Chapter 1

For the seventh night in a row, I lie awake in bed, my wife snoring softly beside me, my cock iron-hard in my hand. I jerk myself slowly, careful not to wake her.

A week ago, I wouldn't have cared.

A week ago, this would have been a prelude to some seriously hot sex.

A week ago, we weren't talking about little blue pills to "rectify" my "problem."

She thinks I'm impotent. And not without good reason.

At only 25, my wife's a hot little number. Small and svelte, she likes to come to bed in these silky little things that used to never fail to turn my crank. Every night, we'd fuck like rabbits... I'd pound her tight little cunt with all the meat I had for hours on end.

When I came, she used to clean my cock with her tongue.

That was then.

As a test, I roll over, and stroke her slim hip. My cock begins to wilt immediately.

With a sigh, I roll back, and feel it spring up in my hand.

It all began last Tuesday night...

Opening my eyes, I see a poster of Styx on the wall, and know that I'm dreaming. Sitting up, I take a look around... lotsa posters, lotsa crap all over the place... My bed is a single, and I'm all alone. My bedroom back home. My mom's house, I mean.

"Now, why am I back here?" I wonder aloud.

I can hear a voice, soft, muted, in the background. It sounds remarkably like my mother's voice.

Swinging myself up and out of bed, I pad to my door, wearing only a pair of pyjama pants. My cock swings heavily between my legs, unfettered by underwear.

As quietly as I can, I open the door.

It's definitely her voice, but not as I've ever heard it... mom speaks in a low, sexy tone that filters up from downstairs, but the words are muffled...

Like any good teenager, my cock starts to fill with blood. It makes me uncomfortable to know that I'm starting to get aroused by listening to my own mother's voice, but I'm not responsible for what my cock thinks, and at sixteen, it'd get hard over mud.

I slip out into the hall, and start making my way towards the stairs. I don't know who she can be talking to, but I know it can't be "dad" - he died before I was three.

Still more curious, I creep to the top of the stairwell. The landing at the top has a nice view of the living room...

Peeking through the rails, I can see at least half of the living room. My mom stands at the entrance. She's wearing the quintessential little black cocktail dress, thin and blousy, the skirt barely long enough to hide the welts of her dusky stockings. Her heels (I wonder, why hasn't she taken her shoes off in the house?) are tall, five inches at least, and a glossy black, just like the mane of hair on her head.

She's speaking to someone I can't see, sitting across from her, I think, in that big, comfy easy chair in the living room. Whoever it is isn't saying much, seemingly content to just sit and watch my mother...

... as I watch my mother...

I still can't hear what she's saying, but I'm satisfied just watching for now, observing her as she struts back and forth, eyes glued to her legs, the way her hips bounce, the way her tits jiggle inside the deep cleavage of the dress...

"That's your mom, you perv!" I hiss to myself, and try to forget how hard I am...

... but I'm a teenager, and teenagers will get hard about anything...

... including their moms...

My train of thought is shattered, as mom reaches back, and begins to unzip her dress. The sound of the zipper goes through the house like lightning, though her voice is still muted, unclear... except for the tone... that's crystal clear. She's speaking sexily, seductively, her words dripping with arousal.

The dress falls to the floor, and she kicks it away... underneath, she's wearing the tiniest, laciest black bra I've ever seen. Her breasts, big, smooth delicious globes, are held up on a shelf of scalloped lace for the world to see... Her slender hips are circled by a garter belt that clips onto a pair of smoky black stockings that wrap themselves around your oh-so-long legs.

Dress disposed of, she begins to dance for her audience to music that only she can hear. She runs her hands through that long black mane and poses sexily, pouting her plump, glossy lips... lips made for kissing... for cocksucking...

... my hand slips inside the elastic waistband of my pyjamas, and begins to fondle my cock, hard now, harder than it's ever been...

I have to get closer... I have to hear what she's saying...

I begin creeping down the stairs, hand in my pants, and her dance becomes more erotic as she sweeps her hands over her tall, tight form.

Suddenly, the front clasp of her bra springs open, and those magnificant tits spill forth, jiggling, jostling, rosy nipples erect in the chill air of the house. She proffers them to her audience, still dancing, still talking...

I creep down, step by step, my hand working furiously on my cock now, unable to tear my eyes from her form, writhing sinuously before me. She begins to touch herself, now... outside her panties, tiny wispy things that barely cover her...

As I reach the bottom of the stairs, iron-hard cock in hand, I pull my pants down to my knees, and jerk harder, my palm slick with precum...

She hooks her fingers in the waistband of her panties, and start to pull them down.

I gasp, and, being a teenager, start to cum, spurting rope after rope of thick, hot semen all over my hand, my chest. One splatters on the floor, and the sound is thunderous.

My mother's head snaps in my direction and...

... and that's when I woke up, my cock harder than it's ever been.

That first night, I woke up my wife by slipping it inside her, not caring for foreplay, wanting only to get off. Her cunt, always wet and tight and ready, welcomed the injection of hard meat, but I soon wilted, softening like butter in a hot oven.

Lily brushed her short blonde (too light) locks out of her face and asked, "what's wrong? Usually you don't stop for anything once you've started." I looked down at her perky little breastlets (so small... too small), and made up an excuse about pressure and work.

That was only the first night. Now, it's been a week, and I still haven't cum. While I'm awake, anyway. I dream the same dream every night, and every night I cum in my dreams, but wake up to the lead pipe in my pants.

If this keeps up, she'll leave me, I know it. I can see the desire die a little in her eyes every time we try to fuck, and fail. Last night, we didn't even try. Tonight, she didn't even want me to touch her.

Closing my eyes, I lie back in bed, and try to masturbate my problems away. It hasn't worked all week, but you never know.

As usual, I start off with an image of my wife... (too) short, blonde, slim... naked, just like I like her... her thin little legs are (not long enough) spread before me, and her (stubby) fingers are lodged in her sopping (skanky, hairy) cunt... her face is contorted into a mocking sneer as she pinches her tiny tits...

My cock wilts immediately.

Sighing, I let my mind wander. Images swirl about my brain, and my dick begins to plump up again...

A pair of dainty feet appear, perched atop high, stiletto heels. Smoky black nylon encases them, and my mind's eye follows the stockings up, up, up, over legs so long, so toned, so perfect that they should be strutting down a runway. Calves rub against one another, thighs clench and unclench as I continue up...

... my cock is so hard, now...

... a pair of wispy black panties appears between these juicy thighs, tiny, lacy, sheer things. I can see that there is no hair underneath. Long, elegant fingernails trace the pouty outline of her pussy lips, and then, with a curled finger, lead me upwards, past the curves of her hips, over the tight muscles of her tummy... we stop for a moment at her breasts, big and soft, and capped with delicate, shell-pink nipples... I long to suckle at those nipples, but her hand leads me ever onwards and upwards, past her slim neck. I pause to kiss the plush, glossy lips that follow, and look up into a pair of violet eyes just beginning to open. A thick mane of dark, black hair flows down upon me, and I realize...

Mom!

My breath short, I open my eyes, reluctantly dispensing with the fantasy. My dick, however, is not so quick to forget, and remains iron-hard... pulsating in my hand...

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

Why is it always her?

This is hardly the first time I've tried to wank my problem away. Every time I start to touch myself, to relieve the pressure in my balls, she keeps creeping in...

Her face, her body, her voice... they creep into my imagination, eating away at any fantasty I try to erect... her image is like acid...

... and each time, it's harder to stop. It's been a week now, since I last came while I was awake. My balls ache with backed-up cum, and I can feel the need to get off eating up my resistance. If this is what it takes to get off, my cock says, then we'll take it. Look at her! Have you ever seen a hotter woman? What can it hurt? It's just a fantasy...

... but a fantasty about my mother, my mom... the woman who raised me... who loves me... who dances nightly in my dreams...

I can't! I can't! How can something so wrong be making me feel so good? How can a dream be ruining my marriage? How can I want to cum for my mother?

Overcome with guilt, I take my hand off my erection, and try to get some sleep.

Not surprisingly, the dream comes again.

This time, as I kneel on the floor, semen spurting from my cock, splattering on her shoes, I'm sure I see her look at me and smile impishly...

I wake up early in the morning, before six, sweating, panting, my cock harder than it's ever been.

Lying awake in bed, I listen to Lily snore. The sound is piggish, repulsive. I look over at her dishwater blonde hair, and sneer. How could I ever have been attracted to her? A child's body and a whore's haircut.

My cock droops at the sight of her.

This, of course, does not resolve my problem. While it's now obvious why she can't get me off, I still can't figure out what the dream means, nor why I can't get my mother's (beautiful, sexy) face out of my head when I wank.

Slipping out of bed quietly, I leave the bedroom and head for the kitchen phone.

I dial a long-distance number, and wait a moment as I hear the phone on the other end ring. Why am I doing this? I don't know. It feels like the right thing to do, though.

A sleepy (sexy) voice picks up after a few rings.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Tom? Is that you?" All sleep gone from her voice now, but still speaking in low (seductive) tones. Strangely, she doesn't sound at all surprised.

"Mom... something's wrong."

"Well, why don't you tell Mommy all about it?" When she says "mommy," there's a shiver up my spine that I can't ignore. My cock, no longer drooping, begins to rise again. I can hear clothes rustling in the background as she sits up.

"Well," I say, and begin to tell her about my dreams. Each time I pause, she says "mmmmm," in a husky (sexy, seductive) voice. I'm sure I can hear something wet (pussy) in the background, but I can't make it out.

"And, and now, every time I try to relieve myself," I finish. "I can't stop thinking of... of..."

"Yes? Yes!?" She asks, her voice excited. Mom sounds slightly short of breath, as though she's doing something.

"You!" I finally break down and confess. There's a long, satisfied sigh on the other end of the phone, and the wet sounds subside.

"Mmmmmm... yesssss..." she hisses. "And what did you want me to do about it?"

"I want help!" I say, "I want to know what's going on, why I can't cum, what these dreams are all about..."

"But why call me? What can I know about your dreams?" She said innocently.

"I-I don't know," I confess. "I just thought, I thought..."

"... about me while you were masturbating... jerking that hard young cock while thinking about little old me."

"Mom!" I protest, blushing.

"If you ask me, I think you know exactly what those dreams are about..." She sounds sly, knowing.

"N-no... it can't... I can't..."

"No? I bet you're touching yourself right now, listening to my voice, aren't you?"

"No!" I took my hand off my erect cock. "I'm not... it's wrong..."

"I know it's wrong, honey... mommy knows it's wrong... evil... to dream about your mother... to think about your mom... that way..."

"Yes. Exactly! I-"

"But it feels soooo good, doesn't it? To touch yourself while you think about me? Those sexy, sinful thoughts floating through your head, eating away at your will..."

"No, no, no! you're wrong! It's wrong! I never, I..."

"Never what? Never thought about me while you jerked that big, hard cock? Never dreamed about my naked body? Never woke up, harder than you've ever been before at the mere thought of your mother? I bet if you closed your eyes right now, you'd see me, wouldn't you? Wearing nothing but a tiny pair of panties, and my stockings?"

"No, I wouldn't, I, it's wrong..." My eyes began to close of their own accord.

"No? You mean you can't see me? Your eyes aren't tracing their way up my legs? Your nose isn't full of my perfume? You can't hear my voice, calling to you night after night?"

"No!" I cried. "It's wrong, it's evil, it's..."

"Sexy? Seductive? Irresistable?"

"I-I don't know... I..." In my mind's eye, I can see her, plain as day. Her long fingernails beckoning me, calling me... her legs begin to spread...

"I know who's in that chair... I know who watches me eagerly every night... I know who can't resist the image of my body... can't resist my voice... comes to me every night to watch, to touch himself while I dance for him... do you know?"

"No... no..." My protests are weak. The answer is obvious, but I try to resist it... try to resist the siren call of my mother's body... to resist the seductive image of her... her mouth... her legs... her breasts... her pussy... her hot, wet, inviting pussy...

"Yes you do," she teased. "But I'll give you a clue: he's masturbating to the image of my body right NOW!"

For a moment, silence. Then, the soft sound of my hand, sliding up and down my stiff cock.

"Oh, God," I groan in defeat.

"Yessssss," she hisses. "You! You can't resist my body... my voice... it fills your mind, doesn't it? Your cock is already a slave to my body, to my tits, to my pussy, to ME. That's why you can't get it up for your wife anymore... because your cock belongs to me... because it's enslaved to MY will... isn't it? ISN'T IT?"

"Yes! YES!" I almost shout into the phone, defeated now, my hand pumping faster.

"Then come... come to me, my son... come to your mother... leave her, and I will make all of your fantasies come true... I will make you cum for me as you have every night... as you will every night... you will be enslaved to me, to my body... I will seduce you, make you mine night after night after night, and you will love the feeling... so helpless... so seduced... you will fight and you will lose because you know you cannot resist me... my body... your mother's body... forever..."

"Yessss..." I groan, feeling the sweet pleasure of seduction sweep over me, knowing that every word she speaks is true, knowing that my body is hers... that I love her... that I will come to her and for her, and her only... an unholy marriage of sex and seduction and incest, forever...

Chapter 2

I sit in the car, drumming my fingers against the wheel, idly playing with myself, waiting for a red light to change.

The image of my mother's body plays itself over and over in my head. It's distracting - I can still drive, but only just. And it's probably a good thing it's still early.

Looking at the clock on the dash, I see that it's well past the time I set our alarm for. Lily is definitely up by now. She's probably reading the note I left.