I sat up in my bed rubbing the cobwebs from my eyes. The clock on the nightstand read 12:24 p.m. I took the day off on account of a virulent stomach virus I caught at the office the other day. After a quick shower to wake me up, I went downstairs to make myself a light breakfast. My wife, Dorthea, had already left for work a few hours before, so I had the whole house to myself.

As I sat there chewing my toast thinking about what I would do on my day off, the doorbell suddenly rang. I shuffled over to the door making out the shoulder of the mail carrier through the glass paneling. He had a package that needed my signature. I signed for it and thanked him. The label on the front had my name typed on it but no return address. I laid the package on a small table where we kept our keys and mail and returned to the kitchen to finish my breakfast.

Since I didn't have to work today, I thought it only fair to clean up the house a bit. That way my wife wouldn't come home to a pigsty. I began in the kitchen and worked my way up to the bedrooms. We had three in total: one for me and my wife, the second for guests and relatives, and the third, which used to be our son's room, was now converted into a home office, where we kept our computer, printer, and fax machine.

Dusting around in the office suddenly triggered a flood of memories about Paul, our son. We—that is, Paul and I, had an estranged relationship ever since I could remember. He always saw me as competition where it concerned his mother's affections. Now don't get me wrong here, I don't want you to think that I'm suggesting Paul is a mama's boy. Because I'm not. However, let's just say there is something in that boy which isn't quite right.

I suppose I'd better tell you what I mean so you can judge for yourselves...

It all began when Paul was five-years-old. Dorthea and I were getting settled under the covers one night when she began telling me about her day and the special request Paul had made of her. Turning over on my side, I propped my head onto my left hand and waited for her to continue which was customary for me to do when my wife wanted my undivided attention.

Dorthea went on to tell me that she had just settled down to watch her favorite soap in the afternoon—I think it was called Blazing Passions or something funny like that—when Paul stormed in and blurted out he wanted some milk. Hmm ... so what's so strange about a boy wanting some milk? At least that's what I thought.

She went on to describe how our son walked right up to her, pointed his finger at her luscious rack, and said he wanted some milk. I widened my eyes in disbelief, but mostly for her benefit. In reality, though, this didn't shock me as much as it should have. For one thing, I knew a few guys in the neighborhood who would've paid a tidy sum just to nurse on my wife's busty tits. She had 42E breasts capped with pink quarter inch nipples. Those babies were constantly bouncing all over the place. She knew the effect they had on men so it stands to reason a five-year-old son would notice them too.

I told Dorthea I would have a talk with him when I got back from work the next day. She thanked me and we snuggled falling asleep in each other's arms. Days passed and the talk I was supposed to have with Paul totally slipped my mind with all the extra work I had to do at the office. Then the weekend came and I went out on one of my Saturday morning jogs. I had to cut the run short because of a sprained hamstring. When I reached the front door, I heard a loud yelp from inside.

I pushed the door open and limped into the hallway. I heard my wife disciplining Paul for something or other as I made my way to the entrance of the living room. I peeked around the corner of the archway to see Paul being held at arms length by my wife as he struggled in vain to move toward her. He was thrusting his head forward so he could latch on to her exposed nipple, which somehow escaped the confines of her robe. Her big alabaster tit jiggled as she labored to keep Paul away from her breast.

In all the commotion, they didn't hear me come in. When it appeared to Paul that she wasn't going to allow him to suckle her breast, he threw a tantrum. He repeatedly stomped his right foot, whining how he wanted her milk. Dorthea, however, held her ground explaining to him that she no longer had any more milk. "Sweetie, mommy can't give you milk. It's all gone. You drank it all up when you were just a baby. I can't make any more milk unless I have another baby. Do you understand?" He calmed down some but I could tell he didn't buy it.

Paul must've realized he wasn't going to convince his mother, so he ceased his struggles and pouted giving her his best sad eyes. He often used this tactic when he wanted something he couldn't have. When he saw it wasn't going to work this time, Paul made like he was about to turn around and leave. Dorthea thought as much, too, which is why she let her guard down for a moment—a moment that cost her. Paul immediately rushed into her soft, creamy bosom and latched on to her rose-colored nipple, greedily sucking her teat. Dorthea gasped from the sudden attack on her sensitive nipple. I knew from experience how sensitive they could be. Paul hefted her heavy breast with his tiny hands and devoured as much of her tit flesh as a five-year-old could do. He made loud slurping sounds as he tried to feed his hunger.

"Paul! No sweetie" she gently said, "You can't suck mommies' tit. It's not right." Paul didn't listen. If anything, he increased his sucking power while moving his right arm around her waist. My wife attempted to push him off of her breast but when he was about to lose the connection to her nipple, he bit down to prevent her from disengaging his mouth. She pleaded with him to stop. But after a while, Dorthea gave up the struggle and let him have his way with her mammary.

Paul hungrily nursed like a thirsty calf. Her huge tit dwarfed his little hand as his fingers sunk into her spongy skin with blue veins flaring out from her nipple. She brushed her fingers through his hair petting and cooing him. Paul moved up to sit on her lap, never letting go of her swollen pap. She gently rocked him and began singing a lullaby. His eyes started to droop. After about five minutes of nursing, he eventually released her teat and snuggled up against her doughy orbs, falling into a deep slumber. I thought this was a good time to make an appearance. When I limped into the room, my wife looked up and shook her head. I could see the disappointment in her face. All I could do was shrug my shoulders.

I reached down and gently scooped up Paul into my arms and carried him to his room. But not before I looked over my shoulder to see Dorthea putting her right breast back into her gown. I felt a stirring in my pants. Her tits always had that effect on me. As I walked away, I made a mental note to have some of that tonight.

When Paul got up an hour later, I finally sat down with him and had that talk with him: "Paul, what you did to mommy today was a bad thing. Little boys aren't supposed to do those things to their mommies." His lower lip began to quiver and his eyes became wet. I lowered my voice because I didn't want him to cry. "Paul, when mommy says NO to you, you have to stop. Do you understand?" He shook his head up and down. He probably thought I was going to spank him. I should've but then I didn't think it was necessary in this case.

"Son, when you were just a baby, your mother used to feed you her milk because it was what you needed to grow healthy and strong. But that was four years ago. And now, you're a big boy. Big boys don't need mother's milk. They need regular food." He frowned as he sat there thinking about what I just said. I thought I'd cut the talk there, seeing how the attention span of a five-year-old is almost nil. I left his room in search of Dorthea to see if I could be forgiven and to get some suckling time of my own.

The incident was thankfully forgotten by my wife but, unfortunately, not by Paul. Whatever I did or said during that small talk of ours seemed to have changed how Paul viewed our father-son relationship. He was okay with his mother but not with me. Yeah, we did stuff together like play ball or go camping. But deep down inside, I knew he had placed a barrier between us. I didn't worry about it at the time because I thought it was just a phase he was going through, and one he would grow out of eventually.

Well, as sad as it is to say, Paul never did grow out of his phase of disliking me. If you noticed, I didn't use the word "hate" in describing his feelings toward me because that emotion would come when Paul got older. I think there were some deep jealousy issues at work here and a possible Oedipus complex. Admittedly, I'm no shrink. However, being a father has given me a unique insight into the mind of my own son.

The status quo, unfortunately, remained the same when Paul reached puberty at twelve. He developed a newfound interest in his mother. This time it had nothing to do with her breasts. Instead, he became fascinated with another of his mother's body parts: her round, plump ass! You see, if I didn't mention it before, I will now; Dorthea is one of those rare women who is lucky enough to have been blessed by the gene-gods. She is pure "T & A," unlike most other women who are either top or bottom heavy. Men see their chiropractors for an adjustment after straining to get a look at her goods. I consider myself very fortunate to have a caught a woman who's ample in both departments.

Anyway, getting back to Paul. When he was five and took an interest in his mother's breasts, I could understand that as something nonsexual—a child's curiosity if you will. But now that he's twelve, I realized his interest in Dorthea's ass was anything but curiosity. In fact, it appeared to me more along the lines of pure unadulterated lust! A boy's lust, that is. Again, just like she did that fateful day seven years ago, Dorthea had one of those talks with me when I arrived from work on a Wednesday evening. I hadn't even had my dinner before she grabbed my hand and led me to our bedroom. I knew something was up, but I couldn't figure out if it had to do with me or Paul.

Loosening my tie as I crossed the threshold of our room, I dropped my briefcase by the dresser and plopped down on the bed with a loud sigh. She parked her sweet rear next to me and gave me one of her looks. The look that said: "This is serious and you had better pay attention." I sighed again waited for the impending speech to come.

"Dear, do you remember when I asked you to have that talk with Paul about his fascination with my breasts—oh, about seven years ago?" Oh shit, I knew that boy did something he wasn't supposed to again.

"Yeah, I seem to recall that talk. From my perspective, it didn't go so well. Why are you bringing it up now?" I said with some trepidation. She reached out, clasped my right hand into her left, and lightly squeezed.

"Well, it looks like you're going to have to have another talk with him, but this time about why a son should never grab his mother's ass." To say I was shocked was an understatement. I couldn't believe Paul would be so bold as to fondle his mother in such a lewd manner. I've had my suspicions that he was one of those sons who like his mother a little too much, but I never thought it would come to this.

"Okay," I replied calmly, "tell me how it happened."

"Well, I was washing the breakfast dishes in the afternoon since I didn't have a chance to get to them in the morning. Paul walked in from school and he greeted me like he always does. Then he made a beeline for the refrigerator to get some juice. I don't know why, but I got this creepy feeling. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw Paul rubbing his crotch. I followed his gaze to my bottom and suddenly realized that Paul was staring at my ass. I didn't know what to do. I must admit I wasn't properly dressed at the time. I was just in a t-shirt and panties and was prepared to go have a shower when I finished the dishes. Honestly, honey, I thought I'd be done and in the shower by the time Paul got home.

"Okay, what happened next?" I softly prompted.

"Well, the next thing I know, Paul moves behind me, shoving his hard-on into my crack and gives me a peck on the cheek while squeezing my butt." I was taken aback by Paul's actions. It was clear to me that that boy needed the kind of help we couldn't provide him. I knew I had to do something before things got out of hand. "And, that's not all he did" she continued, "After I slapped him, he pulled my panties down and smacked my bottom really hard and ran up to his room and locked himself in. That's where he's been for the rest of the day." I saw a tear fall down on the bedspread. I knew she was beside herself. And, to be honest, I didn't like the idea of my wife living in fear in her own house.

This sounded bad and it was high time he got his shit together. "I'm going to have a talk with him right now," I said with determination.

"Honey, don't be too harsh on him. It must be puberty; His hormones are all over the place. Remember, we were young, too, once upon a time," she explained. Even after this, she was still the protective mother.

I got up off the bed, went to the door, and said, "Yeah, we were young alright, but we didn't go around fondling our parents." I let that hang in the air and walked out of the bedroom in search of Paul. I went down the hall to his room and banged on his door. I heard some shuffling inside. When he pulled back the latch on the door, I barged in and shut the door behind me.

"Paul, we need to have a man-to-man talk." He sat down at his desk and ignored me. "I guess you know why I'm here. Right!" He still wouldn't look up at me. I was about to lift him out of his chair when I spied something under his mattress. Sticking out at the side of his mattress was a glossy magazine. I guess he was looking at that when I banged on the door. I went over and pulled out the magazine.

"Don't!" he said alarmed as he rushed out of his chair. It was too late, though. I flipped it over to the cover and found myself staring at a hardcore sex mag which read: "Anal MILFS." Below that, there was an older blond woman being fucked in the ass by a young stud with a pretty big cock. The first thought, which came to my mind, was how the hell did he get his hand on this smut? My second thought was who gave it to him? I quickly flipped through the pages and saw various mature women getting their asses licked and stretched by well-hung guys. How on earth does a twelve-year-old like older women who are into anal? I didn't think kids developed a sexual preference until much later in life.

After I finished scanning the pages, I sat down on his bed, looked dead center at him, and asked, "Where did you get this trash?" He crossed his arms in defiance and ignored my stare as he looked out the window. "Paul, you're too young to even look at stuff like this. I'm going to ask you once more, where did you get this magazine?"

"I'm not telling and you can't make me." He leered. Like hell I couldn't. Sometimes you just have to play hardball to get the results you want. I stood up and walked toward his computer. He moved out of my way and sat on his bed. Squatting under his desk, I yanked the power cord from the outlet and disconnected the monitor from the case. "You're grounded for a month with no telephone or computer. Also, your friends are not to come around here while you're grounded. You come straight home after school. When you want to let me know who gave you that crap, you know where to find me. Got it!" He shot daggers at me with his eyes. I could see so much hate in him. "Oh, and another thing, if I ever see or hear that you touched your mother like you did this afternoon, I'm going to be the one touching your ass and it's going to be with a belt."

At that moment, I really thought there was something evil within my son. Sounds dramatic but that was how I felt. The boy was not right upstairs.

I decided it was high time to implement a little home security. After that day, I secretly went out and bought a new camcorder. It had all the latest features such as high resolution, video effects, and a bunch of other stuff as well. The lens was only an inch in diameter and easy enough to conceal. I knew it wouldn't be a problem for me to hide the camera on the bookshelf in the living room. I thought it best to aim it toward the sofa as that was my wife's favorite spot to be in during the afternoons. I set the timer for 2:30 p.m. on Monday, which is a little before he gets home from school. Now, all I had to do was wait and see.

Monday rolled by and I had just walked into the house around the usual time. The aroma of Dorthea's cooking filled my nostrils as I entered the kitchen. I found her by the sink peeling some potatoes. I gave her a peck on the cheek and slid my hand around her waist. She stiffened for a moment and then relaxed. I didn't give it much thought at the time.

Dinner was delicious as usual. And as usual, too, Paul hardly spoke two words to me during dinner. I tried to engage him in conversation but only got a grunt now and then. Over dessert, I noticed both Paul and Dorthea were acting strange. Every time he'd look at her, my wife would avoid his eyes and blush, then she'd look down at her plate. I don't think I was being paranoid. I know what I saw and I knew something was going on.

Later on that night, I told Dorthea that I had to finish up some paper work for a meeting the next morning and that it would take me an hour or two to finish up. I gave her a goodnight peck and left her in bed reading. I made my way down to the living room and retrieved the camera where I had hidden it behind some encyclopedia books. The tape in it was practically to the end. Since it had its own LCD screen attached to it, I wouldn't have to go through all the trouble of hooking up cables to a television just to watch what was on the tape.

I walked out to the garage through the connecting door in the kitchen. The tape had already rewound by the time I sat in my car. I pressed play and the image of the living room came on. I saw Dorthea wearing tight jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt. Her plentiful tits nicely stretched the fabric across her bosom. She was sitting on the sofa reading a book and had her left foot propped on the coffee table. About five minutes later, I heard Paul walk through the door and plop his schoolbag on the table. He removed his sneakers and let them thump to the floor.

"Mom, I'm home," he yelled.

"In here sweetie." He walked into the view of the camera and stopped in his tracks when he saw his mother's cleavage open to his hungry gaze. I have to remember to tell her that she shouldn't wear such revealing things around our little perv.

"How was school today, baby?" She said looking up from her romance novel.

"Ah, it was okay. Say mom, can I show you a new magic trick I learned today at school?" Dorthea looked up and smiled.

"Of course you can sweetie, but give mommy about ten minutes so I can finish up the last part of this chapter. It's getting really good. Okay?"

"Okay, mom. I'm just gonna go upstairs to get my stuff ready." Paul came back down fifteen minutes later while Dorthea was just putting down her book. I saw a pair of shiny handcuffs swinging in his hand as he approached the back of the sofa. "I'm ready to show you my trick, mom," he said with big shit-eating grin.

"Okay, dear. I'm all ready for you; What's the trick?"

"Well, I need a volunteer and seeing how you're the only one around."

"It's not going to be something scary, is it?

"Mom, who ever heard of a scary magic trick?" he whined.

"You've got a point there. Okay, what do I have to do?" Dorthea got off the sofa and walked up to Paul.

"First, you have to get on your hands and knees by the cellar handle, mom. I need to cuff you to it." The cellar handle was a round, thick ring that served as a handle for a small door that led to a cellar underneath the house. The previous owner to the one that sold us the house used it to store some expensive wine. When we moved in, I had it filled with concrete to provide more support to the foundation. I never had the handle removed because it was never in the way and doing so would probably have destroyed the original wood.

I could see Dorthea was about to protest but one look from the little actor's face made her forget it. She got down on her knees with her elbows touching the floor next to the cellar handle. "Like this, baby?" She looked over her shoulder to see Paul standing right behind her. "That's perfect mom," he said as he secretly eyed her plump ass. Of course, Dorthea couldn't see the lust written all over his face since she had her back to him. Paul moved around to her front and knelt down on one knee as he proceeded to cuff his mother's hands together while locking her to the handle.

"Uh ... sweetie, that's pretty tight. Could you loosen them a bit? They kind of hurt my wrists."

"It has to be that way for the trick to work, mom. Don't worry. It won't take long now." I didn't like the way he inflected the word "now" for some reason. He stood up, walked behind her upturned ass, and pulled some rope out of his back pocket. "Mom, I need you to put your feet together." She did as Paul said and he proceeded to wrap the rope around her right foot. She began to panic a little.

"I don't know about this, honey. Maybe..." His rough handling of her feet stopped her mid sentence. I had a bad feeling in my gut.

"Uh ... Honey, what do you call this trick?" He ignored her as he swiveled on his knees and rested his palms on the floor to look under the sofa. He slid his hand underneath and pulled out a magazine. In fact, from what I could tell, it was the same porn mag I took away from him. He must have searched high and low until he found it in the closet where I kept some of my personal papers. I completely forgot about tossing out. He opened to a certain page and laid it on the floor beside her feet.

"Mom, I call this first trick the after-school snack."

Dorthea was completely caught by surprise when Paul slapped her curvy cheeks. She yelped at the unexpected touch of her bottom. He slowly began to rub his hands in circles, working in an outward motion from her crack to the sides by her hips. "Paul, what do you think you're doing? Let me go this instant!" she attempted to move her hands but the cuffs were snapped on too tightly. "Paul, what has gotten into you? Wait till I tell your father about this," she threatened.

"That's why I'm doing this, mom. You had to go tell dad about me copping a feel of your ass. Well, this should teach you a lesson to never rat me out again." He smacked her right cheek a few times, enjoying the sharp sound it produced. He did it again and again. Paul kept it up for a good five minutes while his mother cried out every time his hand made contact with her derriere. He stopped to appreciate the view of his mother's rear-end. Then he knee walked to her side and reached under to unclasp her jeans.

She began to panic and yelled, "Wait! What are you doing, Paul?" He ignored her while he struggled with her button. When he managed to pull her zipper down, she tried to reason with him: "Paul, baby, don't do whatever it is you're planning on doing. You won't be able to live with yourself if you do. Please, just let me go." All her pleading went on deaf ears as he went back behind her and tugged her jeans down. Because of the position she was in, he had a difficult time sliding his mother's jeans all the way down her legs. The best Paul could do was pull them down to about the middle of her thighs.

Unfortunately, for her, of all days, she had to wear her pink thongs, which showed more than concealed. Her delectable backside was like two halves of a sweet Georgian peach parted by a thin strap that barely covered her pink asshole.

Paul was seeing a real live woman's ass up close and personal and it stopped him cold in his tracks. His young eyes never had the pleasure to drink in such an erotic sight. A sight usually reserved for grown men. With shaking hands, he reached out and reverently kneaded her ass like the cookie dough he used to help his mother with when she as in the mood to bake. His eyes glazed over almost as if he were in a deep trance. He went on caressing her smooth bottom, taking liberties with her ass which was only meant for me. "Paul, please. This is so wrong. You can't be doing this to me. If you let me out of these cuffs, I promise not to tell your father about this."

"Yes you will. The first chance you get you'll tell him everything, Mom." He then anchored his thumbs into the crack of her ass and spread her buns apart. I saw his tongue wet his upper lip as he eyed her crinkly hole like a deer caught in headlights. Paul moved his face down and sunk his teeth into her smooth ass meat. Dorthea gasped at the unexpected assault of her rear. When he pulled his head back and moved over to bite her other cheek, I saw the red indentations that he left on her smooth cheek.

He was about to move his tongue into her crack when he suddenly paused. From the looks of his scrunched up nose, I guess he got his first lesson about the reality of a woman's anatomy, as opposed to the doctored up sluts on those glossy pages of his magazine. Real women had odors especially after doing number two, which he just learned.

But, lust is lust and Paul's lust overrode whatever stink assaulted his nose. He moved the strap of her thong aside and buried his face deep between her spheres. He grabbed her firmly by the hips and began to lick away at her shitter; Dorthea jumped as his tongue circled her anus then plunged deep into her shithole. He did this a couple of times like a kid who's discovered the joy of a new toy. She wiggled her ass to try and break free of his reaming. But it was no use. Paul held on for dear life.

After a couple of minutes had gone by, he pulled out to get some air. Paul had a big a smile plastered on his face; he smacked and caressed her derriere some more and then resumed where he left off, diving back in to drill his salivating tongue deeper and deeper into her pink pucker. Paul's drool leaked from the side of his mouth as he slobbered away like a thirsty dog.

As embarrassing as this is to admit, the scene unfolding before my eyes had my cock erected like a steel pole. Sure I was mad at what he was doing to his mother, but I also couldn't deny the feeling I had down there.

Finally, his eating of her ass stopped. Paul pulled his head from between her cheeks huffing. His face was flushed and wet from all the saliva he left behind. He reached down with his left hand to turn the pages in the magazine. Dorthea sobbed with tears dropping to the floor. Finding what he was looking for in the magazine, Paul put his index finger into his mouth and sucked on it for a second to get it nice and wet. Then placed the tip against her starry aperture. She squealed as he eased his index finger up to the first joint. He paused transfixed by the sight before him. He sunk down to the second joint and then he bore down until he reached the knuckle. "Paul, don't do this, daddy doesn't even do that to me. Please, it's dirty," she pleaded.

"I don't care. Just sit back and be quiet, mom." She whimpered while he sawed his finger in and out of her clutching anus. The cuffs restricted her movement, so it was impossible for her to move. A minute later when he tired of the novelty of finger fucking his mother's sphincter, he pulled it out and inspected it. I think I saw just a tiny speck of shit on the tip. But I couldn't be sure. Paul smiled like he thought that was cool. He wiped his finger on the back of her shirt leaving a stained streak. Now I was sure. Once again, he reached down and flipped the pages of the magazine. This time, however, his attention was held by one shot in particular. I knew this since it took him a minute to start up again.

He got up and unbuckled his belt separating the two nylon straps. The sound of his undressing made Dorthea look over her shoulder in panic. "Paul, what are you doing? Tell me?" He slapped her hard on the rump.

"Look forward, mom. I didn't say you could look back at me." When he pulled his zipper down, his pants dropped and bunched at his feet. He stepped out of them and tugged his white underwear down exposing his stiff, four-inch pecker.

Looking down at the magazine again, Paul got on his knees behind his mother's upturned ass and grasped her by the hips. He inched forward until he had his little cock lined up with her crack. He took hold of his dick and brought it up to her winking anus. When Dorthea felt Paul's cockhead touch her hole, she begged for him to stop. He ignored her and pressed his cock against her sphincter. His small ass contracted as he applied pressure to her anus. For some reason, his dick wasn't going in. He tried again and still nothing happened.

After a couple of failed attempts, he yelled out in frustration and said, "Mom, you better let me in, or else, " he threatened. She whimpered unable to speak. "Mom, I'm not gonna let you go until I fuck your ass. So, for the last time, you better open up."

"No! I won't let you do it! I won't let you defile me or our relationship this way! Do what you want to me but I'll never let you in!" she screamed with conviction.