Tales From the Club – Mom Wins

Tales from the Club - Mom Finally Has Her Way with Her Wayward Son

For those who have not read my earlier stories, in one corner we have our hero, "Hi, my name is John and I'm a sex addict." (New Xanadu Part 1) who some years ago decided to make love, not war against his over-active libido. In the other corner we have his Mom.

A couple of years before this story opens, John and a few other Sex Addicts Anonymous dropouts formed New Xanadu a very exclusive swinger's club outside Chicago. Much to his amazement, on the opening night of New Xanadu John discovers Mom performing some rather excellent fellatio in the club's main room. (Tales from the Club: Mom).

Since then, John has made it a point to avoid Mom at the club, but things almost came to a head at a club auction where Mom was about to buy John for the night, until he is saved by a mother-daughter team to provide the young woman with a gentle introduction to the joys of sex. (Tales from the Club: Bought to Pop).

This story opens immediately upon the heels of that last one. You don't need to read those stories to appreciate what's going on here; but unless you only go in for incest stories, if you like this one, you might like those that came before.

Please remember the payoff for writers on Literotica is not money, but your votes and comments. However you feel after reading this story, please let me know.

If you have an idea for a scenario that you'd like to see played out at New Xanadu, I'd love to hear it.

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Sometime near the crack of dawn Rebecca and her mother ran out of steam. I put them in an empty room on the second floor so that they could get some sleep before driving home, then stopped by the club's office to check over reports of the previous night's festivities. Waiting for me on the counter was a sealed envelope with my name and "Private" inscribed on it in a flowing script that I recognized. The enclosed note read "John, Sweetie, I think it's about time we talked. Why don't you come up and see me sometime? Monday night at home would be good. Love, Mom."

Christ, I thought, first Mom tries to buy me as a sex toy, and now she's channeling Mae West at me. This is getting out of hand. But since I'd been up for 24 hours straight and had visitation with my son starting in four hours, now was not the time or place to deal with that. I just refolded the note and headed for the locker room to get my street clothes. Then I went back to Susan's attic apartment. I smelled coffee when I got there, so I knocked on her door rather than just barging in.

Since she had not been one of the previous night's offerings, Susan, looking perky in spite of the early hour, on seeing me said, "Given how it smells in here, please tell me that you aren't really looking for more sex."

"God Susan, right now my dick is kind of sore and sex is the last thing on my mind. What I need is three hours of sleep and I think your apartment may have the only alarm clock in the building. Can I borrow it, please?"

"Oh, that's right. I forgot that you have visitation with Little John today. I can do better than the alarm clock. Come on in. I'll tuck you in and get you up in time so you won't piss off Gloria by being late."

I mumbled my thanks, made a bee-line to Susan's bed, and was out within seconds of my head hitting the pillow. Just shy of three hours later, true to her word, Susan was gently shaking my shoulder to wake me up.

An hour and a half later I had Little John, decked out his Jonathan Toews jersey (Gloria had balked at Bobby Hull - called him a wife beater) strapped into his car seat, despite his protests that he was much too old for it. Having once again surrendered on the car seat issue, my son began chattering happily at me about how the Blackhawks were going to dismantle the Blues later that evening. How this kid had developed a passion for ice hockey by the age of six was a mystery to me. It sure wasn't from me, because almost almost everything I knew about the game had come from him.

Even so, ice hockey provided a great way to spend time together, and it helped avoid the umpteenth discussion along the lines of why Daddy wouldn't just come home. Tonight's 8 o'clock game was going to keep Little John up way past his bed time which, not surprisingly, Gloria didn't approve or appreciate. But I've gotten used to dealing with Gloria's disapproval and, hey, what are Sundays for if not sleeping in after late Saturday nights?

Especially for me, a game that I barely understood was a better way to spend time than the three hours at Chuck e Cheese, which had been our first stop. About a year ago that had become Little John's literal go-to place for lunch with Dad. For me it was a welcome step up from the McDonald's PlayPalce that had been his previous favorite.

By the time the game was over (Blackhawks 3, Blues 1; Yay), both Little John and I were running on fumes, so when we got to my apartment neither of us had any trouble getting right to sleep.

Sunday morning saw the usual mix of pancakes and cartoons recorded from the morning before. Much better than watching some bloviating politicians on the Sunday talk shows. This was followed by Little John's meticulous updating of his stats sheet for the 'Hawks games of the previous week. (My boy's a natural born accountant, I thought. Maybe when he's old enough he'll get into trust management like me.) Then it was back to Chuck e Cheese followed by what I suspected would be the first of several viewings of

Trolls Band Together

.

After a wonderful weekend visitation (except for the still usual "Daddy come home" discussion as we were driving back to Gloria's), I dropped Little John off at Gloria's, with the promise that I would see him again on Tuesday evening, when I babysat during Gloria's night class.

Normally I would have topped off the weekend in the company of one of the many women that I had met through my Sex Addicts Anonymous group, or through introductions that Joan had made over the years. But tonight I was finally going to have to spend some time thinking about that note from Mom. Calling up one of my friends for advice didn't appeal. After all the sex, and all the kinds of sex, I'd had with Joan, Susan and the others, talking about anything should not be that hard to do. But "Um, I'm pretty sure my Mom wants me to fuck her. What do you think I should do?" was a bridge too far for me to cross with any of them.

The more I thought about it, the more I decided that the only person to talk to about this was the lady herself. And as I was thinking about that, I noticed that my dick seemed to be recovering from its Friday night workout. That surprised me. After all, I had been vastly relieved to have someone outbid Mom when she tried to buy me for the night at the slave auction. But now my body was hinting that the idea of sex with her was becoming more exciting than scary.

I decided that if I was going to get to sleep any time soon, I had better take care of this. I pulled out my dick and started stroking it gently. My mind filled with my first view of Mom at the club, her hands wrapped around two cocks, then taking one of those into her mouth, and how much that had turned me on at the time. I began to wonder what it would have felt like if that dick had been mine - though preferably without the audience. Stroking myself feverishly, I shot a huge load into a tissue.

Monday brought me relief in the form of work. I may be a sex addict on my own time, but I wasn't born with a silver spoon, so I had to keep working to satisfy my food addiction as well. I did this by managing big money for powerful people, some of whom, like Mary's dad, were reputedly capable of being very dangerous when disappointed. This kept me very focused while I was in the office, and gave me a good eight hours not to be thinking about Mom's note.

When quitting time came I added a couple of hours overtime to this diversion to get me closer to "night," and then I made a stop at a bar near the office to drink up a little courage. Just a couple of margaritas, mind you, well under the limit. But I still decided to take an Uber to my parents' house, or rather to a block from their house. I really didn't want to have my car parked out front tonight.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked lightly on the door. Maybe nobody would hear me and I would be able go away, honestly claiming that I'd showed up as ordered. No such luck. In a matter of seconds the door opened and there was Mom, in all her glory, which included a body that was still very curvy-firm - religious attendance at the tennis club had definitely paid off - a face that was still very easy to look at, and honey blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail, with some loose hair left framing her face. I could do the math; Mom was 50. People say 50 is the new 40, but Mom looked more like 35. And in the New Xanadu slave tunic and 3-inch heels that she was wearing, she looked very, very sexy.

I held out the note that she had left at the club and said, "You didn't say when at night exactly. I hope my timing is okay."

Taking my note in one hand and my hand in the other she said, "It's perfect John, come on in." She led me to the living room couch and sat me down. "I made us a pitcher of margaritas. Shall I bring it out?"

"Maybe later, Mom. We should probably talk a bit first, don't you think?"

"That's fine, Sweetie, the drinks can wait," she said as she sat down in the chair facing me. Though she could have, she did not flash me with what she was, or wasn't, wearing under the skirt of her tunic. "I suppose you're wondering why I asked you here."

"Wondering might not be the right word. Since three nights ago you were trying to buy me as a slave in a sex club auction, I'm going to go out on a short limb and guess that what you asked me to come here for involves sex. Am I getting warm?"

"Oh God, I hope so, Sweetie. I've been hot all day myself just thinking about tonight."

"By the way, where is Dad?" I asked. "I know you guys are swingers, but him walking in on this discussion might be awkward, especially given the way you're dressed. I mean, even if you're both members of our sex club, he might not approve of mother-son incest."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. Your dad is out for the night, buggering your sister."

"What!! You're kidding me, right?" My very little sister, Jill, was born 11 years after me. We really hadn't had a lot to do with each other, since by the time I was on my way to college she was still heavily into Barbie dolls. Only now that would make her 20; not so little, in fact.

"No, I'm not kidding. It's a strange situation, but I think you'll understand."

"No shit," I interrupted "Fathers fucking their daughters has got to qualify for at least strange."

"Well, yes, there's that, but its not really what I meant. Maybe you better let me get those margaritas, Sweetie. You look like you could use a drink or two."

Mom brought the pitcher of margaritas, glasses and a small saucer with salt. She prepared our glasses, poured, and handed me mine. It was a hell of a lot better than what I'd bought at the bar near my office; stronger too. Then she took the opportunity to sit down on the sofa with me.

"You see, Jill has always been a Daddy's girl. At some point in high school, for some reason I certainly don't understand, she took a pledge to remain a virgin until she was married. Then about a year ago her hormones or the family sex addict gene or something kicked in. She was miserable. Horny as hell, but with no relief in sight. So she came to me for advice.

"To me the answer was simple. As you may have guessed from the gap between you boys and Jill, your sister came as something as a surprise. Buggery has been a form of birth control for centuries, maybe forever. So to make sure there weren't any more surprises, I'd been having your Dad fuck me in the ass ever since Jill was born until he worked up his nerve to get a vasectomy a couple of years later. It's also been a way for horny virgins to protect their hymens back when that sort of thing was an important part of the marriage contract.

"I explained to Jill about how I'd come to like anal, and loaned her a couple of butt plugs. In a few weeks she came back and said she'd like to try it, but didn't know who she could trust. Certainly not some guy she went out with on a date, especially if he had gotten her all the way into his apartment. My experience is that sooner or later guys really want what they can't have. If a girl gives him her pussy, the next thing he wants is her ass. Give him her ass, and next he'll want her pussy.

"Well, neither your Dad nor I are particularly jealous when it comes to sex, so I figured that if it was alright with Jill and your Dad, it was alright with me if she used him to scratch her itch. After all, who would be more protective of her and more respectful of her limits than her father? After a little discussion they both went with the idea, and they've been enjoying each other ever since."

By this time I had finished my first drink and was well into another. Better than sitting there with my mouth open. When Mom stopped talking and gave me a big smile, I said the first thing that came into my mind: "So, you want us to fuck to even the score with Dad and Jill, right?"

"Certainly not, Sweetie," she said as she finished her drink, then ran her tongue around her lips. "I want us to fuck because I've got the hots for you. I've had sexual thoughts about you for a long, long time; actually, ever since I started washing the cum off your sheets back when you lived here. But now that I keep running into you at a sex club, and especially after talking to some of the women who have had the pleasure of your attentions, the thought of us fucking has become overwhelming."

"Wait, you've been thinking about me fucking you since way back then?"

"Of course, Sweetie. It's a pretty common fantasy that mothers of sons have. And I'm willing to bet that you were thinking of me when you were putting some of that cum onto your sheets. I sure hope you were."

She had me there, though I hadn't had enough to drink that I was prepared to admit it to her. For adolescent males, fucking their moms is also a pretty common fantasy. What to say? I decided to pour us each another drink while I stalled.

Mom made it clear that she was going to wait me out, so eventually I said "Yeah Mom, but those are fantasies. And the incest taboo is there to keep them that way. You're talking about real fucking now. That's a big leap. It's the sort of thing that, if word got out, you'd lose a lot of friends. Hell, you could end up in jail even. There's no age limit in the incest law in Illinois." I knew this because I'd Googled it before coming over.

"Well of course there's risk John. Life is full of risks. I'm not suggesting we go out and rut on the front lawn, even if there are no horses to scare any more. If we're careful, who's to know? And who's going to tell. I'm not. You're not. Your Dad's not. If Jill were to find out, she wouldn't. And what Alan doesn't know can't hurt us."

(I should mention that Alan was my two-years-younger brother. I guess you'd call him the black sheep of our family since he was the only one who was not sex-crazed. Straight, rigidly monogamous Alan had gotten a job in international banking, and had spent nearly all of the past decade out of the country.)

Mom had started stroking my thigh while I was talking. I grabbed her hand to make her stop, though I didn't remove it from my thigh.

"Okay, lets cut to the chase, Mom. You've had sexual feelings for me and suppressed them, and I passed through what now appears to be a normal-Oedipus phase. Now we're sitting here and you're seriously proposing that I fuck you. Why is it that now you want cross the line on incest?"

"Come on Sweetie, we're not talking about murder or something that hurts other people. I just want to have my darling son take me in his arms and fuck me silly."

"Why me, especially?"

"Why Sweetie? Because you

are

special. I could fuck any other man in your club, except maybe some of the gays. But they're just cocks to be used. You're the only one there that I love, except your Dad of course, and yet you're the only one I can't fuck. It just doesn't seem right."

Mom leaned in and licked my ear. "Don't you love me too?" she cooed.

That caused me to shiver, but I didn't jerk away. "Of course I love you Mom. And yes, back when I was at home I had fantasies about you and me in bed together. But, call me old fashioned, fucking your mom just seems wrong."

"Oh, Sweetie, that

is

so old fashioned. Who'd ever have thought that someone who ran a sex club would be old fashioned. Here, let's finish our drinks and maybe I can help you get over that."

As I drained my cup Mom got up and sat herself down on my lap. Maybe the booze had been doing its job. My body was telling me that what I had been saying just seemed wrong didn't feel so wrong after all. I didn't push her off.

"Now, Sweetie, I agree that it would have been very wrong for me to have lured you into fucking me back when you lived here." Her lips brushed mine.

"It could have really messed you up." She ran her tongue across my lips.

"And then I didn't want to mess things up between you and Gloria." She sucked on my neck.

"But now we're both adults, you're your own man, fully formed, not under my roof, not under my control." I wasn't too sure about that last part, especially when she moved her ass in my lap and my cock started to harden. I seemed very much in her control at the moment.

"You know, there's not a hell of a lot to say for menopause." Huh, I thought, how'd we gotten onto menopause? "Except that we don't have to worry about making any babies."

She kissed me for real this time, and as her tongue pressed against my lips I opened them. And then I kissed her back. The pent- up memories of all that raw sexuality that I had seen her show at the club on so many occasions welled up all at once. I realized I had been too afraid to admit that most of those times I had wished it had been me that she was blowing or fucking. Mom was as exciting and desirable as any of the many women I had ever fucked and, to top it off, I loved her, had always loved her since the day I was born.

I rolled Mom off of my lap and lay her on the couch, where I continued kissing her, hungrily, roughly. She was making moaning sounds as I pushed the top of her tunic below her left breast and transferred my mouth to its nipple.

"On, John, yes," she gasped. "You were such a hungry baby." And after a moment, "You were a biter, too. Bite me just a little, please. Not too hard; you've got teeth now."

As I nibbled gently on Mom's nipple, her hand worked its way between my legs and found my dick, already hard. I reached under the hem of her tunic, to find that she had left off panties when she dressed for tonight, and that she was very, very wet.

"Oh my darling son," she said as she let go of my cock and used both hands to push me away. I thought she was about to chicken out but then she said, "Let's get up and get undressed. Then we and do this properly."

It's kind of funny, looking back at it, but I had been in complete control a moment earlier, and now Mom was back to telling we what to do. Go figure.

But what she was telling me to do was now what I wanted to do, so hey, why not? I stood up and helped Mom to her feet. Getting her undressed took nothing at all; our club tunics had been designed for easy removal. And there she stood, not naked as the day she was born, but better - her lovely breasts and neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair were great additions. As for the stretch marks, how could I not love them, since they were a monument to by own being.