My Iny Mother

During my formative years and into my mid-teens, I was convinced that I knew everything about my mother that there was to know. I knew her likes and dislikes, what she liked to eat and what she liked to wear. I knew her friends and workmates, what she liked to watch on tv and all about our relatives. I knew what she found funny and what she found distasteful, in short, I could answer any question about my mother that anyone cared to ask and be confident of answering correctly. I even knew her bra size, which was a "34b", it was on the label of a bra which was on top of a pile of clean clothes that I carried upstairs for her one time. Her other measurements, I would have to make a reasonable guess at I suppose, but I bet I wouldn't be far off.

I could describe her to anyone, all I had to do was close my eyes and instantly an image of her would pop into my head, she was ordinary. Now I don't mean that nastily, what I mean is that she is no different from the millions of other mothers in this country. From pictures in the photo albums, I would consider that she was reasonably pretty when she was young, nothing spectacular mind you, just a young woman with a prettyish face. Her figure back then didn't look too bad and from what I could see then and now, she has good legs. From her photos, she has had different hairstyles over the years, long, short and several different lengths in between. Some suited her and some didn't, nowadays her mousey coloured hair is slightly permed and is currently shoulder length and at least her glasses suit the shape of her face. Over the years she has worn some monstrosities which I would never have been seen dead in, even as a joke.

But despite everything that I thought I knew; my mother it later appeared, had a secret. It was a secret kept so close to her chest that I'm sure no one ever had an inkling. Well perhaps my father did, maybe it was the reason for their divorce four years earlier. If it was, I was never privy to it. I think more or less that I was the reason they stayed together, the older I got, the less they found they had in common and eventually when I was at an age where I saw more of my friends than I did of my family, they decided to amicably go their separate ways. I still saw my father regularly and had great respect for him, but friends and especially girlfriends were more important now than family was.

Now I know what you are all thinking, 'Ah, we know what comes next.' Well, I'm glad you do, because, at that point, I didn't have a clue that anything at all would come next, she was my mother, end of story. My life carried on as it had done before their separation, most evenings after school and with my homework done, I would head into town and meet up with my mates. When I left school and got a job as an apprentice joiner, it made no difference to me, at least there was no homework anymore. I would still toddle off into town most evenings, meeting friends and my new girlfriend, Danielle, whom I had only just recently acquired.

As my nineteenth birthday and Christmas approached, I was at a loss for once that Saturday evening. Outdoors, the weather was cold, wet and my girlfriend was full of the flu. I thought of going around to one of my mates, but because of the dismal conditions, I had retreated to my bedroom, bored with watching the rubbish that was on tv. Browsing through several porn sites, I suddenly needed to piss and left my laptop on the bed as I made my way to the bathroom. It was only as I returned that I remembered it and got the shock of my life. My mother was in my bedroom putting socks and undies into drawers and fortunately for me, her back was to my laptop which was currently displaying a woman, gagged and bound while she was getting shafted.

Mum turned around, just as I slammed the lid down, looking at me enquiringly as to what my haste was. 'Bored,' I told her as I quickly picked up my headphones and connected them to my music player, certain that my face must be flushed and crimson.

As she left my room, I breathed a sigh of relief, thanking whichever gods were watching over me, that she hadn't noticed what was on the screen. She must not have caught a glimpse because she had made no mention of it. I'm sure she would have done and so from then onwards, I always made sure the lid was closed whenever I left it unaccompanied.

Danielle had recovered, the weather had turned frosty and crisp and I had gone back to my frequent trips into town each evening. With Christmas over and both me and mum back at work, our life continued unabated throughout January. It was one evening in February that I once again found myself at a bit of a loss. There was nothing much on tv, Danielle was away, and it was too cold to walk down to my mates. What I was watching on the tv was at least halfway interesting, when Mum came in after finishing up in the kitchen and grabbed the remote. She proceeded to do that annoying thing of going through every one of the channels, trying to find something to watch despite the fact I had already told her there was nothing worth watching.

We sat for a while longer, up until the point that I intended to go up to my bedroom when she suddenly came out with a strange request. 'Can you bring your laptop downstairs? I want to look up something.'

Now, as far as I was concerned, my mother was computer illiterate, she worked in a large retail outlet and while I knew that she perhaps had to use one from time to time, at home she could never get the hang of my machine on the few occasions she had asked to borrow it. Dutifully, I brought it down and switched it on for her as she asked how she should search the internet.

'What is it you are looking for mum?' I asked as I showed her how to bring up the browser and type in an enquiry. Her answer had me rocking back on my heels and going crimson as I stuttered and spluttered at her reply.

'I'm looking for the website that was on your computer before Christmas. Remember the night I came to your bedroom. You know, the one where the woman was tied up and having sex.'

If you had given me a shovel, I would happily have dug the hole myself. I was tongue-tied and embarrassed, how would I respond to a comment like that from a stranger, let alone my own mother. Nervously, and shaking like a leaf, I sat next to her and took the laptop back as I typed in a web address and pressed enter. Passing it back to her, I was intent on making my escape when she started to ask questions. 'What do I click on. How do I make it play?'

I explained what she had to click on as the first clip started playing, the sound loud in the now quiet room. I turned the volume down and tried to escape again but was stopped as she said, 'Don't go yet. I need you to show me how to play more.' And so, I sat, feeling ill at ease with the laptop balanced on our knees as I watched porn clips with my mother. She sat silently at first, watching the action play out on the screen. By the third clip she was commenting, observations on the actors and actresses, comments about what was taking place as embarrassingly, I watched women of different ages, bound, flogged, abused and fucked.

We spent just over two hours that evening watching all kinds of fetish and kinky porn, my mother laughing, joking and sounding excited while I just sat in a subdued daze, unable to do and say anything. I couldn't reply to some of her remarks, there was no way I could bring myself to use words like those in my mother's presence. And there was no way I could move, despite my abject discomfort, what I was watching on the screen was having the desired effect and I had a raging boner in my pants. When at last she'd had her fill, she wished me goodnight and headed upstairs to her bedroom.

I must have sat there for another thirty minutes, unable to believe what had just taken place. If I had told any of my friends, there was no way they would ever have believed me. I wouldn't have believed me. When at last I locked the doors and turned out the lights, heading for my room, I knew I had to do something to get rid of the throbbing urgency down below. With my door locked, I got naked, lying on my bed as I began teasing my raging flesh and tossed myself off.

My ears didn't pick up on the sound while I was distracted, it was only afterwards as I threw the discarded tissue full of my semen into the bin that I was convinced I could hear something.

You know what it's like when you are certain you can hear a motor running or humming somewhere in the background but cannot pinpoint exactly where it is coming from. It was so soft and quiet that I wondered if I was imagining it. I would turn my head one way and it would disappear, turn it another and the sound was back. I walked around my bedroom, listening to pieces of equipment, try to work out if they were the source of the noise. I opened my bedroom door, sticking my head out onto the landing but still couldn't place the sound. Back in my room I even opened the window, a blast of icy cold air making my curtains flutter but still, the noise evaded me and then it suddenly stopped.

Nothing was said the next morning, or the next day or even over the next few weeks. It was as though the occurrence had never happened. It was March before it was repeated once again with similar consequences to the previous occasion and again with me searching around my bedroom for that damned irritating bloody sound.

By the third occasion after Easter, at least I was past sitting there like some kind of shop dummy, now feeling able to make comments even though I still found it embarrassing to use certain words. Whilst we had progressed to other types of porn clips, having watched women being sodomised, both male and female solo masturbation, lesbian and double penetration, my mother always returned to what I would call, the kinky sex.

Now here's the thing and where you have all so far guessed wrong, nothing ever happened. There was no sudden throwing off of clothes or rampant sex in front of the fire, we would sit together, watch pornography and then retire alone.

'Sorry, that was a bit of a white lie.' Something did happen and it was as Christmas approached once more. We had spent nearly the entire year coming together every so often to perform our little secret, and despite being sat close to my mother on each occasion, that December was the first time that I retired to my bedroom and suddenly found myself wondering as I beat my meat, what it would be like to see her naked. The velocity that my spunk left the tip of my cock left me a quivering wreck and for the first time ever, I fantasised about having sex with her.

Christmas that year was pretty bad, there was plenty of snow and several days that while we could get out of the house, the roads and pavements were like skating rinks and were lethal. It was during these days that we amused ourselves with our now normal preoccupation. I have to admit that it was hard over that time, not because of anything that was said or done, but because of the type of porn clips that my mother wanted to watch.

Imagine how difficult it was, sat very close to her, literally our arms and shoulders touching as I surreptitiously watched her chest rise and fall rapidly, knowing that what we were watching was arousing her. Clip after clip of supposedly mother and son, father and daughter, mother and daughter and whole families together performed for us, hour after hour of incestuous sex as my cock throbbed constantly in my pants.

I found the whole episode awkward, not least because, besides the comments that were made, my mother insisted on starting to ask me questions. 'Had I tried such a position with my girlfriend? What kind of sex did I like? Did I like old women, mature women? Had I ever slept with two girls at the same time?' I'm sure I spent the time blushing profusely, and especially when I learnt about her likes. My mother it seemed, had a penchant for sex, most kinds of sex, but especially the type that wasn't what you may describe as normal sex. The other reason that I found that Christmas awkward was the fact that I would have given my right arm for the chance to fuck her. 'Yes, that's right. I had now reached a point where I fantasised about fucking my mum.'

She had never given me any inclination, that my thoughts were anything that she might have considered acting upon. Each occasion was the same, when she had watched her fill, she would depart for her bedroom leaving me with a considerable erection. It was the morning after one of those episodes that I discovered the source of the noise that I would hear from time to time and drove me to distraction. I had taken more clothes up to her bedroom for her as she stood ironing in the kitchen and there it was down the side of her bed, this enormous, rubberised vibrator. Switching it on and off quickly, I was now sure that it was the reason for the humming, my mother bringing herself off after watching pornography all evening.

I'm quite sure that we would have continued in the same vein forever if it had not been for one evening the following year when due to my girlfriends birthday, I returned home late and very much worse for wear. I'd imagined that my mother would be in bed by the time I managed to unlock the front door and stagger through it, so was surprised to find her still up, sat on the couch with my laptop balanced on her knees. I was cordially invited to join her as she continued to work her way through clips of hand-jobs and women getting fisted with a little bit of "BDSM" thrown in for good measure. It took a while for my eyes to focus on the screen as a woman was manacled and forced to swallow cock before getting fucked.

With the amount I'd had to drink that evening, my brain and mouth were refusing to work with each other, which was why at one particular juncture, as a large shaft was thrust into the woman on screen, I blurted out that I imagined doing that to her, my brain taking nearly a minute longer to process what I had said before I blushed and hit the mute button for my gob. It was to her credit that she said nothing other than to give me a curious look. I would love to say that I stayed in the lounge, and we got it on, sadly, within a short period I felt sick, and just managed to make it to the bathroom before calling for "Hughey".

Surprisingly, the next morning I wasn't disturbed. Feeling as rough as a bears arse and with a throbbing head, I spent most of the day in bed. I could recollect saying something, but for the life of me, could not remember what it was. Finally surfacing mid-afternoon, I made my way downstairs just as my mother returned from visiting her sister. She made us both a brew, taking them through to the lounge and asking me to join her as she had something that she wanted to discuss. I wasn't worried, just unsure of myself, wishing I could remember exactly what I had said the previous night.

Mum watched me for a few moments as I rubbed my temples, uttering those famous words of 'Never again.' I got the impression that she wanted to ask something and was considering how to start the conversation and broach the subject.

'Do you remember what you said last night?' She asked. I nodded my head and then said 'No.'

'I remember saying something mum, I'm just not sure now what it was. Was it something I shouldn't have said?' I asked.

'Perhaps,' she replied, 'But I think we have a certain kind of understanding nowadays. What you said last night about wanting to fuck me, was that correct? Is that what you would like to do?'

Remember that hole I was digging, all I needed at that moment was the shovel and I could make it a few feet deeper. Awkwardly and feeling stupid, I nodded my head. She sat for a few moments longer as she considered my affirmation. It was as she started to speak that I learnt the one thing about my mother that I and probably everyone who knew her had never suspected.

I would always have considered her to be a strong character. She never felt embarrassed about complaining, she could be quite opinionated and was always the first to voice any concerns. I wouldn't say she was domineering, but she was never afraid of confrontation and if anything, I would say she was a confident person. Which was why I was shocked when she told me what she desired and liked and wanted me to do with her. It appeared my mother wanted to be my "Submissive", or as she put it, 'I want to be your slut, your bitch. I want you to abuse and use me.'

I must have looked a complete idiot as I sat opposite her, my eyes wide open in amazement and my mouth catching flies. My brain refused to compute what she had just told me. No words would come other than strange, strangled noises that issued every so often from my throat. It took a good ten minutes and my hot cup of coffee before I was able to coherently put sentences together. As my initial shock eventually started to evaporate, mum continued to explain what she would like to happen.

'When there are people we know about, everything must appear to be normal. But when we are alone, or sometimes when we are out and about, I want you to put me into compromising situations. I want you to make me do things that I normally would not do.

'I want to be tied up at times and abused, forced to have sex with you. I want you to rape me and humiliate me, in short, the more sordid it is, the more I'll enjoy it.'

Imagine if you will, that some woman has just told you that you have free licence to do with her what you will. That no matter how depraved, outlandish or perverted your imagination, she wants you to do those things to her and she will not complain. It would be like a dream come true and then immediately, you start to wonder what the catch is because there is always a catch. Now increase your astonishment and disbelief ten times, because the woman who has just told you how she wants you to treat her like a whore, is your mother.

She could see that I was struggling with her request which was why she had told me to take a few days and think about it.

What I was struggling with was not the request to have sex with her, I had already reached a point where I would have taken her to bed in a shot. It was the other stuff that I was struggling with. From being a child and like everyone, I had always done what my mother told me. Growing up, she had been my moral compass, praising me when I was good and reprimanding me when I did wrong. Even now when I am grown up, I still have that respect for my mother and mostly comply with her wishes and requests. To suddenly reverse those roles and command her to do things, things that a son would never think of telling his mother to do, was something that I didn't know if I could manage.

Over the next week, her words were never out of my mind. I would go to her occasionally, trying to clarify certain points that I was struggling to get my head around. I must say, she never rushed or tried to coerce me, allowing me the time to make my mind up. When at last one Sunday afternoon we sat together and I told her about my concerns, but that at the very least, I consented to give it a try, she looked pleased. The rest of the day was spent listening to ideas of the things she wanted to do, how she wanted me to treat her and things that perhaps between us we should purchase.

As Easter was only a couple of weeks away, we would put together what we could, and our game would start during that weekend. I spent the next couple of weeks searching for and ordering items from the internet, things that I had never even realised were out there. It seemed sites were abundant, all perfectly happy to cater to customers who had a penchant for a different type of sex. I had managed to get what I required for our first try-out, my mother discussing it often as that fateful weekend approached and I could see her getting excited.