Chapter 2

Mother again; M/F, M/f, incest, etc.

I wrote this in 2005, as a sequel to “mother and I”, which I wrote in 2001.

“I really like your mother, I think she’s such a nice woman.” Brigitte said.

I felt a great relief; I had been very hesitant to introduce my new girl to Mom.

“I’m glad you two got along so well.” I said; we were approaching the house where Brigitte lived with her own parents. I was 22, but Brigitte was just 19.

“And I like how close you are with her; that’s so rare these days.”

I doubted she would have thought so much of us if she knew how close my mother and I really were.

As I stopped the car, we kissed briefly. Then she ran inside.

She was about as opposite my mother as another female could be; tall and blond where mom was short and brunet. Simple and straightforward, where mom was complex and manipulative. I’d never seen Brigitte in makeup or even a dress; she was T-shirts and denim, where mom was meticulously in fashion. Simple and unadorned, while mom was always painted to perfection, bedecked in jewelry, each hair arranged. Brigitte never wore heels, Mother always did.

“She seems like a nice girl, Marty.” Mother said. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“Just for a couple of weeks.”

“I see.”

There was silence; a slightly disapproving silence.

“It didn’t take you very long.” She said.

“What do you mean?”

“After we decided we’d see other people. You started going out with her almost immediately.”

“You were already seeing Stanley.”

“Don’t be jealous, Marty. You know I don’t like it.” Mother said. “Have you had sex with her yet?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. She’s a bit of a dike, isn’t she?”

“What you mean?”

“Gay. Homosexual; she seems like a girl who would rather be a boy.”

“I don’t think so, Mother.”

“Did you kiss her goodnight?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Like this?”

Mother put her arms around my neck, pressed her body against mine, and pushed her lips against my mouth. Her tongue came sliding in, darting around my cheeks and gums, as if searching for anything that might be hiding in there.

Her slim curvaceous body moved against me, in her irresistible way. I felt my prick began to inflate.

Her mouth pulled away, and she looked up into my eyes lazily.

“Well?”

“No, not like that.” I admitted.

Mother laughed; “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Mother is 46; the kind of 46-year-old woman that still turns heads. She still wears short skirts, because she still can. It’s sometimes been difficult, growing up in her shadow. She split up with my dad when I was young, and there had been many boyfriends and lovers since.

And then, we were thrown together one lonely night during my freshman year, our inhibitions were momentarily down; I had sex with my own mother. She’s too strong for me, too charismatic. She wanted to do it again, and again; she wouldn’t let me go. I moved back into her house.

Knowing what was expected of me, I undressed and climbed into my mother’s bed. She watched with her usual bemused smile, and then slowly undressed herself.

Mother has an amazing figure for a woman her age. Her breasts are still full, yet her hips are slim. She’s got great legs [although slightly short], and even her ass is still presentable. But the thing Mother has that separates her from other women is her sexiness; every move she makes, every gesture, every look, everything about her is sexy. Mother can’t change the TV channel without being sexy. It’s partly contrived, and partly just how she is.

So as she slowly rolled her stockings down her legs, I couldn’t help but enjoy watching. As she arched her back, and unhooked her bra, I had to admit that it would be mighty hard to find a woman who could save me from her. I wished I’d had sex with Brigitte; perhaps I’d have the strength to refuse my randy mom if I could just get someone I really cared for into the sack with me.

Mother slid into bed, and fitted her hot little body against me. She put her arms around me, one under my head and the other under my armpit. She stroked my back and kissed me again, she reached down and took my cock in her hand.

“Sexy sexy boy.” She whispered, “My well endowed son.”

She stroked my cock and kissed me for a while; I stroked her silky back, enjoying her voluptuous curves as the guilt and shame of what we were doing was slowly replaced by simple lust. Mother’s familiar fingers tickled my stiff cock, her generous soft breasts pressed against me. After a while, she pushed me over onto my back and mounted me.

Mother is tighter than anyone I’ve ever known. She looked down and me and laughed, causing her breasts to wobble and her hair to bounce. I felt her squeezing my cock with her strong vaginal muscles; Mother did special exercises.

She held both my hands, and lifted her body up and down over my penis. She smiled and then laughed again; Mother does love to do it.

After awhile, I rolled her over so I was on top; I gave it to her as hard as I could without coming.

Mother had her orgasm, cooing and crying, kissing me and clutching my ass. Despite my conflict about fucking her, I do love the way Mother comes; she’s just so intense. My dick was like iron as I pounded her sexy little frame, while she twisted and squeezed against me, stroking my back and ass with her long manicured nails. At last I could bear it no longer; I pumped my slime into her, the way she likes it.

“You’re so good Marty.” She whispered happily.

She rested her head on my shoulder as we slept.

“Of course she’s gay, Marty.” Mother said over breakfast, “Didn’t you see the way she was flirting with me all evening?”

“No.”

“You’re so naive, Marty. Invite her over again in a couple of days, and I’ll show you.”

I was preparing dinner for Brigitte, Mother, and myself, when Mother asked me to give her a hand in the spare bathroom. Brigitte hadn’t arrived yet.

“Hold on to that panel while I unscrew it.” She said. Mother is the only person I’ve never seen use power tools in high heels and stockings.

I had never figured out what that panel was hiding; it had always been there. Like the bathroom itself, it seemed out of place.

After I carried it out into the hall, I came back to the bathroom. Behind where the wooden panel had been, was a window. A window into my mother’s bedroom. The back of my mother’s bedroom mirror.

“Your father put this in, before you were born.” She told me. “You’d better get back into the kitchen.”

The implications of the window slowly dawned on me; the ‘70s, free sex. Partner swapping; my mother and father had been doing strange things before my birth. Probably after my birth, as well.

Of course it made sense, mother had always been that way. Sexually bent, I mean. She hadn’t just suddenly become a pervert; she had been one for a long time. Mother sashayed into the kitchen.

“Now after we eat, I’ll phone from my cell; you answer, and pretend it’s your father. You say his car’s broken down, and you have to go out to help him. Then you creep back in, and hide in the spare bathroom.”

“Mother...”

“Now don’t argue with me, Marty. I said I would prove it to you, didn’t I? You just do as I say.”

“Yes, mother.”

I keep promising myself that I won’t let mother manipulate me anymore; but then I find my life wrapped around her fingers again, as she plays me like a toy. It so difficult to go against her, and so easy to capitulate. Mother is a clinical physiologist, she’s trained to twist people’s minds.

I knew from the beginning she would never let me have a relationship, not this easy. I would have to leave Mother, move away again; maybe to a different city this time. I should have never even told her about Brigitte. Mother had suckered me into it, making out that she wanted to end our sexual relationship. “Find a nice girl, Marty.” She’d told me. “Invite her for dinner, Marty.” She’d insisted.

As usual, I did as my mother instructed. I left her alone with Brigitte, and drove away. I snuck back in the back door about 15 minutes later, and slipped into the guest bathroom. My new girlfriend was sitting in front of the mirror, staring at herself. Mother stood behind her, brushing her hair.

“You have lovely hair, Brigitte; just let me brush it out a little bit.”

I could just hear them through the glass.

“Okay.” Brigitte said, looking slightly embarrassed.

“I find it hard to believe you’ve never used makeup. You’re such a pretty girl; you could look truly amazing.”

“It’s just never been my thing.” Brigitte said.

“You know, I have a dress that might fit you.” Mother said, putting the hairbrush down on her dressing table and stepping across the room to her closet. She opened closet, and removed a long sheer blue dress on a hanger.

Mother held up the dress and said something to Brigitte, but I couldn’t make out what.

Brigitte turned away from the mirror, and I found that I couldn’t make out what she was saying unless she faced me.

They talked for a minute or two, and I wondered what clever little arguments Mother was using to break down the young girl’s inhibitions.

Fascinated, I watched as Brigitte slowly pulled off her T-shirt. We had kissed and touched a little bit, but I had never undressed her. Once or twice, I thought I could have; but she lived with her parents, and I always felt self-conscious when I was at her house.

I could see her blush as she removed her shoes and then her jeans.

Mother rummaged around in her underwear drawer while Brigitte unhooked her bra.

Mother shrugged and held up one of her own bras that was clearly too big for Brigitte’s small breasts. They both laughed, but I could see she was fairly uncomfortable standing in front of my formidable mother with nothing on but a pair of white panties.

I watched Brigitte don the dress that Mother had found for her; it was a bit small for Brigitte, barely covering her. She looked incredible.

Mother sat Brigitte at her dressing table again, just two feet away from me. Mother brushed Brigitte’s blond hair again.

“You are an extraordinarily beautiful girl.” Mother said, one hand on Brigitte’s naked shoulder.

“Thank you.” Brigitte said, blushing.

“Such extraordinary skin.” Mother said, stroking girl’s cheek. “And such big clear eyes.”

They didn’t say anything for a minute, they just stared at each other in the mirror, as I stared at them through it. Mother put the brush down, and began to stroke Brigitte’s face and neck. Slowly, Mother brought her face down alongside Brigitte’s head.

Brigitte was looking slightly alarmed, but didn’t object immediately when Mother kissed her on the neck, then the cheek.

“What are you doing?” Brigitte asked at last.

Mother laughed; “Just exploring the boundaries, dear. I find you so very attractive, I just felt the urge to kiss you.”

Mother kissed Brigitte’s neck again; I couldn’t see where her hands were.

“I don’t think you should.” Brigitte said.

“Why not? Because we’re both female? There’s no one here, darling. Just you and me and these four walls; no one will know. Close your eyes and just feel what’s really inside yourself; relax and be free.”

Mother’s hands appeared from below the tabletop; moving upward over the sheer dress, until they cupped my new girlfriend’s young firm breasts.

“What do you feel?” Mother asked quietly, “Pleasure?”

“I’m not sure.” Brigitte said, barely breathing.

“You’re very excited dear.” Mother said, “I can see that. Have you ever kissed a woman?”

“No.”

“Perhaps it’s time you did. Just to know.”

Mother stepped around to the side of the chair, and Brigitte turned her head and looked up; Mother took the girl’s face in her hands, and bending down, kissed her very gently on the lips.

The silence and tension permeated through the glass; my young girlfriend was looking quite shocked, and yet ... excited.

“What do you feel, dear?” Mother asked.

“I don’t know.” Brigitte stammered.

“Yes you do.” Mother laughed; “You feel excitement, afraid yet with a desire for more. Just like I do.”

Mother bent and kissed the teenager again, a long deliberate soft kiss on the mouth. Her hands held Brigitte’s face, and I saw Brigitte’s hands go to Mother’s slim hips.

Mother pulled her face away from the from the girl, and they looked at each other; Brigitte in a kind of shock, and Mother in that all knowing way she has.

Mother reached behind herself, and pulled down the zipper of her own dress; young Brigitte just stared at her silently as Mother peeled the cloth down to her waist and allowed it to slip to the floor. Mother was wearing a lacy half bra that supported her generous breasts and held them forward. She unhooked it, allowing her appendages to hang naturally.

Brigitte watched Mother strip in the mirror. Mother was saying something, but I couldn’t make out what. Brigitte turned to face her, and stood up.

They stood facing each other, my mother and my teenage girlfriend. Their breasts facing each other’s breasts.

Mother was speaking and gesturing. I could see her face, but not Brigitte’s. Then Mother came around behind Brigitte, unzipped the dress, and removed it from the girl.

They faced each other, semi-naked; then Mother placed her hands over Brigitte’s breasts, her thumbs underneath and her fingers above. I saw her squeeze gently, and then swirl her fingers around the perfect round protrusions. Very gently, she squeezed Brigitte’s pink little nipples.

Brigitte just stood stock still, blushing but not taking her eyes off of Mother. Her nipples began to protrude visibly.

Mother released the girl’s breasts, and took her hands. She placed them on her own tits. She smiled as the younger woman gently lifted and caressed the large middle-aged breasts. The breasts that had fed me when I was a baby, and tickled my cock when I was an adult.

It was dark and private in the room I watched from; as dark and private as the emotions that my voyeurism caused in me. I pulled out my cock, and stroked myself. The physical pleasure partially offsetting my distress.

Mother moved slightly closer to Brigitte; I could see Brigitte’s firm round ass press against the corner of Mother’s dressing table just on the other side of the mirror.

“Your eyes are so clear, and your skin is so perfect.” I heard Mother say, “Are you a virgin, dear?”

I couldn’t hear an answer, but I could see Brigitte nod in the affirmative.

Mother kissed her; I couldn’t see their lips, but I was very aware of the kiss; of mother’s hands on Brigitte’s naked back.

“Do you like it?” Mother asked.

If there was an answer, I couldn’t tell what it was. Brigitte looked away from Mother, and I could see her profile. She looked confused and unsure of herself.

Mother stepped to the side, so she was in front of Brigitte again. She pulled the two female bodies into contact, their naked breasts squeezing gently against each other. Taking the girls face, Mother brought Brigitte’s lips to her own. Brigitte didn’t struggle or object; she stood stiffly at first, and then seemed to relax, at least partially. Her hands wrapped around Mother’s hips, and slid up Mother’s naked back.

They kissed; and kissed and kissed. They seem to be unaware of time, of the world. There was just the kiss, female on female, breast on breast. Tongue on female tongue. Finally, they broke apart. They held hands, and stared at each other in silence.

So, I thought; Mother had proved her point. She was speaking to Brigitte softly, and I couldn’t hear her words; but I knew she was saying something seductive, being as persuasive as only Mother could. Mother’s fingers gently caressed the smooth pale flesh of the younger woman. Then Mother lifted the phone.

I grabbed my cell phone and answered it quickly, before the ring became loud.

“You’ve made your point, Mother.” I said, “I’ll come back now.”

“Oh no, Marty.” Mother said, “Don’t worry about us, we’re having a fine time. You give your father a ride home, and we’ll see you in a couple of hours. Bye bye.”

Damn Mother!

Mother sat Brigitte down on her bed, and sat at her feet on the carpet. She lifted one of Brigitte’s feet, and placed it on her own naked chest. Mother’s fingers ran up the girl’s ankle, they looked at each other as Mother stroked Brigitte’s long legs sensuously.

Mother’s other hand slowly slid up Brigitte’s other leg; I couldn’t see exactly where went, but I could imagine. After a moment, I saw Brigitte lift her ass from the bed. Neither of them spoke as Mother slid Brigitte’s panties down her lovely legs, leaving the girl stark naked.

Mother began to kiss Brigitte’s leg, working her way upwards; skipping the groin, she kissed up the belly, to the breasts. Brigitte lay back against the bed, and Mother crawled on top of her. I stroked my stiff cock while I watched through the mirror as my Mother ground her lips against the girl’s mouth.

Mother was right, as usual. Brigitte was clearly a lesbian; what my Mother was remained less clear.

My girlfriend pursed her lips, and seemed to pull Mother’s tongue into her mouth.

I watched them as they rotated around each other, exploring each other’s bodies, each exploring their own newfound sensuality. Mother was the first to put her head between her lover’s thighs, and I saw Brigitte stiffen in pleasure. I wasn’t sure if she had an orgasm, but she soon moved around to return the favor.

Mother bucked her hips, holding my girlfriend’s head between her legs as she often held mine when I went down on her.

Mother shook her head, laughed, and ground her hips into Brigitte’s young mouth. She came, staring at me through the mirror in triumph.

I don’t suppose many people can say they’ve been cuckolded by their own mother.

Mother went down on Brigitte again after that, and I watched her lick the girl intently until Brigitte finally and definitively came. God, I thought, what gorgeous girl. Brigitte, that is.

“I was right, wasn’t I Marty?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“You should let me find you a girl. Who knows what you’ll bring home next time.”

“I like Brigitte, Mother.”

“Get undressed, Marty. It’s bedtime.”

“I still have to brush my teeth.”

“Well brush them naked, dear. I like to watch your cock shake around while you brush.”

“All right.”

Mother stood behind me and played with my penis while I brushed my teeth at the sink. It felt nice, reassuring and loving. She pressed her large soft breasts into my back. It irritated me that Mother always had to be right. It bothered me that she treated me like her toy. It wasn’t right that we were lovers. But I couldn’t resist her, the way she fondled my cock and balls, the way she took control. The way she cared for me like only a mother could, and made love to me with more intensity than anyone I’d ever known.

“I still want her, Mother.” I said.

“But Marty, the girl is gay.” Mother said, stroking my erection with a sure hand.

“Maybe she’s bi.” I suggested.

“Perhaps.” Mother conceded, “It was fun, playing around with her; but it’s left me terribly randy. Come along, Marty.” And she led me by the hand into her bedroom. Her playing around with Brigitte had left me fairly randy as well; I was happy to oblige Mother that night.