The remainder of Susan's day was grinding ever so slowly. The patients were coming in, relating their latest tales of woe, incompetence, and sheer stupidity, and filing out. At least they all brought their credit cards. She'd run through several scenarios in her mind about how this evening could play out. She had little doubt that Jim would still be there when she arrived. His completely out-of-character phone call earlier and his flimsy excuse about construction noise were enough of a tip-off that he'd felt something odd last night too. But, was he coming back just to see if he had been correct or was he coming back to see how far he could take it?
She really needed to get this whole crazy idea out of her head. Jim was her son. Frank's son. A sexual relationship, even a one-time experiment, simply could not happen. She didn't go to church anymore, but that had not changed her moral compass much. She understood human frailty and failings in a way that most people do not, but she still knew sin when she saw it. And what about her career? What would committing incest with her son say about her as a psychiatrist? How would she be able to look her peers in the face or hear her patient's stories and maintain some sort of distance and authority. You fuck your own son, even once, and you've lost your standing, your credibility, forever. Even if nobody else ever found out or figured it out, she would know – and she couldn't live with that. She was fifty-eight years old and that was way too late to start over or become someone else.
She missed Frank. There was no sense lying to herself about that. He wasn't a great husband, wasn't a great provider, wasn't great in bed. Good grief, she was starting to sound like her patients! Frank did one thing well though. He obeyed. She liked that in a man. If she looked at her empty coffee cup, he ran to fill it. If she mentioned the dishes on the counter, he got up to wash them. If she pushed his head down between her legs, he licked until she was satisfied. It wasn't a full Femdom or BDSM relationship with whips and bondage, but it could have been. If she had moved in that direction, he would not have fought her. He had been eager to please, and she did miss that.
In the end, what probably drove him away as much as her success, was her lack of feedback. For a male with submissive desires, it's not enough to serve. The service must be acknowledged as such in order for him to feel fulfilled. He needs it expressed, clearly, that his submission is noticed and accepted, preferably expected. He needs his role and the role of the one he serves to be understood clearly within the relationship. She knew this well enough. Many men, some of her patients in fact, tried to use stealth submission to lure a dominant nature out of their unsuspecting wives. Sometimes it worked beautifully. Most of the time it didn't, leaving the man frustrated and unfulfilled and ultimately resentful. So why had she let him down by not openly taking control and allowing him to revel in his submission? She knew the answer to that too, and it didn't make her like herself any better. The reason was that she had always known that if she'd been looking for a slave husband, she could have had a much better one. It was ugly, cruel, and self-centered, but it was the truth. A weak slave is no great acquisition, nothing to be particularly proud of. A weakling would serve someone or something, no matter what. The slave that would appeal to her would be one who could be a leader himself, but chose to follow her instead. Frank was never that man.
Jim's shopping trip had been much faster and easier than he'd expected. Returning home with his prize, he decided to spend the rest of the afternoon getting to know his mother a little better. He couldn't help feeling that she must have other secrets besides the extensive collection of sexy underwear and he meant to find them out if he could.
He went through the remaining drawers of her dresser and didn't find much. Then he went to the bathroom. He was deliberately saving the matching bedside tables for last because he was sure that's where the best information would be found. In the bathroom, he noticed she had a fondness for the usual bath salts and creams that most women used. The loofa looked new, so that probably meant she'd worn out a previous one. The robe on the back of the door was shimmering black silk, cut short, with only a tie at the waist to keep it closed. He'd never seen her in anything that revealing, but his thickening cock confirmed that he would very much like to. There was a dirty laundry hamper, certainly containing some of the dirty underwear that are the stuff of online porn stories, but he wasn't quite ready to sniff, or lick, or masturbate into, soiled panties.
The bookcase held no big surprises. The psychiatry texts were to be expected. There were a few on deviant sexuality, which might be an exciting topic in some contexts, but not in a clinical "let's find you a cure" context. "So, on to the bedside tables," he said aloud. He knew, from having lived there as a boy, that his mother's side of the bed was on the right and his father's had been on the left. Starting with her side, he opened the drawer on top and found ibuprofen, a sleep mask, a small flashlight, and a few other odds and ends. "Hmm. How disappointing." The cabinet beneath wasn't much better.
On his side it was a different story. Mom was neat, orderly, and private. He should have known that all the good stuff would be in one place. The top drawer held a nice collection of dildos and vibrators. Glass, silicone, jelly, large, medium, small. All were well represented. He smiled at the fact that he didn't see any that looked particularly intimidating. Jim was the proud owner of seven thick inches. He was well aware that there were bigger cocks out there, but he also knew he was larger than average and none of the girls he'd ever been with had been unsatisfied. Even so, he was happy to see that his mother apparently didn't need a forearm-sized dildo to get herself off.
The cabinet below didn't disappoint either. He knew women were more cerebral than men when it came to sex and he expected she might have a stash of racy literature somewhere. Here it was, and she evidently liked pictures too. The books mostly tended toward cougar stories with a bit of Femdom mixed in. Many of the pictures were of older women having sex with younger men, usually in some sort of dominant role or position. CFNM images were apparently another favorite. Mother, it appeared, had a slight kinky streak. He wondered whether she might have used it on his father or whether it was something that had manifested in the past year or two. In the end, he decided that under the circumstances, the less he thought about his father, the better.
Her closet held a few other pleasant surprises. She had a little leather. Who'd have guessed? It didn't look as though it was worn often, or ever for that matter. But she had it. His mother in a leather, lace-up bra? Unbelievable. A black corset? Sexy spike heels? He'd never seen any of this, or anything remotely like it, on her. It looked like it was unused. There wasn't much dust in the house, but there was a fine layer on the shoes and the leather clothing looked a bit dull.
A new urge came over him. None of the girls he dated had ever brought it out and most would be shocked to think such a thing was possible. He wasn't weak or soft after all. But somehow he couldn't resist going into the linen closet for a few polishing rags. He looked at his watch, decided there was plenty of time, and then stripped naked, his cock hard as stone, and began to polish his mother's shoes and leather. He couldn't help smiling quietly as, whenever he saw a drop of clear precum on the end of his cock, he dabbed it away with the cloth and worked it into the surface.
