I just heard from my parents that you're taking care of your mom this weekend! Hope she's not too sick :( rain check for next weekend?" The text read.
Shitshitshitshitnonononono
Too late, the door opened.
My Mother stood there, her purse in one hand, a small bag in the other. She wore a black raincoat that covered most of her curvaceous, but still matronly body, though a small bit was open at the neck, teasing at the canyon of cleavage she always seemed to sport. Her red hair was tied back in a tight, librarian style bun, adding to her sternness. I stood there, almost not believing what I was seeing.
"Tyler Stanford, are you not going to invite your Mother in?" She said after a moment, her green eyes narrowing.
I silently stood aside, allowing her in. Her heels clicked and clacked as she walked inside, making her way into my kitchen where she set down her purse and the small bag, which made a thunk. She turned and smoothed out her coat, creating more of an hourglass silhouette.
"What are you doing here, mom?" I asked, annoyed.
She tisked my response. "That's no way to speak to your Mother. I came to keep you company, I haven't seen you in ages. I thought we'd have a drink." She pulled an expensive bottle of vodka out of the bag and set it on the counter. "Order some food, you know, catch up." Her smile, as usual, was a mask. Her cut cheeks, lightly painted with rouge, never crinkled like they would with a real smile. Her eyes, heavy with shadow, never sparkled. But this was normal, normal for us.
"I have plans tonight." Was all I said. Mom and I never 'hung out' never 'caught up'. If we spent any time together, it was usually her going on endlessly about the country club gossip, the ways she was spending my father's money while he was away on his many business trips, or...
She smiled, and it chilled me to the bone. "Oh, I know. Your sister told me you were seeing that Briar girl. What's her name?"
"Janie." I said through clenched teeth.
That smile again. My stomach began to turn cold. I turned away and went to the bar.
Behind me, I heard her say, "Yes, your sister told me you had plans with her. I told a little white lie to Brenda that I'd felt incredibly sick, and hoped I could pry you from her lovely daughter." I poured a drink and downed it. I turned to see her pouring some of the vodka in a glass. "Believe me, I'm saving you the trouble. That little girl is a harlot." She adopted a conspiratorial tone. "No one's talking about it, but rumor is she was caught doing something unspeakable with Tom's best friend, and that's why the marriage is off." This time the smile reached her eyes.
I suddenly felt a white hot anger. Unspeakable was my middle name! Mother had just blown my chances to totally fucking destroy one of the hottest girls I knew.
Turning away from me she opened the bottom drawer of my fridge. Bending over I saw her coat stretch over her prodigious ass. I heard the clink as she dropped several ice cubes into her drink. She turned and walked over to me, clinking my drink with her own.
"You're welcome." She took a long sip, never breaking eye contact with me. "You do seem to have a type, though."
She wasn't wrong. I was a good looking guy, cut in all the right places. My hair was brown, like my father's, unlike the shock of red hair she and my sister sported. I had a reputation with the ladies that had never escaped my Mother's attention. Slim, blonde, big tits, that was my preferred girl I liked to have squealing in my bed. But like every man, I wasn't picky, as long as they were down for some serious fucking. I'd been a dominant type in my everyday life as a teen, and that had spilled over into my blooming sexual life. It hadn't been unheard of for me to take advantage of dad's absence, and Mother's brunches with the socialites, to have some pretty thing over for sex that definitely boardered on the rougher side. Choke play, bdsm, hate fucking, roleplay; from an early age I had embraced the darker side of sex, and never seemed to get enough.
Mom knew this, of course. She was nothing if not nosey, and had caught me in the act several times. It got to the point where I wondered if she was doing it on purpose.
"God, Tyler, all those skanks. At least this one was easy enough to get rid of." She took another sip, and a small portion spilled out and fell into the pale canyon that was her cleavage. She saw my eyes wander and slowly wiped it away with one red fingernail. The flesh dented below it like the softest looking pillow. She grinned as she brought it to her equally red lips. "Be honest, you're happy I spared you having to actually make conversation with that moron."
"It wasn't 'conversation' that I was looking for." I said hotly, leaning in aggressively. I could smell her perfume... and something else. But I wanted her gone. The weight of the phone in my pocket beckoned me to reach for it and tell Janie everything was cool, our weekend of unbridled lust was still on.
She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand at the involuntary gesture. She composed herself finally. "So unlike your father. You do so enjoy your playtime, regardless of how much work you put in." This was a ploy of hers, subtly pointing out how most of what I had wasn't bought with my own sweat and tears, but with my father's. I knew this game and refused to play it.
"What about dad? It's Friday, I assume you have some bullshit engagement with his partners." I brushed by her and walked back into the kitchen, grabbing ice for my own drink.
"You're father's in London for the weekend."
That one sentence turned my world upside down. I spun around, nearly spilling my drink, because I knew immediately what it meant.
"London?"
Mom leaned back against the bar, her massive tits jutting out in a way that made me both sick and aroused.
"With that slut, no doubt. The new model is Karen, Karina, Katelyn... " She blew a raspberry. "Something with a K." She started undoing the buttons of her raincoat, almost absentmindedly. "Anyways, he told me, before he left, to find something to occupy myself with." The final button detached and she reached for the zipper near the bottom of her bountiful tits.
"Mom..." I said, as she strode toward me, slowly unzipping the coat. I backed up until I felt the cold steel of the fridge stop me. First her cleavage became clearer, the small mole above her left areola sliding into view.
"Did you even realise..." She whispered, less than three feet from me. The rain seemed to grow louder outside, and for a split second the sky lit up. A demi bra quickly came into view, black with red lace ornamentation adorning it. It was almost like her tits were trying to push out, begging for air. "You've been hard since I walked through the door, young man?"
With a flourish, the zipper came all the way down. Suddenly she was exposed to me, my own Mother. A corset, matching the bra, straddled her midsection. Where the skin was shown, it seemed to pillow out, giving her a vibe of having been stuffed inside. But I knew that wasn't the case, her matronly frame was simply soft, as if she had no muscle to her. The trifecta was finished off with a similarly patterned pair of red panties, the top hidden by a slight belly roll that had escaped the bottom of her corset.
I looked down at the outline of my dick in my pants. It stretched down ten inches towards my left pant leg. I could almost see it pulse.
