My Son the Photographer

This story contains descriptions of a sexually explicit nature, consenting mother/son incest and spanking. All participants have at least achieved their 18th birthday. The story line and characters are entirely fictional: any similarities are purely coincidental.

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If you've got this far, I assume such reading material is legal where you are and that you want to read it. This story is a continuation of the series "My Son, the Photographer" which I urge you to read (and submit your votes.) To my regular readers, sorry about the long delay but the muses deserted me and I can't force a story. Enjoy ...

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Andy and I returned to our own chalet and were in bed drifting towards sleep when I heard a car pull up to park just outside. Then there was the clunk of the car door being closed, the beep of a remote locking then the chalet door opening and a strange voice. "What the fuck...? Jesus, Wendy, fucking your own son?" There was a scuffling and then what sounded like a vicious slap and a cry of pain. I nudged Andy to make sure he was awake and he showed he was by tapping my tummy.

We listened in silence as the sounds next door continued, "Dad, stop it. Leave her alone."

The stranger's voice called angrily, "You, you mother-fucking cunt, just shut the fuck up and get to bed – your own bed. And you, bitch, get here."

We heard the sound of more scuffling and a frightened cry of, "No, Tony, please no. Stop it, I can explain ... Arrrgh." That last cry was preceded by the crack of flesh against flesh followed by another and another. On and on the slapping sounds continued, all the time Wendy was screaming and crying out, "No. No more. Please no."

Andy wanted to get up and stop it but I held on to him and whispered, "No. They have to sort out it out themselves."

After what seemed like an age, the sounds of the beating stopped, to be replaced a rhythmic humping interspersed with Wendy's sobs. Wendy was getting fucked savagely by the sounds of it, but her ordeal wasn't to last much longer. With another loud slap we heard the stranger grunting his orgasm then only the sounds of Wendy's muffled sobs dying away. Eventually we again drifted off to sleep with Andy's hand stroking me.

The next morning we woke, went through our morning routine and were enjoying a cup of tea after breakfast. I had the chalet door open, watching for signs of life from next door. Wendy emerged and glanced into our chalet, seeing me but not really seeing, before walking away up the road towards the camp shops, her shoulders hanging dejectedly. Telling Andy to stay, I went after her, soon catching up.

Her eyes were red and swollen and there was a swelling on her left cheekbone which was slightly bruised. She said nothing so I walked beside her: she would speak when she was ready. Still not saying a word she put a few things in her basket as she walked round the camp shop – it seemed like she was on autopilot. She paid for her goods and set off back towards her chalet.

I took her resisting arm and almost pulled her to the café. I made her sit down, noticing she did so very gingerly, while I got two coffees from the counter and returned to the table. Sitting opposite her, I took hold of one of her hands, trying to offer solace in my silence. Eventually she shuddered, took a deep breath then let it out slowly. "Tony arrived last night." I nodded sympathetically. "I wasn't expecting him until this evening at the earliest but apparently he'd sorted out the business problem quickly because he was missing out on our holiday and he just wanted to join us as soon as possible. He caught me and John in bed."

"We heard it all," I said softly. "Oh, you poor dear!" I squeezed her hand.

"He beat me." Tears were now starting to leak from her eyes. I moved to her side of the table and put my arm around her; she buried her head in my shoulder and I just held her as she sobbed herself out. She dabbed away the tears, blew her nose and through the sniffs told me about Tony, her husband. He had never hit her before, she told me, except sometimes she had let him spank her in the bedroom. Nothing like last night, just enough of a spanking to warm her buttocks, she assured me.

"It does nothing for me, I don't really like it but it excites him no end and afterwards the lovemaking just about makes up for the bit of pain." She shrugged. "Last night he just went crazy and wouldn't stop even when I begged him. Then he threw me onto the bed and fucked me from behind. Do you know what's crazy? I had an orgasm even as I was crying in pain." Again she shrugged. "Go figure! But I still hate it!"

My friend said nothing for a couple of minutes, then: "He apologised this morning but he's still not speaking to John. I don't know how it will turn out." Eventually she gave a loud sniff and shrugged her shoulders as if casting off a burden. We finished our coffee and walked back to the chalets with Wendy not back to her bubbly self but certainly more animated.

But my mind kept spinning round. Thoughts of her having an orgasm after the beating intrigued me and I couldn't get out of my mind Andy slapping my rump on that night we had made love loudly to let Wendy and John know we were like them: how I'd had my orgasm when he slapped me. I know I love it when my nipples are twisted or bitten hard – ditto my clitoris. As we walked back to the chalets I was responding to Wendy's friendly chatter without paying her full attention as erotic thoughts tripped through my mind.

We hugged briefly when we reached the chalets and I went into ours to see Andy still sitting at the table. His eye cocked inquisitively as I sat beside him and I rehearsed what Wendy had told me. "I reckon we should make our own plans for today," said Andy. "Leave them to sort themselves out. Anything you fancy doing?"

"Maybe we could drive round to Newquay and eat some hot Cornish Pasties on the beach. Watch the surfers – not that there's going to be much surf today. Just lounge around for the day and soak up some sun. Maybe have a walk round the shops," Andy grimaced a little at that one so I hurried on, "or get a bagful of pennies and throw them away in the arcade."

My son grinned. "I don't think I ever told you about how I once got real lucky in an arcade. That's it," his face animated as he recalled the scene. "Remember when we had a holiday in Filey – that would be the year before Shitface left?"

"Don't call your Dad that," I told him firmly. "Even if he is a Shitface. Anyway, go on ..."

"You two left me in the arcade with a supply of pennies while you went into the pub next door ..." He went into a long description of how he discovered a way of cheating and winning on a particular slot machine. "Mum, I emptied that machine and used my ill-gotten winnings to pig out on chocolate and sweets. I couldn't face any more food when we went into that café but I didn't dare tell you why."

"I think I remember that day. I thought you had caught sunstroke or something when you wouldn't eat but your temperature was normal so I didn't fuss too much. You were OK the next day so I thought nothing more of it until now. And yes, you'd have got a thick ear from me or Shi ... your Dad, whoever got there first."

"OK," said Andy. "Newquay it is then, but I don't think I'll ever find another machine like that one. Hey, come to think of it, it wasn't dishonest." He grinned. "Those machines were to test your skill – well my skill beat their machine. It wasn't my fault it wasn't properly maintained. Do we need to take anything with us? I'll bring my camera, of course but we don't need anything else, do we?"

"I don't think so. We can buy any food or drinks we want. We should take couple of towels and the beach sheet of course. And we mustn't forget the sun cream but I can't think of anything else. We'd better set off soon or we won't find an empty spot on the beach. I'll wear my bikini under my dress. Will you get things together while I get changed?"

"Sure Mum," he replied. "It won't take me a minute to put my bathers under my shorts."

Ten minutes later Andy was driving out of the camp. He turned north following the signs to Newquay slowly in the congested tourist traffic. Eventually we got there and by some miracle found a parking space just about to be vacated. Andy managed to slide in neatly, blithely ignoring the indignant honking of another driver who felt he had a claim to the precious piece of turf. The other guy just about had steam coming out of his ears when we got out the car. Andy gave him a gamin grin and a semi-apologetic shrug of his shoulders. He drove off in high dudgeon causing an innocent pedestrian to jump out of his way smartly to avoid being mown down.

I fed the parking meter enough coins to park all day – how do they justify those charges? – while Andy got the bag out of the boot. "That car will be an oven when we get back," I observed.

"Don't expect me to drive around finding a nice shady tree to park under," was his laughing response.

We made our way to the beach. Naturally all the best spots were gone but we found a patch big enough to spread our sheet in, stripped off our outer clothing and settled down enjoy the sun, I put sun cream on his back and he did the same favour for me. It felt good to close my eyes against the sun which glared even through my shades but the warm rays were welcome as was that faint breath randomly stirring the air about us.

After maybe 20 minutes I turned over and felt the hot sun beating down on my back. I relaxed, basking in the warmth. My thoughts drifted idly in that place out of time between sleep and waking, where the world fades away and dreams begin. Erotic vagueness, the warmth of the sun penetrating through my body, the pulsing of blood through my ears like a slow metronome: each swish somehow transforming into the beat of a hand on my bum as the sun beat at my buttocks. Subconscious memories of Wendy getting smacked migrated into me getting smacked. Lying across Andy's lap I was wriggling under his ministrations and pressing my groin into his soft thigh. My pulse quickened, speeding up the smacks until suddenly I was brought back to the world by a hand shaking my shoulder and an earnest voice asking, "Are you OK Mum?"

It took a few seconds for my thoughts to surface, reluctant to let go of that dream. It left me feeling so randy! I turned my head to see Andy anxiously looking down at me. "You were squirming and twitching and moaning. People were starting to look." His voice sank to a whisper, "I thought you were trying to screw the sand."

I noticed my breathing was faster than it should be but calming down now. I propped myself up on my elbow and looked back at him. "Yes, I think I must have been dreaming. I'm OK now, thanks. What time is it?"

"Half twelve," he said, checking his wrist watch. "I'll go and get us some pasties." I reached for my purse and gave him the money then watched while he strode up the beach, his leg muscles working against the soft sand. I enjoyed the sight of his firm young body, his naked back gleaming with perspiration as he walked towards the steps in the sea wall.

As I was waiting for his return, the nature of my dream came back to me. I was conscious of dampness between my legs and a glance at my bosom showed my nipples proud beneath my bikini top. My body seemed to be leading me down mysterious unexplored paths. But what was I going to do about it? I pushed such thoughts aside as Andy returned bearing four Cornish pasties, still hot from the oven, and four cans of cola wet with condensation.

We had our lunch in contented silence, watching the other inhabitants of the beach. Here, a large family group playing cricket: a girl, maybe ten, tiredly chasing the ball her bigger brother had gleefully hit over her head for the umpteenth time. There, a couple of teenage girls giggling as they removed wet bathing costumes and dressed in the only just adequate confines of bath sheets. Kids digging and patting down damp sand, building small castles bearing tiny paper flags. At the water's edge kids of all sizes swimming and paddling: dads with their trousers rolled up to their knees. Drifting on the breeze came the sounds of raucous music pumping out from the amusement arcades, but muted by the general hum and childish shrieks of the crowds around us.

We soaked up the sun for another hour then decided to get dressed, leave the beach and sample the other delights of the resort. We did spend some time walking round the quaint narrow streets looking at the various shops offering the usual over-priced tourist junk: tacky souvenirs, kiss-me-quick hats, plastic beach toys, picture postcards. Our nostrils were clogged with the reek of cooked grease at every fast food outlet.

There was nothing much in the shops to interest me and Andy was plainly bored so we made our way back to the sea front again and entered one of the amusement arcades at random. Andy queued and got us a large bag of 2p coins each which we dutifully fed into the slots of the rapacious machines, oblivious to the mechanical voices extolling the virtues of one flashing monstrosity or another, exhorting us to try our luck. The number of coins in our bags reduced slowly, boosted now and then by a win which elicited minor cries of delight until they finally ran out.

Hand in hand we slowly walked out and along the promenade, finishing up seated under a large sunshade outside a café. We ordered a pot of tea which quenched our thirsts as only tea will and talked of what we would like to do for the evening. Andy fancied going into the town near the camp, have a few drinks at a pub then get a taxi back but I told him I was sick of the noise and the lights and the crowds. What I really wanted was to get him alone, somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could build up the courage I needed – but I didn't say that.

"If it's peace and quiet you want, we could always go back to where we went on Saturday. Build another fire if you like. We can stay there longer as high tide will be later." His voice took on a note of anticipation as he went on, "Even take a blanket with us and sleep under the stars."

His inspiration meshed with my own needs. Out there on the remote beach it wouldn't matter if I shouted out or screamed. I readily warmed to his idea and expanded it, "We can get a couple of steaks and cook them over the fire."

"Bacon and beans for breakfast," Andy enthused.

"We don't have anywhere at all to go from the beach, let's get rat-arsed drunk, just for the hell of it!" I knew I'd need Dutch courage for what I had in mind.

We finished our tea and returned to the car. Yes it was an oven; I could have fried an egg on the bonnet! With the air-conditioning going full blast we joined the pedestrian queue home. Eventually we got onto the main road where traffic flowed a bit more freely. We stopped off at a supermarket to pick up what we needed. There was only one car parked up next door when we pulled up outside the chalet, Wendy's car, and there seemed to be no signs of life so maybe they'd all gone off somewhere together.

It didn't take us long to pack a couple of bags with what we needed. Andy made me take off my bikini and wear nothing but my summer dress – we had packed warmer clothing for cool night – and opened all but three of the buttons down the front: from navel to mid thigh was hidden beneath the buttons but as for the rest ... My breasts and crotch were covered, but only just, as we walked through the camp towards the steps to the beach. Several sets of male eyes, and one or two female sets, goggled and followed us but Andy made me pull the top closed when we were passing kids.

When we got on the beach those last three buttons were opened. The last stragglers were wearily trudging towards the steps from all directions. Again we made our way to the water's edge, the westering sun at our backs, my dress flapping open all the way in the light breeze.

Andy forbad me to cover myself as we approached the three youths coming the other way: when they were about 70 yards away he put his arm around me and fondled my exposed breast and erect nipple. He had us slow down to a snail's pace as we were passing them: they just stood there staring at the sight presented. Andy stopped me, moved behind and pulled my dress wide apart then shocked me by inviting all of them to have a feel. After a few second's hesitation, all of them made free with my boobs. One explored my pussy and told his friends I was wet through so they all had to check it out, invading me with fingers while I just stood there blushing madly but leaking copiously. Andy allowed them to continue this exciting humiliation for about five minutes then he closed my dress and amiably told them that the show was over. On his instruction I thanked them then we turned away and continued our walk along the beach. They watched us for a minute then went on their way talking animatedly.

For the final hundred yards to 'our' spot we both collected wood so we would have a good supply of fuel to get the fire started. We had bought a packet of firelighters to make that task easier. "It's gotta be quicker than rubbing two boy scouts together or whatever they do," my son had quipped.

As before, Andy went off gathering wood while I lit the fire. It was burning nicely when he came back with the first load. He told me to lose my dress and walk around naked. That didn't worry me as the beach was now deserted except for one man and a dog playing at the water's edge but far away, opposite the steps up the cliff. We had bought a litre of vodka and a couple of litres of orange juice for our binge tonight. I had already started drinking mine by the time I presented him with his first drink when he came back with the second load of wood. "Another two good loads should do it," he said, relishing half the full glass. "Whoosh, you mixed that a bit strong, Mum!"

When he'd done gathering fuel, he stripped off saying, "If we're going for a swim, we'd better go now before we have any more liquor." Side by side we walked down the beach towards the golden path of the setting sun. The distant man and dog had vanished: we were alone on the beach. I felt like I was glowing in the sun's rays; there was little heat in them now but they made me feel alive and tingling all over. I was in a state of high anticipation over what I was going to ask Andy to do.

The silence was broken only by the sighing of the sea as minute wavelets shushed into the sand while in the middle distance a couple of gulls fought shriekingly over some morsel they had found. The smell of salt, redolent with the harsh sweetness of the seaweed, filled my nostrils making me feel alive and part of the eternal beauty around.

The coolness of the water as we walked, splashes unheeded, into the shallows brought me back to the immediate. We waded until we were chest high, the wavelets only just big enough to wash gently over my proud nipples. Ducking under, we washed the day's grime and sweat from face and hair then swam around in the mill pond, now and then to stop and exchange a kiss or teasing grope.

Eventually we tired of our play and ran back up the beach to our fire in the dwindling light as the sun disappeared over the horizon. We dried off then Andy added more fuel to the fire while I poured out two more generous drinks. I drained mine quickly and refilled my glass again. Meanwhile my son found a piece of flat rock which he placed by the side of the fire and arranged the steaks on it to start cooking.

I'd had another couple of drinks by the time we had eaten the steaks and a stick of French bread and butter, so now I was more than a little drunk. Andy cleared away the debris from our meal then hugged me close and kissed me. "What's wrong, Mum? You've been nervous and jittery all day. Come on, tell me."