Oedipus Spans

Author's Notes: Our story is told from two perspectives. Odd numbered chapters are written by me and told from the son's point of view; even numbered by my mother, in her voice. Fair warning now, it's a LONG story, so if that's going to be an issue, press BACK now.

Note to category purists who don't like cross contamination of genres - elements of exhibitionism, anal, lesbians and group sex are all present, but it is basically an Incest/BDSM story. It begins slow and lets events unfold naturally, with no category exhibiting strongly at the outset, more as an overall aim of the two protagonists. I do, however, like to think of it more as a love story than jack-off material. So if the latter is what you seek, you've come to the wrong place. Sorry 'bout that!

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"Oedipus Spanks" by Sam Knight and his mother

Contents

Ch.01 Son develops feelings for his Mom.

Ch.02 Mom's secret fantasy.

Ch.03 Son discovers Mom's secret website.

Ch.04 Mom films herself naked in Son's room.

Ch.05 Son threatens to spank Mom.

Ch.06 Mom asks Son to visit sex shop for her.

Ch.07 Son and Mom both need to masturbate.

Ch.08 Mom is still so horny.

Ch.09 Son walks in on Mom masturbating.

Ch.10 Mom shows Son her dirty video.

Ch.11 Son explains the rules of the game.

Ch.12 Mom becomes Son's naked slave.

Ch.13 Son leaves naked Mom on public display.

Ch.14 Mom has an orgasm in public.

Ch.15 Son experiences aftermath of Mom's orgasm.

Ch.16 Mom is led into town on a leash, naked.

Ch.17 Son denies Mom orgasm while he masturbates.

Ch.18 Mom is teased on a night out on the town.

Ch.19 Son ties Mom to a tree, stark naked.

Ch.20 Mom is laid out like a geisha to serve lunch.

Ch.21 Son plays a dirty game with Mom in water.

Ch.22 Mom lets son take her buttered backside.

Ch.23 Son invites lesbians to come pleasure Mom.

Ch.24 Mom naked outdoors in own street.

Ch.25 Son's message to Mom, one year on.

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Chapter 01

The global economy was in the shitter. When the financial crisis began, I'd only been out of school and in my new job for a few months. It was a case of last in, first out. It didn't matter that I liked what I was doing, it didn't matter that I was good at what I was doing, it didn't even matter that I was a hard and dedicated worker; I was new, I was out.

Mom had been so proud of me the day she helped me to move out of the family home and into my own flat. It was a small place, basically just half an attic space in a three storey house that had been converted into six flats. As such, I hadn't moved all the stuff I'd accumulated from 18 years living at home into the new place. There just wasn't room for it all. I still had my bedroom at home and all my crap – my good crap – stayed put.

It broke Mom's heart the day I called her on the phone and said I just couldn't afford to live there anymore. The job market was in the toilet, I had no skills and very little experience, people just weren't hiring teenagers for anything other than menial tasks at below minimum wage.

I packed my stuff into the back of Mom's Volkswagen and couldn't help but feel totally dejected as she drove me back to the family nest.

"Cheer up son," Dad said as he stood on the front porch, welcoming me back. "It'll pick up again soon. You'll be back on your feet before you know it."

Well it didn't pick up again soon. Oh, I got another job, one which I hated. Serving people at a bread and cake chain store. I had to wear a hair net. I found it humiliating and degrading, especially when people I knew came in to buy something.

School friends would find it hard to keep a straight face when they came in during their breaks from college and I'd hear them laughing the moment they stepped outside.

I didn't last very long. I was just so miserable there, Mom told me she'd rather I quit than see me so desperately unhappy all the time.

My parents weren't poor. They weren't rich by any means, but the house was paid for, Mom and Dad each had a nice car, we always went on holidays together and they had enough dough to see them through a rainy day or two if need be.

Dad had a job, but was not in a position to offer me a placement as the only positions he had any say about were graduate positions. And I wasn't a graduate.

Far from being stupid. I just didn't really have any idea what to study. Besides which, I'd been in school for a long time and wanted a change of scenery. I thought, maybe in a few years, I'd have more of an idea and go back and finish my studies then. And do so when I had some money under my belt to see me through. I didn't relish being a poor, indebted student.

Two demeaning jobs and a couple of long stints on unemployment benefit later, Mom suggested I rethink my strategy of putting university on hold. She hated to see me mope around the house, not going out, not seeing friends.

Mom gave me an allowance, Dad did too, though as Mom didn't work, I guess it all came from Dad. They had never been tight fisted. But that was besides the point. I loved them, I didn't want to have to rely on them that way indefinitely, I wanted to make my own way.

But that just wasn't happening.

So I took Mom's advice and applied to university, two years later than all of my friends. My parents would pay, as they always said they would. They didn't want paying back, they just wanted what was best for me. Seeing me twiddling my thumbs, feeling hopeless and not living my life was not what they wanted.

I only just got my application forms in on time. I hadn't been planning on doing it this year, so everything had been a rush, even visiting my old school to ask for some references.

Mom was sat in the kitchen when I came down the stairs. Dad had already left for work. I had butterflies in my stomach and was slightly agitated. What if I didn't get in? What if no one wanted me? It wasn't like I had anything to show for myself, or any great skill, or achievement from the time since I'd left school.

"C'm'ere Babes." Mom always called me that. I may have been twenty, but I was always going to be her baby boy.

I walked up to where she was seated at the breakfast bar, hands in my pockets, head down. I just stood there as she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me in close, smattering my head with little kisses.

"What are you and me going to do with ourselves this summer?" she asked. She wanted desperately to get me out of my rut.

"I dunno Mom."

"You don't know?" she chirped as if talking to a four year old, though without any patronising quality to her voice. "I'm sure we can think of something. You and me. There must be lots of things we can do together ..."

I looked up at her and smiled half-heartedly.

"If you don't mind being seen out and about with your old Mom, that is."

"You're not old Mom." My response was instantaneous.

She smiled, cupping my cheeks in her hands and drawing my head to hers, until our foreheads were touching. As we looked into each others eyes, she wrinkled her nose and rubbed it against my nose, Eskimo style.

"Dad's going to be quite busy over the next few months. He's got two major accounts and he's going to be away quite a bit. He suggested to me last night in bed, that you and I take a few little vacations. Not far. Just around Britain. A few nights here, a few nights there. Just to coincide when Dad's away, that's all. What do you say to that Babes?"

I looked up and thought for a moment or two. Far from being objectionable, I thought it was a cool idea. "Like where?" I asked.

"Where would you like?"

A smile came to my face. The moment Mom saw it, it made her so happy that she pulled my face to hers and planted a great big smooch on my lips.

"Mom!"

"I'm sorry Babes," Mom chuckled at the strength of my protest. "I just haven't seen that smile of yours in such a long time. I missed it, that's all."

"It's okay Mom. I'm sorry I ..." I laughed myself. I had been taken quite off guard by the location of the kiss. "It's okay."

I raised my index finger to my lips and kissed it, then pressed that same finger against my Mom's lips. Mom kissed them back and smiled at me. She stood up and wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight for a few minutes, gently swaying side to side, back and forth in her arms. She was so comforting, my mother. I loved her with all my heart. We'd always been friends. She was the one who would always sneak up to comfort me after I'd been disciplined or punished by Dad.

I'd hear the soft footsteps on the landing and the quiet knock on the door, then she'd just slip in and come lay down alongside me on my bed, put her arms over me and rest her cheek on mine. It was never long before she had me up and about and smiling again.

And Dad wasn't nasty or anything. I loved him too. He was just the parent who dealt with all that sort of thing. It was only right that a young boy learn what his mistakes were and take responsibility for them. Dad saw to all that, so Mom didn't have to. She was free to be the love giving parent.

And that was just fine. Given the choice of Mom coming up to my bedroom to give me a cuddle and a kiss or Dad doing the same – eurgghh – I'd choose Mom any day of the week.

"So where were you going to suggest?" she asked.

I looked at her and smiled, before giving my answer, making her smile too.

A few weeks went by before the first of Dad's business trips. Mom had succeeded in bringing me some way out of my slump, but I still hadn't heard back from the university people other than a receipt of my application form. Mom had booked the first of our trips. Cornwall.

Mom drove all the way, stopping at service stations every hundred or so miles, for a break, something to eat and drink, a pee, or even just to stretch our legs. We had a few CDs in the car that she liked to listen to and I hadn't brought any. All my songs were on my mp3 player and required earphones. So most of the way, it was KT Tunstall, Alanis Morissette and Liz Phair, three of Mom's favourites.

My Mom was a cool chick, with music to match. It may not have been my cup of tea, but it was so much better than Dad's classical music that he kept in his BMW.

I'd never really listened much to Mom's music in her car, because I only ever went on short journeys with her, five or ten minutes at a time and the music would be turned down in the background because we were usually talking. Whenever we went anywhere of some distance, it was always in Dad's car, with Dad driving and Beethoven and Bach and Handel and the like on his stereo.

But this was probably the first time that I really got to listen to some of the stuff Mom was into. Oh, she played a bit of KT Tunstall around the house. I knew half the lyrics to 'Suddenly I See' myself, but Liz Phair was fairly new to me. And it came as something of a surprise.

There were two songs in particular that gelled with me. One was called 'Little Digger' in which the songstress kept repeating the line 'My Mother Is Mine' which made me feel kind of happy because for the next few days, my mother was going to be – all mine. And it made me feel close to my Mom, because she was hearing the line too and every time Liz sang it, Mom would look at me and I would look at her. She'd smile, then I'd smile. I don't know what the song was about, but that line brought us closer somehow.

The other song was causing Mom to blush somewhat and she was refusing to look anywhere other than straight ahead. The display text on the central console readout simply had three letters. H. W. C.

The song hadn't got off to the best of starts, using the F word – a word we generally didn't use in our family, but it just spiralled from there. Several times Mom's left arm twitched, threatening to leave the steering wheel to do something about the song.

If I thought the 'My Mother Is Mine' line had been repeated a lot in the other song, it was nothing compared to the repetitive lyric in this one – 'Gimme Your Hot White Cum'. Over and over and over again.

Mom's face looked like it was going to explode as I cast my eyes sideways in my head, trying not to blush myself. The song was all about a woman pulling back on her lover's penis to make him ejaculate on her so she could rub it in her face and hair and all over her body to make her skin look fresh and youthful. I didn't even know there were songs about that sort of thing out there. I'd never heard a song with the F word in it before today.

When the song finally came to a close what must have seemed like twenty minutes later, even though it was only about three, I turned my head to my mother and she turned hers to me. Without saying anything, I failed to keep my smile contained and the snigger that came out triggered a similar reaction in Mom. It wasn't long before we were laughing so hysterically that Mom had to pull over, for fear of causing an accident.

"I'm sorry Babes, I'm so ashamed."

I put my hand on my mother's. "It's okay Mom. I liked it. It was catchy." I began to sing sheepishly, "Gimme your hot white cu-uh-uh-um! Gimme your hot white cum."

I didn't stop to think how stupid it sounded me singing it, asking for another man's semen.

"Oh stop Babes, you're embarrassing me."

"Go on, sing it with me Mom." I pressed the previous track select on the stereo and the song began to play again. Track eleven.

A minute later we were driving and smiling again, singing the song together, Mom and me, "Gimme your hot white cu-uh-uh-um, gimme your hot white cum!"

We hadn't been to Cornwall for many years. I think the last time we went, I was about twelve, but I'd remembered it fondly, staying in an apartment in St. Ives, around the back, overlooking Porthmeor Beach where we'd watch the tremendous waves that would come crashing in on a stormy day.

But at relative short notice and with the onset of tourist season, which always started early in Cornwall, we hadn't been able to find the ideal spot for a short break, instead having to book a hotel.

Cornwall is a little unusual for Britain. Most of the country is served by chain hotels, catering to both the budget conscious and the cost no object crowd. But what Cornwall was lacking, was those famous brand hotels, whether they be Travelodges, Premier Inns, Holiday Inns or Hiltons, because those hotels were usually set up on routes frequented by businessmen who travelled on the road, like Dad.

Cornwall was a bit of a dead end, geographically speaking, sitting down there in the south west of Britain. Indeed, the most southerly point in mainland Britain was located in Cornwall – the Lizard, so too the most westerly point – Land's End. But far from being a scenic dead end, Cornwall was one of the most beautiful places in the whole of the British Isles.

But that left us in a hotel. The only place we'd been able to find that had space was in Penzance. And the rooms were a little pricey. A little too pricey to warrant two rooms, one each for Mom and me. After all, it was only for three nights and it was just the two of us. And at a cost of £150 a night, it was just crazy to spend £900 for two rooms for two people, particularly when bed, breakfast and evening meal for two was included in the cost of each room.

When we got to the room, we were in for a surprise. There was just the one bed. Mom went into a bit of a panic. She'd booked online and couldn't recall whether this was correct or not. She was sure she'd booked a room with two single beds.

"Don't sit down," she called out to me, just as I was about to slump down and crease the corner of the double bed.

She rummaged through her handbag for the printout. The look on her face when she looked up at me told me it was Mom's error. Her jaw was hanging in mid air. She raised her hand to her mouth.

"I looked at so many different rooms on the computer," she said. "I was sure it was for two singles. I'll go see if they can change."

"Mom. Mom," I shouted, trying to snap her out of it. "It doesn't matter, it's okay. I'll sleep on the floor. I've done it before. I'll survive."

She walked up to me and stroked the side of my face with her hand. "No Babes. Bring the luggage, we'll go back down to reception and see if they can put us in another room."

The hotel was fully booked however and there were no other rooms.

We settled our luggage back into the room and used the facilities to refresh ourselves. Then set out for a little walk to see what was nearby. After about an hour, we returned to the hotel, but it was still too early for dinner, so we strolled over to the bar.

"What will you have Mom? My treat." I always did that sort of thing. Even though the money I had was basically pocket money given to me by Mom or Dad, I at least liked to put my hands in my pockets when I could, if only to show my appreciation to them. Yes, it was money they wanted me to spend on myself, but I really took pleasure in buying Dad a drink every now and again, or surprising Mom with flowers for no particular reason, just that I loved her.

"Uh, G&T for me Babes. Lemon, no ice."

"And a pint of Kronenburg for me," I said to the hotel bar man.

£7.50. Jeepers. That was a lot, I thought, looking for some loose change to go with the five pound note I held at the ready in my hand.

We found a table in the window. It was a nice hotel and it had huge picture windows in the bar area, just off the lobby, that looked out to sea. We sat side by side on a leather sofa, facing out to admire the view, taking sips from our glasses and just generally relaxing, talking about our journey down, ribbing Mom about the song and discussing our plans for the next few days.

Without food, two rounds of drinks had made us a little tipsy when we went in for dinner – which was included in the price. We still had to pay for drinks. All in all, it was a very pleasant meal and Mom and I once again adjourned to the bar for a little night cap.

Mom had stayed on the gin and tonics and I had stayed on the lager, but the air conditioning in the hotel and the slightly salty meal had dried out Mom's mouth and left her craving for something long and cool.

She gestured toward my glass, "Mind if I ..."

I shook my head. "Go ahead Mom. Feel frrree," I said, stumbling on my words with a giggle in my intoxicated state. I think if I'd been a little more sober I would have made some pathetic complaint about catching cooties from my Mom sharing my glass.

Mom lifted the near full pint glass to her lips and began to slurp. And slurp. And slurp. And before I knew it, all but a half inch at the bottom was gone from my glass.

My Mom let out a little belch, then wiping her lips with the back of her hand, said, "God, I needjid zhat!" Then smiled and began to giggle.

I went and bought myself a replacement pint and brought along a half for my mother and settled it down alongside her G&T glass.

"Whashat for? Are you tchrying to get Mommy dhrunk, Babesh?"

"Mom ... I think you're well past that stage. Jush enjoy it."

We managed to get each other back to the room safely and we both seemed to sober up slightly when we saw our bed situation. Mom had insisted we share the bed, but I had insisted just a little bit more that we didn't. I took a pillow and a blanket while Mom was in the bathroom changing and lay them down on the floor to the side of the bed.

I could hear water running and so assumed Mom was cleaning her teeth, so instead of waiting to use the bathroom to change after Mom, I took off all my clothes and sat nude on the edge of the bed, pulling up my pyjama shorts just in time to hear the water shut off and Mom's hand on the door handle.

"Oh Babesh. I feel sho guilty about dish. Are you sure you won't shleep in zhuh bed?"

"Mom. I'm fine. Stop worrying, will you!" I settled onto the floor and Mom, in a thin green satin nightgown, that barely covered her supple thighs, slinked under the covers alongside me.