An Obstinate Mother

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Beverly sat naked on the sofa of her small apartment on the third floor. In deep thought her blank stare was focused on a small, original, half full, Coke bottle in her left hand. Breaking her concentration, holding the bottle with thumb and two fingers, she placed the still chilled bottle between her spread thighs, then, repositioned her hand to press it against her vagina. Feeling the pleasurable coolness she continued her thoughts on why the evening had ended as it did.

She thought started a ways back before she had moved to the South to be near her son and his family. The jealousy she had felt for her son began shortly after a boyfriend, the love of her life, fell to his death 10 years earlier. From that point, she hated every girl that George, her son, had ever dated, but felt a special animosity towards the two girls she had accidentally caught him screwing in her bed. Both times, arriving home early, she remembered vividly watching them – watching him, long minutes, screwing passionately, before making her present known, intervening, cursing and condemning them both.

Afterward , for years, she never let him forget his indiscretions and taunted him with sexual accusations and innuendos. Also, neglecting her modesty, she started appearing scantily clad, around him – a few times bra-less, her hands doing little more than covering her nipples. She could never admitted to herself her newly acquired incestuous desires for him, telling herself she would never act on them. That is, until she moved south.

He had been married 10 years when she had taken up residence in the high-rise apartment just 20 minutes from his home. In no time at all, she had set up a schedule with him to shop, have breakfast out or cook for him, at least once a week. She made up items in the apartment that only he could take care of, and, she knew he could only do after work, in the early evening. Those evening around him, watching him as he did things for her, brought out suppressed desires and the devil in her.

It had not been long before he had begun to complain about his sex life – the lack of. Elated, it benefited her cause to renew her old habit of accusations and sexual innuendos. The bitch in apartment 1-C became a favorite target in accusing him of adulterous indiscretions, while still sympathizing with his lack of satisfaction at home.

She smiled to herself, remembering the fact that she had always been able to maintain an air of innocence, that she was only interested in his well-being, only taking his side against his wife because he was so sexually unhappy. He voiced total faithfulness, but it had not stopped her from taunting him, reminding him his wife was the cause of his wanton desires – that she made up. She openly challenged his commitment to faithfulness.

After taking a long drink of Coke, she breathed a sigh of distress, remembering the afternoon – the beginning two hours earlier – the disastrous end 20 minutes ago.

He had simply dressed and walked out, leaving her laying on the bed naked. Through oral stimulation he had brought her to a very memorable orgasm. She could not remember ever having one stronger. After his abrupt leaving, she first felt disbelief, then, relief, ending in, anguish, inwardly admitting that she had indeed dressed appealingly for him. Corned, losing verbal ground, she had actually openly admitted it to him. She had berated him for accusing her of dressing for the men in the apartment complex. Then, surprising her, he had admitted she was a sensuous and attractive woman – always had been – more so when she was dressed to kill, like tonight, barefoot around the apartment. He had joked she was his type – and did indeed appreciated her effort, if it was, she had finally admitted, only for him. Adding, he hated the way men eyed her.

Standing in front of him as he did the work requested, the screwdriver slipped and she had teasingly accused him of being a bad screw-er.

His reply, “put a little hair around this and I could screw it better”, was unexpected and had actually embarrassed her and she disappeared into the small kitchen for a few moments. She had inwardly awarded herself for her brazen remark and cleverness for taunting into a lewd response.

She remembered an earlier time, heading out the door for dinner, when she had asked him was he coming and he had answered, “no just breathing hard”. When challenged as to what he had said, he had only muttered an innocent “nothing” going pass her out the door.

When she had returned to watch him, he had surprised her by asking her if she padded her bra to make her breast look bigger, adding, that while it was very sexy and arousing, the sweater must be uncomfortably warm in the stuffy apartment. The question hit her wrong. Had he not seen them unclothed? She voiced indignation, recovered, remembering the goal, assuring him in a seductive tone that they were very real. Again, annoying her to no end, she felt embarrassment her anger and turned toward the stove, pretending to do something

Then, her body had stiffened, annoyance had surged, not at him Casibom but at herself, as she felt his presence close behind her,

telling her, “I don’t know if I should believe you are not. Do you mind if I put my mind at ease?”.

She had rallied, expressing he should do just that! Her seduction was coming about! She had to keep the ball rolling. She had offered to remove her sweater to give him a good unobstructed look and he had helped her remove it, turning her. After toying with her bra covered breast for a long minute, he had asked her not to be shy. She had unclasped her bra, removing it too, wondering what he might think of her slightly sagging breast. Still, she could not look into his eyes, feeling embarrassed.

“They are still as lovely as I remember. Stan’s death changed something in you. I’ve always missed your teasing and neglect covering up after the accident. I always peeked! Things were different back then. I understand why you were reluctant to show me your nipples. They are superb. I suppose you are more relaxed knowing all is safe for us.”

When she had asked how so, she remembered her body quivering when he answered, “I had the vasectomy a year ago. If you were to allow me to screw you, there would be no worry of complications now. I think you wanted me to screw you back then but were afraid. Do you – want me to screw you?”

She had not answered the question. Of course she knew of the operation – felt foolish for asking – wanted to tell him he was right about it all. When he lowered his head to take her left nipple into his mouth, it seemed to be a sufficient answer to his question. Her right hand wrapped around the back of his head and pulled it to her breast. To remain quiet gave her deniable culpability. After all, mothers did not allow sons to take such liberties as he was doing.

In time, she had not resisted his efforts to unzip her tight fitting skirt and push it off her hips, though her hand, at first, interfered with his efforts. As he continued to ravish her breast, when the skirt dropped, she kicked it free, leaving her wearing only her panties.

As he palmed his right hand between her legs, she queried, pertaining to nothing specific. “can I see it?”.

After taking her last drink of Coke, she smiled, remembering him stepping away from her, unbuckling his pants, dropping them, stepping out of them, dropping his briefs, stepping out of them and kicking all clear. Her eyebrows lifted as she remembered him moving in close, offering his cock for her touch. She put the mouth of the bottle to her pussy, inserting a good two inches, stroking slowly, remembering his warm, firmness in her hand.



I had let him strip me of my panties – my last vestige of dignity! In the haughty venue of the tiny kitchenette, by the stark illumination of the 100w light bulb over head, he kissed me all over. I became self-conscious of my nude body. How could I compete with his ultra-thin wife. I deem myself over-weight with bellyfat.

Turning me, he kissed my ass, telling me it’s what I wanted every man to do. I did, of course, but my intent was not meant to be as sensuous, like he was doing. Turning me again, he had put his nose into my bush, kissed my inter-thighs, me, widening my stance.

Then, I had let him lead me by the hand out of the kitchenette, extending his left arm toward, I figured, the bedroom. Why had he not stuck his cock in me right there against the stove, the wall, or, placed me on the table or the sofa and screwed me? It’s what I had wanted! He followed me studying my ass – glancing back, I saw him smiling – heard his comments on my walk and its attributes.

Beverly, ceasing a now more rapid stroke, pulled the Coke bottle from her, discarding it. She stood and mindlessly walked to the bathroom, stepped into the shower and adjusted the water. Standing under the stinging hot spray she tried to make sense of what had happened in the bedroom.

George had placed his hands on my hips, standing behind me, and had guided me across the semi-dark bedroom, onto the bed, onto my back. He had not removed any more his clothing. All the while I focused on his firm, thick and lengthy erection, desiring it. He had moved to the foot of the bed, dropped to his chest onto the bed and positioned my knees back – thighs wide.

Oral sex was familiar to me though I rarely got enough of it. I would have quite naturally and voluntarily spread my legs, pulling my knees back, but I waited – wanting him to position me.

The touch of his lips to the inside of my thighs was immensely pleasurable, the electric shock of his tongue touching my pussy was like magic and my involuntary intake of breath and moan surely told him so.

“George, your tongue s wonderful!” I had told him in earnest, but, added. “But you should not be doing this! You need to stop.” He had not!

Not only did he surprised her with his oral expertise, torturing me with his explorations of my vagina, ass and thighs, but expanded my horizons ten fold when he stuck his tongue into my treasure Casibom Giriş hole. Pushing my legs back, he had tongue fucked me, penetrating me as deeply as his tongue could achieve. Returning to my clit briefly, only to tongue fuck me more and numerous times. A shame I could not hold off my orgasm longer. But why! Afterward! What caused him to do what he did!

I had been boisterous in orgasm. My ass had lifted off the bed, had quaked, then, trembled as the orgasm gripped me for long moments, then, slipped away, leaving me greatly satisfied and a bit exhausted. I was amazed, at 52 years, that I could still achieve such a strong orgasm. I waited, and fully expected, to be mounted, penetrated and screwed passionately.

She ran the soapy washcloth between her legs, over her buttocks, and up the crack of her ass, the “why” lost to her.

After my orgasm, he had continued tonguing my clit with featherlight strokes and I had continued to pull lightly at his hair and ears.

“That must have been good!” He had queried, reluctantly withdrawing his tongue from my well lubricated, glistening vaginal crack. I felt wet and looked to see.

“It was!” I had answered, then criticized. “But should you be doing such naughty things to you mother – against my voiced good judgment.?”

A short few moments later, he had backed away from between my legs and stood from the bed. I had straightened my legs but kept them wide – taunting him. The lights from the street and parking lot illuminated the bedroom. The light sufficient, he had studied me lying naked, my pussy, I knew, easily discernible, an embarrassing, still, for me, long minute. Then, unbelievably, he turned and left me, entering the bathroom. I watched him from the bed rinse his mouth and wash his face. Toweling his face dry, he had walked back to the edge of the bed and studied me once more, his mostly erect cock near her face.

“I hope you feel better?” He had asked.

“I feel wonderful but I’m embarrassed being butt-hole naked – you studying me so intensely. You have not… ” I had started to inject, throwing all reason to the wind, reaching up to brush my fingers along his mostly erect shaft.

“I don’t know if I can do that.” He said cutting me off. “I need to think! I’m going to put my clothes on and leave. We’ll talk at a couple of days.”

“I can at least!” I had protested, gripping his shaft.

“No, mother! That would be degrading.” He had countered. “And its late.”

As she cut the water off;

My offer was to jerk him off. But, his cock so close to my mouth, had he thought I was offering to suck him. His use of the term “degrading” would appear so. In all honesty, I have to admit, I would have gladly sucked his cock long enough to get him aroused enough to get back in bed with me. I had released him when he had backed away from me. I let him leave.

“Damn it to Hell!”


On returning to bed, Beverly had reached for the bedside table drawer handle and retrieved a sizable red translucent dildo. Pulling her legs back, she gingerly inserted the thick 7″ sympathetic cock into her, causing slight pain because she was now dry, until the balls touched her vagina. She concentrated for long minutes on the feeling of the cool thick shaft inside of her, pushing on the balls to get every bit of the make-believe cock inside of her. She felt frustrated. She desired the real thing – but, only her son’s cock. She pulled the dildo free and tossed it aside. All she could do was wait for his call.

“What the hell was he thinking – to go so far and then stop?” Was her last thought before slumber.


“GEORGE! FUCK! EASE UP A LITTLE! Fuck George! What’s gotten into you!” Jean exclaimed, not in the passionate tones of a woman actively engaged in lustful sexual intercourse, but of a woman surprised at the intensity of the man inside her, hands clutching her ass, stabbing her relentlessly, pounding her ass into the bed.

“Move your ass, woman!! Fuck me back!” George exclaimed with resentment. “You haven’t spread you legs for me in three weeks! What the hell do you expect!”

‘And it might be a month before it happens again!’ Jean thought frigidly.

The lack or regular pussy was only partly the reason for George’s intensity and frustration with his wife and maybe reasonable that fantasizing about his mother, visualizing her thinly bushed, puffy mound and puffy lipped pussy, with a singular, delicate crack, brought about his ejaculation. Fingering Jean to orgasm returned the two back to harmony.


For Beverly, the call had come much sooner than expected. He had not said hello or asked how she was doing. He had simply asked her if she felt like lunch and that he would pick her up in an hour. It was a short conversation.

They had had lunch at a truck stop about 30 minutes away from her apartment. In talking, she had discovered he had the whole afternoon off. That fact had been a minor remark, but her mind started to wander and speculate on what the afternoon held. Conversation was on general topics while Casibom Güncel Giriş they ate and on most of the ride home. It had irked her that her son had flirted with the waitress, but she had held her tongue, finally losing control not too many miles from her apartment.

“Do you know that little skinny ass waitress very well?” She had targeted.

“Do you mean, have I screwed her?” He had retorted, playing to her game. “I know her from the restaurant. I see her and know her no more than you do. And her ass is not that skinny!”

“You looked at it enough! It’s skinny compared to mine. Of course that bitch in 1-C has a huge ass. You’ve checked that out enough. Which begs the question, exactly what size ass DO you like?”

Instead of rolling to a parking spot, George pulled up in front of the apartment building entry doors.

“You said you had the whole afternoon off? Are you not coming up for a while?” She had asked.

“Probably not a good idea.” He had replied. “Don’t want to argue with you.

Desperation and anxiety quickly settled over her. She had to get him to come upstairs.

“So now you’re mad?”

“I’ve gotten used to your jealousy, though I don’t know why you are that way, especially after what I gave you the other day?” He accused.

“I was wondering when you were going to bring that up! I offered, you know! – to jerk you off – not suck your cock – if that’s what you thought! It sure as hell won’t happen again! What! You going back to the restaurant now and get that little skinny ass bitch of a waitress to spread her legs for you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” He exclaimed rudely.

“What in the hell is wrong with you!” She shot back. “You strip a woman – your mother – of her clothes. You’re experienced enough to know an orgasm is not the only thing a woman cares about or desires. You’re a dumb ass! Go screw your waitress and leave me the hell alone!”

“We forgot to go to the grocery store and the pharmacy?”

“Just forget about it.” She returned, opening the car door and getting out. “I can walk down this afternoon or we can go on our regular day next week.” She slammed the door!

George sat frustrated for a few moments before putting the car in gear and turning sharply into a parking spot. He caught up with his mother at the elevator and reached around her to push the button. Neither spoke or looked at the other. He followed her the short distance down the hall and stood behind her as she unlocked the door. She dropped the door on him, forcing him to catch it with his hand, irking him.

He made his way to the refrigerator and retrieved a small Coke. He walked to the sofa and sat down on the left. In a few minutes, his mother retrieved her own Coke and sat down next to him on the sofa.

George studied her intensely for a long minute. She wore khaki shorts with a pink blouse, having kicked off her flats. Without any effort to hide his incestuous interest, his eyes wandered from her smooth legs to her slightly freckled chest, knowing intimately her breast were more than a handful with raisin sized nipples. He felt his cock twitch. He watched her take a long drink of her Coke, acknowledging his fondness for her short, curly strawberry blonde hair, inwardly smiling at the matching, thinning bush on her mound.

“I’m here! Are we going to talk, or what?” He asked.

She eyed him curiously, her chin tucked low, before setting her Coke down and slowly unbuttoning her blouse, keeping her eyes on his intense expression as he stared at her actions. Leaning forward, she removed it and reached behind her to unclasp her bra, removing it too. Settling back, she said nothing for a long minute, staring at the tabled Coke.

“I should be ashamed for my forwardness, I know, but I don’t feel like talking. I really enjoyed you suckling on my nipples the other day. It made me feel really close to you. Would you do it a few minutes. You said your afternoon was free. Just a few minutes – to calm us both down – then you can leave – I suppose – we talk another time.”

George reached to place his cool bottle on his mother’s chest between her breast. It caused her to fight the urge to retract, but instead arched her back and pushed her chest out prominently. After a few long moments, he placed his Coke on the table and leaned over to fondle, squeeze and thumb, then, nuzzle, then, suckle at his mother’s left breast. Promptly, his right hand dropped to palm her crotch.

“You shouldn’t do that.” She said flatly, without conviction. “Dammit. Stop.”

“You keep saying that but you never do anything to stop it.” He returned, letting loose her nipple only long enough to reply.

“Why do you always have to go straight for my pussy?” And you wouldn’t stop anyway. All I want is a little tenderness and warmth! What am I supposed to do if you persist in crossing bounties – am I to fight – holler rape?” She challenged. “I am a prisoner in this apartment. You decide where I go and when I go. You’re the only man in my life, so what the hell am I supposed to do except submit to your every whim. If you want to stick your cock in me – to screw me – you’re going to do whatever you want to do – no matter what I say. You’ve wanted me for years! As your mother I will always advise and contest your actions.” She ended matter-of-factually.

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