Unsurprisingly, given her upbringing, my mother was not good at managing money. Her wealthy father indulged his daughter with whatever she wished for, no matter what the cost. When she came of age he married her off to my father, a rich older gentleman, who also provided her with everything she desired. She never had to learn the value of money because there was always more than enough money to buy whatever she wanted. Money was always there and never ran out, until...

My father died in 1925, leaving the bulk of his estate in trust to myself, his only son, but he did leave a sufficiency to allow my mother to maintain herself and her house. All went swimmingly until the Great Crash of 1929. The very considerable fortune my father bequeathed me shrank to merely a considerable fortune. My mother’s ‘sufficiency’ was reduced to a bare sufficiency, if that.

I learned to live within my newly reduced means, paying far more attention to financial affairs than I had hitherto. My trustees had, more by luck than judgement, avoided the very worst of the crash. Having taken control of the remaining monies at the age of twenty-one I resolved in future not to rely solely on luck, rather to work at improving my judgement. My mother unfortunately did not learn this lesson, but continued spending as if her supply of money was still as unlimited as it had always been.

Inevitably, she came to me for assistance. I was perfectly willing to help her, but merely giving her money would not solve the problem, for she would carry on spending it as she always had. Instead, I arranged to sell the house, the one she had shared with my father. It was overly large for her, and the upkeep cost far too much, given her reduced circumstances.

I moved her into the main guest suite in my house and set up a weekly stipend for her. I am sure she would have preferred more—she had an excessive fondness for expensive hats—but my own fortune was no longer as large as it had been.

Perhaps I should further explain here. My wife, Winnie, and I married after our fathers decided that we should be wed. We co-operated enough to produce three children in quick succession and then came to our own arrangements. I purchased two neighbouring houses. She lived in one, with the children, a nanny and a succession of totally unsuitable, but vigorous, young men of low class, little breeding and large endowments—anything less than eight inches being too small for her.

I lived in the adjacent house, where I entertained my paramours. For the most part they were older women, whom I find to be more sensible about the necessities of life and more amenable to my requirements. I had to be a little more discreet with mother in residence, but not overly so. When she was not out visiting friends, milliners or her grandchildren, she mostly kept to her own rooms. Generally we only met at mealtimes.

That Tuesday morning I was with Bella in the main room. She was the oldest of my ‘companions’, in her late forties I judged, so a little older than my mother. She was a widow, like my mother, though in her case neither of her sons had sufficient funds to support her. Hence, she had to earn enough money to support herself. Not having any of the skills that employers were seeking, she had turned to men such as myself who were prepared to pay for female companionship. She displayed an ample figure, with large breasts wide hips and a round, slightly chubby face. Paradoxically, she was more ‘motherly’ in appearance than my real mother, who had similar hips, but lacked Bella’s large breasts.

Bella had been very careful not to let people know the nature of her employment, for I had not heard any untoward rumours about her. This despite the fact that I knew for a certainty that she had entertained other gentlemen besides myself. Being older, Bella tended to meet with men who shared my preference for a more mature partner, and who could afford her.

Normally, I would have Bella in my bedroom, but this morning mother was out discussing hats with her milliner. The servants would be discreet of course; I had chosen them for that reason, and they were well aware that telling tales out of turn would render them unemployed with a bad reference.

“Are you going to fuck me?” Bella asked from beside me on the settee.

During our previous encounters I had asked Bella to use extreme language. I enjoyed the contrast between her sedate appearance and her nasty language. We had also played a game where she was the ‘mother’ and I the ‘son’. “Yes mama, I will fuck you.”

She instantly fell into her role. “Oh! You nasty boy, wanting to fuck your own mama. Lusting to ram your stiff cock into your mother’s cunny. What a wicked boy to think such despicable thoughts.”

“Yes mother. I am determined to take you. First I will have your mouth.” Upon so saying, I released my stiff cock from my trousers, bringing another round of feigned protests.

“Simon, really! You must not force that disgusting stiff thing into your own mother’s mouth. Expecting your mother to suck your cock! You are such a naughty boy.”

I put a hand behind Bella’s head and lightly pressed her towards my rod. She continued complaining until my stiffness plugged her mouth. I had no complaints about Bella’s skills. She could not take me as deep as some, but her hands, lips and tongue were most active in bringing me pleasure.

“Ah mama, you are sucking your son so well. But I want more. I shall fuck you next.”

She sat up, “Oh you wicked sinful boy. Wanting to defile your own mother! The things I have to do for my own son!”

Her action belied her words. Lying back on the couch, she raised her green dress and spread her legs. “Is that what you want, you dreadful boy? Your own mama spread out and ready for you to fuck her cunt?”

“Yes mama, I want to take you now.”

“Such a bad son, wanting to stick your hard dick into mama’s cunny.”

“But it is such fun, mama. I do so love to fuck you.”

I pulled the leg of her loose French knickers—pink today—to one side and slid two fingers into her smooth channel.

“Oh! You shouldn’t be doing that; pushing your fingers into your mother’s pussy.”

“Very well, mama, then I shall replace them with my prick.” Pausing only to roll on a prophylactic, I moved forward, placing the head of my cock at her slit.

“Oh no, son! You mustn’t fuck your mother. Don’t push your stiff dick any further forward. That would be so sinful to have your cock in your mama’s cunny.”

“Not just sinful, but exquisite as well, mama.” I slid two inches into her smooth slit. Her cunt did indeed feel exquisite as it clasped my prick.

“No! Take it out this instant, you bad boy! You mustn’t fuck your own mama!”

“But I must, mother,” I told her as I thrust my full length into her. “There, I have my cock entirely into your cunt, and I shall fuck you.” I suited my actions to my words and started moving my prick out, preparatory to ramming it back into her.

“Doing such nasty things to your own mother, fucking her, forcing her to take your cock in her cunt. Such a wicked boy. Treating your mother like this.”

I continued to pound into her smooth channel, ignoring her feigned protests. All too soon I reached my peak, squirting my seed inside my counterfeit ‘mother’. Naturally she pretended to reach her peak at the same time; she was well aware of the rules of the game we were playing.

“You bad bad boy Simon, how dare you fuck your own mother. The things a mother has to do to keep her little boy happy.”

Over dinner that evening my mother seemed somewhat subdued. I asked, but she gave an obvious excuse to deflect my question.

I received my answer the next afternoon. It being Wednesday, the servants had a half day. We were sat on the same settee that I had used with Bella, and mother was wearing a similar green dress, though one rather better made and with a higher neckline.

“Simon,” she started, “when I went out yesterday to see Mrs. Mason about hats, her shop was closed. The sign said she was away for the day at her niece’s marriage. With nothing else to do I came back early. You know what I saw on this very settee, don’t you Simon?”

I probably should have been more embarrassed than I was. “I’m sorry mother, I thought you would still be out.”

“That was obvious, Simon. I know that you have your dalliances, but I cannot abide you having one of them impersonate me. You will stop that immediately.”

“Yes, mother. She won’t play you any more.” That would not be too much of a sacrifice, there were other games that I had played with Bella.

“Just as well, she’s not a very good actress. I would never use that sort of language.”

“Of course, mother.”

She paused, thinking. “One thing does puzzle me, Simon. When she told you to stop, you didn’t. That’s not like you, you normally respect a woman’s wishes.”

“We were playing a game, mother. We agreed a special word that means ‘stop’, and I ignore anything else she says. It adds to the naughtiness of doing those things with her.”

“Naughty indeed,” mother said with a glare in her blue eyes. I endeavoured to look suitably abashed.

“Could you explain the game, Simon. I’m not sure that I understand it.”

“Of course, mother. First we need a special word, something that won’t come up in normal conversation, and doesn’t mean ‘stop’...”

“Something like ‘Tiverton’?” mother suggested.

Hmmm, perhaps mother understood more of this game than she pretended, that was an excellent suggestion. “Tiverton, where Aunt Alexandra lives?”

“Indeed. I was writing her a letter earlier, so the word was in my mind.”

“A good suggestion, so long as we are not discussing Aunt Alexandra,” I said with a smile.

“We have the special word. What happens next?”

“Well mother, suppose I do something like this perhaps,” as I placed a hand on her knee, over her dress. “If you want me to stop, you use the special word.”

Mother gave me an unreadable glance as soon as I touched her leg. “Tiverton ... Is that how it works?”

I immediately removed my hand. “Yes, mother. However, if I put my hand on your knee again...” I suited my actions to my words, “ ... and you do not use the special word, then I am free to continue.”

Mother looked at my hand. Was that a slight smile on her lips? “Oh Simon, you naughty boy. You shouldn’t have your hand on your mother’s leg. Remove it this instant.”

Mama had indeed been listening to Bella.

I didn’t say anything, instead I started stroking her leg a short way above her knee.

“You’re caressing my thigh, Simon. Such a wicked boy.”

Again, I remained silent, my hand moving further up her thigh.

“Does that excite you, son? Fondling your mother that way?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but to my immense surprise began to rub her hand over the bulge that was forming in my trousers.

“Mother!” I expostulated.

She smiled at me, her blue eyes sparkling. “You are not the only one who wants to do naughty things, Simon. Now take it out for me.”

“What?”

“You showed yourself to that woman, now you can show it to me.”

You could have knocked me down with a feather! Mother was evidently interested in progressing along the same path I had followed with Bella. Not wishing to waste the opportunity, I released my semi-stiff cock from my trousers and displayed it for my parent. How far would she go?

“I see you are not quite at full mast yet, Simon. Shall I help you?”

She didn’t wait for my reply, but grasped my prick and started stroking me with her soft hand.

“Do you like that Simon? Your own mother stroking your rod to satisfy your lustful desires.”

I did indeed like it, as mother could tell from my quickly attaining full extension; a tribute to her undoubted skill. “Yes mother, I am greatly enjoying your hand on me.”