Mother's Ultimate Submission

This story started two years ago. If the reader would like to become familiar with the background the sequence of this loosely knit group of narratives is;

"At My Mother's Breast", "Mother's Breast: The Reunion", "Mother's Breast"

and

"Reunion With Mother".

*

I'm somewhere near Yankee Station off the coast of Viet Nam; adrift in a small, yellow rubber boat of the type found in fighter planes. There are no ships in sight. Naked from the waist down except for a pair of jungle boots my upper torso is covered in what seems to be the remains of a tiger suit. To top off this bizarre attire, or lack of it, I am wearing a WWII style steel pot.

I feel no distress at my situation; in fact, there is a distinct feeling of euphoria. The sea water sloshing back and forth in the bottom of the life raft has been warmed to bath temperature by the sun. I lay against the boat's rubber side nodding under the sparkling blue sky.

As the raft raises and drops on the waves the warm water washes over my exposed genitals and then recedes. The gentle rhythm of the warm wetness is summoning an erection. My penis is repeatedly and pleasantly baptized by the hot wet brine.

My eyes flutter once, twice and the sparkling blue of the sky starts to dissolve; replaced by the stark whiteness of a hotel room ceiling, brightly lighted by the late morning sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains. I slowly escape the arms of Morpheus and the dream recedes into those secret places of my mind. The sensation of the warm water lapping at my penis remains, like a dream outside a dream.

A spasm of pleasure slices through the sleep induced fog drawing my attention to the storm of burnished copper hair spread across my midsection. There, at the intersection of my legs, is my last night's lover paying early morning homage to the instrument of our pleasure. The hot wetness and the lapping of the waves emanates from the mouth of the beautiful woman with the bobbing, red head.

"Mother, that feels so great but please come up here and lay beside me," I said in spite of the pleasure I was experiencing.

Squirming up my body, to accommodate my wishes, my mother's large dangling breasts and hardened nipples left little trails of fire on my legs and belly. She looked refreshed but used and sluttish; the lipstick was smeared on her, saliva wet, mouth and her mascara had run and smudged around her red, tear filled eyes.

"Max, I'm sorry about the way I acted last night," she sighed. "I didn't mean to cry. This is your leave. It's just . . . you know . . . not right."

She was wrestling with the guilt and inner turmoil she was suffering as a result of sexually submitting to her own son. Reluctantly submitting but enthusiastically participating.

Taking my mother in my arms I hugged her, sleep warm, body to mine. I kissed her dewy eyes then sought her lips letting my tongue lightly brush the corners of her mouth and sucked tenderly on her full lower lip. She responded by moving her belly tighter against mine, trapping my erection between us and allowing the tiny tip of her tongue to trace the junction where her bottom lip disappeared into my mouth.

A small moan filled my throat; not from passion but as part of the overwhelming love I felt for this woman. The sensation of love was so deep there were no words to express the longing. I wished for her lovely body to meld into mine, for us to become one. I wanted to suck in her essence that she would be part of me forever.

Breaking the soft, warm kiss I nudged my mother onto her back; propped my self up on my left elbow and stared into those emerald green eyes, again, brimming with tears.

"Mother, I know you are having a hard time with this relationship. You're right, society says it's wrong but why does it feel so right . . . Why am I consumed by my love and desire for you . . . Why do you respond so hungrily even as you weep with guilt?"

Mother's arm encircled my neck and pulled my face down to hers; our lips met softly in a closed mouth kiss that was a testament to the tenderness each felt toward the other. My mouth then traced the delicate jaw line until I was nuzzling her pale seashell ear.

"I love you, mother," I whispered. "The words are not strong enough but I love you."

Lightly my right hand explored her alabaster form; sliding up the outside of the firm thigh, across the slightly protruding belly and lifting the large white globe of her freckled breast. Moving my head down I gingerly captured the erect nipple with my lips and the tip of my tongue explored its' bumpy surface.

"Oh Max, I don't know why I'm letting this happen," her voice catching in her throat, her hand behind my neck. "I only know I can't control it. I've had this trembling feeling in my stomach for days, ever since you first kissed me like a man kisses a woman."

In an attempt to lighten her mood, I moved down to bestowed a light kiss on the flaming red hair where my mother's legs joined the curve of her belly, the hair was matted with last nights love fluids. Moving back to my elbow our eyes locked and held.

"You know, Max, I've never been made love to, so much, as in these last few days. I feel like I'm in a constant state of excitement."

Knowing that her submissive side played a major role in her excitement I stared unblinkingly, into her eyes. I said, "It's because you like me to fuck you, isn't it, Mother?"

With a slight intake of breath at the vulgarity and after a moment's hesitation she rasped, "Yes."

"You like it when I make you display yourself, don't you mother?"

Yesterday, I had made her walk around in the casino without bra and panties her big breasts bouncing and swaying under her tank top. Later she exposed her tits to the room service guy to please me.

A mere whisper, "Yes!"

"Mother, you tell me, the things you like to do."

"I like to make love to you, Max.. I. . "

I cut her off with some authority, "Mother! Try again,"

With her face buried against my neck; in that raspy trembling whisper, "I like to fuck you, Max, Is that what you want to hear? I love to fuck you."

Her slim, pink nailed hand crawled down between us to caress the pulsing, bone-hard cock resting against her mons.

"I love to suck your big cock. I love you to lick my pussy and I love to show my big bare tits to strangers. There! I'm your fucking slut! Are you happy?" Her face flushed, hot with embarrassment, excitement and desire.

She stroked my meat a few times then raised her face to kiss me. I saw the beginning of the first genuinely relaxed look of the morning. I think she felt comfortable when she was subordinate to me. Maybe she felt relieved of the responsibility for her actions.

"Yes, Mother, that's what I want to hear. You can be so sexy when you want and your mine to do with as I please, don't forget that and we'll be happy!"

"I won't forget; whatever you want, Max," She said cheerily, the melancholy apparently dissipating.

Now it was her turn to prop herself up on one elbow - doing interesting things to the large, fleshy tits - facing me.

"Do me a favor, Max; may I please have some time to myself this morning? Can you find something to do for a couple hours while I wash my hair and do some woman things? Please, go, eat breakfast, win a bunch of money or whatever?"

"Sure mom, but first, I have to take a shower and I want you to do me one favor before I take that shower."

"What?"

"Roll over and lay on your belly so I can play with your big, beautiful derrière."

She replied with a grin, "You are such a bad little boy, sweetie, but I can't resist it when you talk French."

She rolled onto her stomach and spread her legs just enough that I could see her copper haired nest and puffy lips just below the place where the cleft of her ass met the lines defining the bottom of each cheek. Gravity's sag spread and accented the inverted heart shape of her white bottom as it flared from her waist.

Positioning myself between her thighs it took all my willpower not to drive my hardened cock into her, now, exposed and willing pussy.

Instead I squeezed and kneaded the soft, yielding flesh of her ass like a baker making bread. I licked along the crease lines at the bottom of each cheek and allowed my tongue to stray up the cleft, probing the rosebud hiding there. She rewarded me with a deep, throaty sigh.

I sat back on my heels and lubricated my middle finger in the hot, greasy depth of my mother's vagina then rested my finger against the tight little button.

"Max, what are you doing?"

"I'm giving you a preview of things to come."

That said, I applied pressure and the finger slipped into her tunnel up to the second knuckle. The little ring of muscle closed tightly around my finger.

"That hurts a little, Max. I've never done this before."

I drove the digit in as far as I could and thumb of the same hand entered her pussy.

"Oooh, please, take it out; you're hurting me!" She moaned.

She was unconsciously raising her hips off the bed to allow me better access. I withdrew the finger and drove it home again three for four times; each thrust met by feeble protest and a backward movement of her hips to meet my probe.

My teasing completed, I removed my finger, kissed the bottom of each globe, tongued a quick flick at the rosebud, stood up and gave my mother's beautiful ass a resounding slap. Mustering all my will power; I left my willing mother lying, unfulfilled, on the bed.

"We'll finish this tonight, love. Right now, I'm going to get cleaned up and then I'm outta' here." I said padding toward the bathroom, rigid penis leading the charge.

A shave, a shower and 20 minutes later I emerged from the bathroom in an aromatic cloud of talcum powder, deodorant and Jovan Musk. My excitement had subsided to the state where you just feel an erection beginning.

My mother was sitting in the chair, at the small desk, clad in the ever present white terry robe. One pretty foot was drawn up on the chair, exposing her leg, and she was removing the pink nail polish from her toes. I made a mental note to make love to those toes again, as I had on the night I first seduced her. The tangled red hair hung down on each side, hiding her face as she concentrated on her work.

With out turning her head or interrupting the paint removal she asked, "What did you mean, finish this tonight? Are you going to spank me or did you mean . . . "

"Mom, don't worry about it; you just continue being beautiful and passionate. What did you tell me a little while ago? You said you were my fucking slut! And, you wouldn't forget it."

I kissed the top of her head, the faint aroma of gardenias filling my nose.

"Max! Why do you have to be so bad?"

"Because you love it and I love you."

I stood before the mirror. "Not too bad," I thought. I donned navy issue skivvies, chino slacks and stepped into my penny loafers. Pulling on a white golf shirt, I took a swipe at my dark hair; thankful it wasn't my mother's beautiful red and picked up the phone.

"Room service? . . . Yes, I'd like a couple scrambled eggs, Canadian bacon, whole wheat toast, orange juice and coffee . . . OK, thank you."

In answer to my mother's questioning look, "Your breakfast, mom, it will be here in twenty or thirty minutes. Have fun with the room service guy. Bye."

She gave me a light punch in the stomach, a motherly peck on the cheek and said, "Get out and don't come back!" A long pause, "At least for a couple of hours. By the way, you smell really good."

A half read copy of the Review-Journal, R&J to the locals, lay on the table beside the remains of my hash and eggs. Thoughts of the events leading me to this place were fast forwarding through my mind as I sipped my third cup of the Navy's life blood.

Since I can remember, I have been attracted to my mother. I believe it is a natural, Freudian phase most young men go through but a phase I never seemed to get beyond. As a young adult much of my time was consumed in pursuit of seeing my mother naked. I spied on her in the bath and took every opportunity to catch her in various states of undress.

I don't think my forty-something mother ever tried to be sexy. She is a modest, unassuming lady raised as a farmer's daughter. Her wardrobe has always been proper, consistent with current styles but never extreme. Her lingerie is mostly full-cut, white cotton panties and under-wire brassieres of the same sterile white cotton. Her only concession to pride would be a pair or two of full-cut nylon panties in pale yellow or pale blue with a little lace trim and matching bras, full cupped and under-wired, of course.

Contrary to her wardrobe choices, she is passionate about lipstick and nail polish. Possibly because of her pale, freckle dusted skin she always chooses vivid colors of scarlet and pink.

She needn't try to be sexy; she is a lovely woman, with large breasts, a great bottom that swells out from a relatively trim waist, and good legs with firm thighs. The little protruding belly, tiny crows-feet around the mouth and eyes and the inevitable age lines on her neck are all upstaged by her cameo-like countenance in a frame of flaming, copper colored tresses.

Though unaware, she has a naturally sensuous manner that promises hidden pleasures. In the vernacular of the uncouth she has that catch me, fuck me look.

Waiting to begin my tour with the U.S. Navy I happened upon my mother committing, what I believe to be, the one indiscretion of her marriage. Entertaining a man, not my father, in the basement family room.

I was enthralled with her naked beauty and the wanton passion of the scene. She became aware of my watching but made no attempt to cease her actions. We briefly acknowledged each other but never again spoke of the incident. After that she became my obsession and fantasy. I eventually realized I was in love with her.

All that took place over two years ago and was seemingly forgotten until I invited my family to join me in Las Vegas upon my return from S.E. Asia. Because of other commitments neither my father nor my sister could make the trip leaving my mother and me on our own for four days at Caesar's Palace. Wine and will enabled me to woo her and she reluctantly submitted to me the first night.

"Sir, more coffee?" The waitress asked, bumping me back to the present, "Sir?"

"Wha . . .eh, no thanks, just the check please."

Having two or three hours to kill and not being much of a gambler the casinos offered little interest; compounded by, what Bugsy might refer to as, a limited amount of dough. I finally settled for an afternoon movie down where the natives live.

In the cool dark theater the adventures of Barbarella - soon to become Hanoi Jane - on some future planet were not enough to keep me from dozing. Time marches on, up come the lights and I'm joining the departing afternoon theater goers throwing themselves into the late afternoon oven that is Las Vegas.

I started toward the corner in hopes of finding a taxi, not an easy task once you're removed from Fremont Street and the blossoming strip. Spotting a wine store, I acquired a bottle of pinot noir and two of Chablis. Returning to the street I nearly collided with a gentleman getting out of a taxi. If you live right . . .

Back at Caesars, a quick trip to the Appian Way further armed me with a small bouquet featuring three red roses. As I stood, ready to knock, before the hotel room door I thought if Norman Rockwell were to paint me now he would have to call it "The Suitor".

When the door opened my heart skipped a beat then started to race to make up for the loss. Before me stood the clichéd vision of loveliness; a beautiful mature woman in a simple emerald green dress that ended at her knee. The pale, well rounded calves of her legs tapered down to the white sandals displaying her scarlet toe nails. Pale, freckled arms extended from the short sleeves and ended in fingers also dipped in red.

She threw back her head and laughed, her gorgeous red hair a gale around her face and her alabaster throat exposed as if offering it to Dracula.

"Are you coming in or are you going to stand there looking like Andy Hardy picking up his prom date?"

Standing frozen in the doorway, I finally regained my composure and pushed the bouquet forward as I stepped into the room. Taking the flowers, my mother leaned into me and placed her scarlet lips tenderly on my mouth. My free arm drew her to me and I felt the contact of her ample breasts against my chest.

Interrupting the kiss, "Mother, you're very beautiful. Is it any wonder I'm in love?"

I could feel her slightly protruding belly pushing against my abdomen making my cock lurch with the first rush of blood. My hand descended until I cupped the fleshy roundness of her ass.

Breaking the embrace mother said, "Let me put these flowers in some water and you can set the bag on the desk unless you're going to carry it with you the rest of the day?"

Crossing to the bathroom my mother's full bottom moved from side to side causing the pleated skirt of her dress to swish with each step. I was surprised to find myself sort of breathless and a little shaky; stepping to the desk I set down the three bottles of wine and dropped onto the chair. I noticed a paper bag from a drugstore on the desk and assumed I was not the only one out and about.

Mother emerged from the bathroom carrying a water glass full of flowers. The swaying motion of the dress's fitted bodice was an indication that she was honoring my wish of no underwear.

I started to ask about her shopping trip when a sudden flash of memory displaced the thought.

"Und how vas your breakfast, frauline?" I queried, trying to sound like the Gestapo, "Und the delivery man, pleased with the gratuity?"

"I hate to disappoint you, Max but SHE didn't seem to care what was in or out of my robe!" Grinning, "But the breakfast was good."

She placed her flowers on the desk next to the wine and turned to face me.

"Mother come closer I want to know if you're wearing panties."

Stepping directly in front of my chair she slowly lifted the hem of her skirt until I was treated to the naked, copper hair covered pussy nestled between her firm white thighs. I motioned her closer; she dropped the skirt and reduced the space separating us to almost nothing. Still sitting I wrapped my arms around her hips and buried my face in the hollow beneath her belly.

I could feel her heat through the material of the dress; my hands moved down to her calves and worked their way up under the dress to caress the soft, yielding flesh of her ass. The volume of the cheeks maintained the inverted apple shape but the water balloon consistency allowed a more swaying, jiggling motion and is infinitely more pleasing to manipulate. No hard-bodies for me!

"I thought we were going somewhere," she said a little breathlessly. "If you keep this up we're doomed to spend the rest of the evening in bed."

"Not a bad way to go, mom, but you're right. Sit down and we'll have a glass of wine then head down to Fremont Street, where it all started."

An hour later we were enjoying the hustle and bustle of the downtown casinos. Watching people from all walks of life; young couples, maybe on their honeymoon; married couples taking turns watching the children while mommy or daddy goes inside to make their fortune; senior couples arguing about who's spending to much money or drinking to much and young singles, mostly male servicemen, dressed like civilians but betrayed by their haircuts.

Mother and I joined worlds longest conga line as the crowd wound its' way in and out of the casinos, The Mint, Golden Nugget, Pioneer Club topped by Vegas Vick, Horseshoe and others. We held hands, kissed, laughed and hugged while we played the slots and black jack.