Remorse 3

The Usual Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy. All characters featured in sexual situations are over 18. The characters in these stories are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead or undead is purely coincidental. Do not try this at home.

*****

I felt genuinely bad about what I had done. I felt like I was an awful person, an awful son. I had taken advantage of my own mother, and wished that I could somehow take it back. I lay in my bed and thought back over the events of the past three weeks, before going further back in time. In my mind, I was trying to pinpoint that one moment when I had stepped over the line. There had to have been a point in time, I reasoned, that this could have been stopped before it went too far.

Through the thin walls of our apartment, I could hear my mother sobbing in her own room, and that just made me feel worse. Mom was my life! How could I have done such a thing?

* * *

My name is Tommy. My parents got divorced when I was five years old. Dad remarried a couple of years later, and I have three younger half-sisters from that marriage. However, Dad and Clarissa (his new wife) moved away when I was seven, and I have barely seen them since. For the past fifteen years, it has just been me and Mom.

Oh, she dated other guys after the divorce, particularly for the first five or six years. Two of those guys, Gary and Paul, were particularly memorable because they actually lived with us for several months each. Eventually, they moved on. I never thought to ask why. Whenever my mother broke up with the guy she had been dating, she would spend a lot more time with me.

When she was with me, my mother never moped or cried about the relationship that had ended. Instead, she just seemed happy to spend more time with her son. At that young age, I just liked having all of that undivided attention. I had no clue about sex whatsoever. I certainly didn't think of my mom as a sexually active or attractive woman.

She dated less frequently as I got older. By the time I graduated high school, I could not recall the last time she had gone out on a real date with a man. She and I went out at least once a month, dressing up and going to a restaurant and sometimes to a movie. We got into a bowling league when I was a junior in high school. The two of us became fairly good bowlers and we made some friendships that have lasted ever since.

It was sometime during one of our weekend bowling matches that I became aware that my mother was an attractive woman. She had always just been 'Mom' in my mind, in a completely different part of my brain than where I kept 'hot women.' On that evening, she was wearing a pair of slacks under her league shirt that were a bit more snug than usual. My mother went up to get her bowling ball, and when she bent over her ass was pointed right at those of us seated behind her.

Honestly, I had not been paying attention to her until Greg, the guy sitting next to me, let out an excited breath. Now, Greg was a guy in his mid-twenties who was a bit of a hound when it came to women. He was constantly making little inappropriate comments about any attractive woman who caught his eye. Usually, he was quiet enough about it that only those of us near him could hear it. I had learned to follow his gaze whenever Greg had one of his outbursts, though, because there was usually a very attractive woman in a provocative pose at the receiving end of those lustful looks.

In this case, I found my eyes following Greg's gaze to a very attractive woman's bottom in tight blue slacks. When she stood up, I was shocked to see that it was my own mother. I had started to get hard before she stood up, and was embarrassed that my arousal did not go away even when I knew who it was.

It felt like I had somehow crossed some wires inside my brain—the part that was perpetually turned on by a sexy woman had somehow gotten locked onto my mother as a sex object.

From that point on, it only got worse. I began to notice other little things about Mom that had never stood out to me before, but all of them only made her sexier. I had to wonder how I had lived under the same roof for so long without taking note that she never wore a bra around the house. She had the most mouth-watering, thick nipples I have ever seen, and they were practically on display all the time.

Mom worked as a secretary, and her work outfits were definitely sexy. She wore nylons and skirts every day, and she took care of her feet and toes so that they looked delectable in her open-toed heels and pumps. The blouses she wore emphasized the gentle curve of her breasts. I had to imagine that guys were always coming on to her at work, and I had just never realized it.

My mother also had a very rich, sexy voice. Her throaty laugh was undeniably arousing, once I became aware of it. I started telling her more jokes my senior year of high school—even some that seemed terribly inappropriate. As long as I told the joke well, I was rewarded with one of her boner-inspiring laughs.

It became a constant source of embarrassment to me, how often I was completely aroused around my mother. I had my own car, and I began to spend more time away from home just so that Mom would not catch me staring at her with a rampant erection in my pants. As a result, I often spent hours just hanging out at the local mall. Eventually, that led to my first job.

There was a massage booth under the escalators. I use the term 'booth,' but that isn't really accurate. There were four massage chairs, designed so that you would sit in them basically backwards. Your face would be at this hole where the headrest of a normal chair would be, and your back would be facing outward so that the masseuse could work on you. The area was partially shielded by a pair of curtains from passersby.

I had started hanging out around that area because there was a cute girl who worked there. She was in my school, and I had flirted with her a bit. The guy who ran the business was a legitimate masseur named Don. He was in his early thirties, and looked really buff. Danni, the girl I had been flirting with, was shy and not very talkative. Don, on the other hand, was very outgoing and he started talking with me. He offered to train me and offered me a job if I was any good. I was caught off-guard when he leaned in and whispered to me.

"Tommy," he said, looking around, "if you learn to give a decent massage, women will be lining up to ask you out."

I had seen some of the gorgeous women who regularly came in for massages, so I readily agreed. It turned out that I had a knack for it. Both Don and Danni said I had "good hands" and was "a natural" at finding and relieving knotted muscles and pinched nerves. I spent three weeks of intensive training with Don, coming in after school every day and spending another ten to twelve hours each weekend. Halfway through the third week, Don had me practicing on customers who came in while he supervised.

I was delighted to get my first paycheck. My mother was happy for me, but she was troubled and I could tell.

"What's wrong, Mom?" I asked.

"Oh, it's nothing," she answered with a shake of her head, "it's just that I had no idea you were doing this, Tommy. I feel like I got left out of a major part of your life this past month. Really, though, congratulations! I am very happy for you."

She gave me a big hug and sighed into my ear. I had to hold my hips back from her so that I didn't poke her with my hard dick.

* * *

Now, I'm not going to pretend that every one of the customers I gave a massage was some hot chick, because that was definitely not the case. There were a lot more women than men who stopped in for a massage, but I got comfortable with giving guys a massage when they requested me. Most of them wanted Danni to put her hands on them, of course. Still, I did have some regular male customers just because I gave a very good massage.

There were a lot of regular customers who were middle-aged housewives. Some of them were very attractive, and flirted with me and Don whenever they came in. Naively, I thought that it was just innocent flirting. I was there for five or six months before I caught on that Don was having sex with a lot of these women.

By that time, I had graduated high school and the part-time job at the mall had become full time. Don often left me in charge of the mall massage business while he left to provide a customer with a massage in their home. He very delicately explained how that part of the business worked. Mostly, he was filling me in on how the billing was different and how to manage my tips and pay taxes on those if I ever gave a customer a home massage.

It went completely over my head at that time that he was explaining how to charge and pay taxes if I ever had sex with a customer for money.

I gave three home massages—legitimate, just plain massages—before Don took me aside and explained that at least one of those women had been disappointed with the service I provided.

"What did I do wrong?" I asked naively.

"It was what you didn't do that had her disappointed," he said. Seeing the look on my face, he let out a sigh. "This isn't a discussion we can have here. Can you come to my apartment after work?"

"Sure," I said.

That evening, I got an eye-opening education on how Don really made his money. Oh, he was an excellent masseuse, but most of his income came from sexually satisfying dozens of frustrated older women around town. Now, at that point I was no virgin, but I wasn't some stud either.

"I don't know if I can do that," I told him honestly. "It's not like I have been with a lot of women. I know I can give a really good massage, but I'm pretty sure I would just disappoint these women if they expect me to give them some amazing sexual experience. I'm not built like you are, Don."

That was true; I was just an average guy in every respect. I had strong hands, and my forearms were muscular from all the massages I had given, but I wasn't otherwise remarkable.

"Well, we'll have to fix that," Don said.

Over the next three months, I practically lived with the guy. He had Danni hold down the fort at work, and he took me with him to several 'home massage' sessions with a handful of his regular customers. These women really got off on having me watch while Don serviced them. He kept up a running dialogue while he pleasured them, pointing out dozens of helpful tips to make me better at pleasing women.

I also went to the gym that Don used, and he started me on his workout regimen. It seemed like no time at all before I was sporting the sort of ripped, muscular frame that these women craved.

The second time through the rounds of his regular customers, Don had me join in to give his best customers a 'two for one' special. I was terribly nervous the first time I rolled on a condom and sank my hard dick into the welcoming embrace of an older woman's pussy. Don was right there, giving me pointers. Also, that massage training was surprisingly helpful—I had gotten skilled at reading a woman's subtle body language, and that carried over. I was able to adjust the speed, angle, and force of my thrusting cock to maximize the pleasure it delivered.

That first time, I was so nervous that I never reached orgasm. The client and Don both complimented me on my remarkable staying power. In Don's car afterward, my eyes were wide when he handed me a hundred dollars.

"Now, I don't ever charge that much," he said, "but she was just thrilled with you and gave us a huge tip."

"Wow," I breathed, "I had no idea..."

"Now, you need to be really careful," he continued. "If you are with a new client who has requested a home massage, some of them really want

just

a massage. A lot of these women get off on having you in their home and touching them, and don't want to cheat on their husbands. The ones who want to have sex with you will usually make that clear. It's always better to err on the side of caution, though. You never want to make the first move. Once you have established that a client wants to have sex with you, though, you'll want to come up with a code they can use if they are having you over to have sex."

He went on, and I nodded and took mental notes. However, I kept looking at the cash in my hand.

I just got paid for having sex!

Now, it wasn't like I suddenly became this tremendous gigolo. Two of the ladies who had previously had me into their homes once again called upon me, and they both made it clear they wanted the 'full service' and not merely a massage. From then on, whenever they called me and said "I'm really sore, can you come over and help me?" I knew that it was a sexual session that they wanted.

* * *

While all of this had been going on, I had managed to forget about my unhealthy sexual attraction to my mother. Heck, I was so busy with the nuances of this new part of my job that I barely had time to get enough sleep, let alone drool over Mom's sexy body. She had noticed that I had begun working out and that I had bought a lot of workout supplements.

Once I had covered my expenses (I paid my own auto insurance, my cell phone bill, gym membership, and I had liability insurance as a professional masseuse) I gave most of the rest of the money I made to my mom. She always smiled and gave me a kiss, thanking me for it. For the first six months, it wasn't really that much money. I was bringing home around two hundred dollars a week. That always varied, depending mostly on how busy the mall was. During the Christmas shopping holidays, I made twice as much as normal. I was also exhausted.

After I started doing home massage sessions, though, my income grew by leaps and bounds. It wasn't like I was banging three or four women a day, ever. It was usually two or three a week, but sometimes as many as seven. Over half of my home massage clients were legitimately massage clients. As Don had predicted, there were women who enjoyed the intimacy of that massage service, but didn't want to cheat on their husbands. They still demanded the same discretion, which I was happy to provide. Some of those women actually tipped better than the ones who wanted the 'full service.'

My mother was genuinely shocked the first time I handed her two thousand dollars in cash. It had been a particularly busy two weeks for me, both at the mall and my in-home practice. I set down my folding massage table inside the front door and reached into my pocket, pulling out the wad of cash and handing it to her before making my way to the fridge for a cold drink.

"Tommy," she said slowly, counting out the bills, "there's over two thousand dollars here."

I had not realized it was that much, but wasn't really shocked by it. I looked up at her wide-eyed expression and wondered what the big deal was.

"I was really busy the last two weeks," I explained. "I did a lot more home massages than normal. Also, we've been honoring a lot of gift cards that people bought as Christmas gifts. I don't get as much from those clients, but they often tip well."

Mom cocked her head at me. "Are you really that good at massage?" she asked.

"Yes I am," I stated. It dawned on me, then, that I had never once given my mom a massage. She really had no idea just how good I was at my job.

"Whoa," I breathed, "I just realized...I have never given you a massage, have I?"

She shook her head. "No, you haven't."

I was really tired and sore, and not thinking as clearly as I should have. I stood and stretched. I got into my 'professional masseuse' mental mode, and flashed the grin I always had for my female clients.

"We'll have to take care of that!" I said.

The voice I used was the one I so often used at work, dripping with suggestion. I got my massage table and asked, "Would you rather I take care of you here, or in your bedroom?"

When I took note of my mother's wide eyes and the way she was trembling, I realized what I had said. Somehow, I just couldn't blush or act embarrassed. I shook my head.

"Sorry," I said, grinning at her again, "I am tired. That sounded awfully suggestive. Would you be more comfortable if I give you that massage here in the living room, or would you prefer that I do it in your bedroom? The reason I sometimes do it in a client's bedroom is that they get really relaxed from the massage and they want to go right to sleep afterwards."

"Oh," she said. "That makes sense. I guess here in the living room would be fine. We still need to eat dinner, so I won't want to go right to sleep."

I had Mom lie on her stomach for that first massage. She was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and she kept them on through the massage. I did a fairly quick back and neck massage, typical of the half-hour sessions I would have given any client in the mall. I felt her muscles relax beneath my probing fingers and palms, and mostly managed to suppress my erection when she moaned sexily. I had gotten skilled at controlling my response to such sounds over the past year and a half.

When I got to her sexy feet, though, things got a little dicey. I have never been a guy with a foot fetish, but my mom has got remarkably sexy feet. It turns out that my mother's feet are really sensitive, and that she spends far too much time on them every day. Her shoes really showed off her toes to full effect, but they were not designed with comfort in mind. I could feel how cramped those knotted muscles were in her feet, and she had dozens of pinched nerves that I was able to work out for her.

The sounds coming from my mother's throat sounded like she was having a stream of intense orgasms as I worked over her delicate feet, ankles and calves. By the time I was finished, I had a rampant erection that was not going away. Fortunately, it was below the level of the massage table, so she did not see it when she sat up and looked at me. On the other hand, her nipples were completely aroused and pointed at me right through that shirt. I think I managed not to stare at them.

"Oh my god, you have totally been holding out on me!" Mom breathed huskily. "That was absolutely amazing! I had no idea how much my feet had been killing me until now."

She slid to sit sideways and held her feet out, wiggling her toes happily.

"No wonder you make so much money at this," she went on. "You have got some real skills, Tommy."

"Thanks, Mom," I said.

I folded the massage table and put it back by the front door, and hid my erection by cooking dinner and keeping my crotch out of view behind the kitchen counter and stove. Dinner was nice, and my erection finally went away while we ate. After dinner, mom sat on the floor in front of me while we watched television so that I could massage her neck and shoulders some more.

After that evening, my mother just couldn't get enough of my talented hands on her body. At least three evenings every week, I would break out my massage table and work her over. I was always trying to keep my behavior professional, ignoring just how turned on I would get from my hands on my mother's body. Unfortunately, my dick had no such compunctions. I wound up masturbating in my bedroom almost every time I gave my mother a massage. Those dirty orgasms seemed far more intense than the ones I had when I actually had sex.

There was another insidious effect of these home massage sessions with my mother. Whenever I was with one of my 'full service' clients, I found myself fantasizing about my mother. This was an easy confusion to fall into; most of those women were attractive housewives that were near my mother's age. They appreciated my ever-increasing ardor for them without realizing the reason for it.

Seven months after I had given my mother that first massage, she requested another one after she had gotten out of the shower. Rather than getting dressed, she lay on the massage table in her bedroom wearing only her bath towel. The towel worked loose from her body as I worked her over, but I was careful to keep it draped over her through the massage. Her naked back looked incredibly sexy as my hands worked over those muscles.