Part 4
The click of her low-heeled mules across the tile floor gave her reassurance, confidence, in what she was about to do. She sat on the plush white sofa and waited for him to appear. When his sheepish face showed itself, she said calmly and firmly, "Go shower now. Come back in your shorts. We'll discuss this."
Jim moved quickly down the hall, happy to be out of her sight and happy that some sort of normal seemed to have returned to her voice. It wasn't over, but it was a lot better than the harshness she had shown him at the pool. Why did he even care? It wasn't as though they had always been close. Yet he felt a powerful urge to please her that had never surfaced like this before. Was it that leather stuff in her closet that brought it out? Was it the older woman/younger man pics in her porn stash? The CNFM? Whatever it was, it was undeniable – and weird. He'd never heard other guys mention anything like this.
The shower felt good. It almost washed away the doubts and concerns. Almost. The effects of the alcohol were fading a little and he started to feel a little more in control of himself and the situation. What's the worst she could do? She'd tell him she was ashamed of him for buying that suit. She might give him some sort of boring lecture about the psychological implications of being attracted to his mother. For sure she'd never wear that suit again and from now on she'd be careful not to give him too many cleavage peeks.
Even so, tonight had been hot. He'd seen her pussy, half of it anyway. He'd stared at her asshole. He felt his cock begin to respond and decided that later tonight, in his bed, would be the best time to play the mental highlight reel. For now he needed to avoid thinking about all that and deal with the task at hand – accepting mother's annoyance and correction and getting past all this.
"Come back in your shorts," she had said. What did that mean? He wasn't supposed to put on a shirt? Why would she be so specific? "Whatever," he muttered. It wasn't a good time to disobey simple clear instructions. If she asked why he wasn't more dressed, he'd just tell her he was trying to do exactly as instructed.
She smiled slightly as she saw him reenter the room in nothing but shorts. She knew that a person's impulse would be to put on more clothing – protection – to feel less vulnerable in this sort of an embarrassing situation. He had followed instructions instead and she was pleased. She let him stand in front of her in silence until he could no longer hold her gaze and his eyes fell to the floor. Only then, after thoroughly establishing who had the upper hand, did she speak.
"Go pour two more drinks and bring them here," she said in a low commanding tone. She knew that with each time she gave a simple command and received his obedience, he was being conditioned to accept her authority. She'd told him to stay in the pool, come inside, shower, wear shorts, get drinks, and each time had gotten the proper response. What she understood that he did not was that each command is a building block that helps to create a new paradigm. She was laying a foundation that would lead to his acceptance of more difficult tasks and greater authority.
"Put them here for now," as she pointed to the end table. "Good. You may sit – on the floor," she said, motioning to a spot just in front of her. This was going to be fun! His willingness was making her pussy wet. Strong but compliant. She loved it!
"So. As I understand it, after we got a little tipsy last night and I told you how nice you looked, you decided I must be flirting with you. You spent the evening thinking about it and hatched a plan to come over here tonight. You came up with a cover story about construction noise and spent the afternoon snooping around my room, polishing my shoes and leather, and checking the sizes of my lingerie so you could get me a skimpy bathing suit. Then, when I got home you mixed some drinks and kept them coming in the hope of getting me drunk enough that I'd let you fuck me. Does that pretty much cover it?"
He could feel the heat and pressure in his face and knew he must be as red as the polish on her perfect nails. Every word of what she said was correct and hearing it like that, laid out plain and in the open, resonating in his ears, it sounded awful, almost like a crime.
What could he say to the charges? Only one thing. "Yes Ma'am. I'm sorry," he said in a low voice.
"You're sorry. Now. You wouldn't have been sorry if you had ended up fucking me, would you?"
He really hoped that was a rhetorical question because there didn't seem to be any good answer.
"Well, would you have been sorry if you'd been able to put your cock in your mother? Answer?"
"No Ma'am. I'm sure I'd have been happy about it, at least initially. Maybe later I would have felt guilty."
"Guilty of what?"
"Guilty of tricking you. Guilty of snooping. Guilty of incest, I guess," he offered.
"That's a little too much guilt. First, you didn't trick anyone. As soon as I got your phone call today I knew something was going on. You don't call me very often, Jim. I put that together with the atmosphere here last night and I had a pretty good idea what you were up to."
"I was surprised when I saw the polished leather, but that is a service and nothing to feel terribly guilty about. Checking my sizes so you can purchase a gift for me also falls in the realm of acceptable snooping. Digging through my bedside tables to look at my sex toys and porn does not."
She was guessing on the last point, but saw clearly from his face that she was on the money. That meant he was aware of the older/younger porn and the CFNM as well. Good.
She continued, "Obviously you want to fuck your mother. I could give you a lecture about what that means in psychological terms. I could scold and curse and ban you from my home for a while. Or I could accept your attentions as a flattering form of affection and allow you to express them freely."
