Copyright© 2003

There was an old lady who lay
With her legs wide apart in the hay,
Then, calling the ploughman,
She said, "Do it now, man!
Don't wait till your hair has turned gray."

Do you know the feeling when you want something, so bad that you even dream about it, but know you should never have it? Can you imagine the anguish to undergo a temptation so real that you actually have dreams while being fully awake? Now consider that this torture lasts for years, the desires strengthening so that you feared for both your sanity or that you may actually give in to the temptations.

If you understand a part of what I wrote above you may be empathetic enough to understand my situation. Then again you may curse me for being a weak willed fool. Or perhaps even the lowest of sluts.

Read on and you shall discover the ails of my life.

I can not blame my son you see - as we both are tortured by the same desires. Yet in him, there is no pretence at morals or of right and wrong. Given just a moments weakness on my part I doubt it not that he would plunge himself into my body wearing only a content smile of the conquerer.

Oh how I longed to see that look upon him.

When my son Robert was younger, he and I had a wonderful loving relationship. We were more like pals than a mother and her child. Hugs and kisses were frequent as was innocent wrestling and playing games and toys. We were a family, the two of us - his father having left me before Robert was born.

It was the week before my son's sixteenth birthday that our relationship changed. He came home well past midnight and I confronted him angrily for breaking his curfew, though it was mostly for causing me to worry unnecessarily. So angry was I that I followed him up to his room, yelling mindlessly, when he turned and firmly asked, "Do you really want to know what I was doing mother?"

He had not called me mother before that night, but it was the least of my allusions about love, home and family to be altered that evening. I nodded, suddenly feeling dread.

"After the game Mary and I fucked." Mary was, I thought, his platonic female friend. Obviously I was wrong - they were more, much more. Why had I not realized what my son was growing into? A man.

My son was an adult and I could not find any words but felt hurt in my soul at the loss of what had been.

"Want to know something else mother?"

There was more? I did not have time to say a word before he said in a rush, "The whole time I was with her I could not help but think of you!" It was said in such an accusatory way that I felt hurt as well as numb at the realization.

Robert then pushed me from his room and slammed the door in my face.

That was when it started. At first an embarrassment to the both of us, little was said. But within the next year it was I that changed and though Robert never openly spoke a word about his feelings toward me, I could see in his frequent gaze, the longing within.

The first time I confronted myself was when I realized that I was jealous toward my son when he went out on dates. Dates that cumulated in sexual congress there was no doubt. Then there was the finding of my soiled undergarments in his room - not even an attempt was made to hide the new wet stains that were added to them - in fact I did not mind and, hell, felt more than a little flattered.

Since the day Robert's dad had left me, my son had been the only male in my life. There were times that I longed for a man, any man, but I learnt to dispel these urges harshly with a trusty dildo and my fingers. Yes, I am not embarrassed to admit, that I'm an avid masturbator. Once, often twice a day I masturbate very aggressive and always with the face of my son as my tormentor in fantasy.

Yes, my son pleasured me in my dreams. It was not such a leap to bring him into my private thoughts - considering how he came unbidden to my nightly erotic dreams. Initially, I thought it wiser to allow my son into my fantasies rather than the unthinkable act of reality.

It was the only sexual relief I allowed myself, allowed between Robert and I that first year after his revelation.

There were other things as well - like the fact that I joined a ladies gym and worked out three times a week. After, nearly, a year my body was toning up and some of the extra age-weight was gone. I was only doing it to feel good, I told myself again and again.

Then there was the way I dressed. You see I had known what my son enjoyed when he looked upon a woman, what clothing turned his eye, what body part drew his interest before any other. I started to dress this way, completely unconsciously, I assure you, in the beginning. Short skirts and dresses became normal, even around the house. The working out had helped and my legs, often encased in nylon or silk, were tempered to the perfection that I knew drew my son's eye.

"Why do you never date mom?"

I stopped eating my supper and looked up at my son. It was almost a year, to the day, that my son's lust was thrust upon me. Could I tell him that after the experience of being hurt by his father that I trusted no other male - but him. Should I tell him that there was only one man in my life and that had always been enough.

No, I couldn't say a word. Rather, after a short pause, ignored the question and kept eating.

Robert, though, persisted, "Do you hate men mom?"

I looked up into his eyes and read what he was really asking, if I hated him. "No honey, of course not." I could not reveal that I distrusted all men but him.

"Then why don't you date? Why have you not gotten married?"

A weakness in me caused me to blurt out, "Because I have never found anyone as wonderful as you dear."

There... what needed to be said had been voiced.

He stared at me for a long while before he asked, "So if I was not your son... ?"

The question struck me like a physical blow - was it true, if Robert had been a neighbour he and I would be living some of the bawdy fantasies I imagined each and every day?

No - if he had been a neighbour, there would not be the intimacy that lay between us as it was now. Even without the obvious sexual tension that lay in our home, we had been a close and loving family of two.

I returned to my food and Robert did not say another word on the subject - but I saw that he had surmised an answer to the last question. It was based on this assumption that our relationship changed from that day to now. Oh certainly, we had a new strain between us in that year previous, but we still cared and loved each other and as the sexual tensions were ignored, we were the same as we had always been.

The next day started with a quick kiss and a squeeze of my covered breast by my son - and before I could complain at this common use of his mother he had left quickly for school. That left me with the memory of his hand and a day of dark erotic thoughts that left me swooning.

The next year was the harsh temptations that I spoke about. The longing for what was greatly desired within my only son.

His hands would reach out to touch me again and again, nearly any time we were near. If they trailed too long on my person I would remove the offending hand. Yet in weeks after that first grope, my son had felt every inch of my body - aways above my clothing. He loved to fondle my nylon covered legs or grasp my meaty breasts, while making obvious and loud noises of his lust.

Then there was the pressing of his hard manhood against me, always above our clothing and mostly upon my lower stomach or against the cheeks of my ass as he hugged me from the front and back respectively.

In all that time I never broached the subject, told him to stop feeling up his mother or to treat me with the respect that a parent should get from their child. No, I enjoyed the touches. Very much actually. I was lusted after by the only man that mattered to me and if I could not give him the ultimate consummation of our mutual lust then a feel of his hand or a press of his hard groin did not seem that unwarranted.

Then there was the kisses. Definitely not like a mother and son and they were magnificent. He had obviously been practising for years before I was introduced to this perfection of our love. It was only thing I openly admitted to enjoying with him, it was the only thing I requested from him as often as I may. He could feel my ass and breasts, and even press his hand upward into my groin for lengthy periods while we kissed. It mattered not when our lips make passionate love. Our tongues duelled, his winning every time, our hot moist lips wide and hungry, our hot breath soon filling our heads so that they swam with lust.

Our relationship changed quite a bit in the last year as well - we were more open and loving than at any time in the last decade. We talked about everything - everything but his hands upon me, my constant requests for his lips or the open admiring and, dare I say it, proud looks of my clothed body.

The only contention between us, the one thing that I hated and which he ignored was the girls in my son's life. Yes, Robert's mother is a jealous and possessive woman. Even if I could not give him what he wanted, what I even wanted, I hated the fact that he had a steady stream of girls at his whim.

He knew of my jealously, even without me saying a word. It was the only defiant act on his part as he never made a move to hide who he dated or even what he did on those dates. Yes, he would tell me the next day how a girl sucked him, how he found out that her breasts were really a tissue filled brassiere, or how she just lay as he fucked her. It was wicked of him to do - but I thought this was another method on his part to seduce me, with the painful images of my jealousy. It did have a side affect though; I soon learnt how and what my son liked sexually and my images were filled with all the things he desired.

Robert did do one thing I asked thankfully, he never brought one of his girls home. That would be a most painful torture I feared.

The present was more of the same, of laughter and groping touches and wet lips. The only change was that Robert would now ask me directly if I wanted him to come to my bed at night. He would ask if I knew how much he loved me and wanted to help me - by licking me till I orgasmed again and again... nothing else he would promise. Some comments and requests were loving and tender - these were not any less appealing than the bawdy quick comments. How about a quick blow job mom? Or even the frequent unplanned comment, you have the sexiest legs mom!

Then there was the common thread of my sons true wishes for the sexual relationship that he desired. The evidence I ignored for months but near the end of that year, I knew he did not desire me as a girlfriend, wife or even an infrequently lover. My son wanted me as a full time toy, a sexual pet - a slave. I could not control the same desires within my fantasies - yet they were so strong a desire that they overtook my initial humiliation so that I knelt willingly to my son in each self-satisfying session. I guessed that it was the ultimate in degradation - to be a woman in the modern era, a mother and even a responsible caring person - to have to change ones life so drastically, to give up all choice was extremely appealing to me, as long as it was done with the only person I loved and trusted.

I'm not a machine that can be felt up for over a year, to be openly told how my son wanted to use me, how he wanted nothing more than to be in my body - any of my three orifices. And do you want to know something else - I wanted it too! It was torture in the extreme. Now, when I masturbated, usually three to four times a day but it never seemed to still the sexual throbbing between my legs, I would cry in self pity afterwards. Not for the madness of desire did I cry but the fact that I could not allow myself to give into my son - and I prayed to be a weaker individual. I imagined that I was going mad with the duality of lust and desire for someone all my morals told me I could not have!

It was at this time that I grasped at my son's fast approaching high school graduation as a form of reprieve from my sexual madness. You see, I encouraged a University far from home - he would have to move. Yes I hated the thought of being torn from the only other close person in my life, my son. Yet the separation would give him time to find a girl that could satisfy his lust, so that he did not need to bed anything that spread its legs, so that he would not pursue me so viciously. For me, I wanted the time to cool off - to try to stop the throbbing in my loins by distancing myself from the source. I even contemplated seeing a shrink, perhaps to help me understand my feelings and thus, give me the strength to not succumb even to the fantasies.

There was two things that would change the rest of our lives; my mother, Roberts maternal grandmother was coming for a two week visit, and a off the cuff comment I made to my son the day before she arrived.

Having just parted in a lengthy kiss, my head was still spinning and my groin hot and throbbing when Robert asked, "Shall I skip school so I can spend the day giving you want you need mother?" As normal, he wore that half smile that tormented me.

I returned the banter playfully, "If we did that Robert, your grandmother would know all after but a single glance!"

He reached out and gently grasped one of my breasts while I swooned at the touch. Robert turned serious and said, "I want you mother. Tell me what I need to do to have you?"

I knew it - but I loved him for saying it. As always!

As was common in the last months, he would proposition me and I would give him a price for my lust - something ludicrous and outrageous. It was my way of keeping him at bay while preserving our loving relationship. Perhaps I'm as much of a fool as you may be thinking right now. Regardless this was a moment not uncommon in our home.

Gently I pulled his hand from my breast with my own - no malicious intent was intended and Robert, so long used to me pulling his hands from his mothers body barely even gave a thought to it.

Then I said it and it would become my bane for years to come. With a playful smile I offered, "I'll be the woman you want Robert if you...", I thought about some new outrageous and completely impossible task, "... turn your grandmother into your sex slave during her visit."

I was waiting for his playful defeated laugh, knowing the impossibility of my offer. You need to understand my mother - which I will describe later.

Robert didn't react as I had predicted, but turned all serious and stood there looking at me as if measuring what I had just said. I felt my self-assurance dissipate even though my head repeated that there was no possible way my son and my mother could ever... do that! Just the mere thought of such a thing was ludicrous - did Robert really think it was possible?

My son nodded gently and then calmly said, "I'll agree to your terms mother." Only a few weeks ago, when my mother had wrote to tell us of her intended schedule - my son had commented on the accompanying picture, "Wow mom, grandma is a looker!" I ignored the stab of jealousy.

I laughed suddenly, my head moving back and forth with my mouth open in troubled confusion.

"I turn grandma into my slave in the two weeks that she is here and then I get you as well?"

He had to see the impossibility of it all?

"I'm going to give it a go mom! I expect you to live up to the terms though."

The terms? That I would become my son's slave as well? My mother and I, Roberts sex toys?

It was like the beginning of a dark uncontrollable dream.

Robert suddenly smiled widely and turned about to leave the room, the deal, at least to him, agreed upon.

In the future I would think back to that day and that short conversation and both thank god as well as curse him for a fool I had been.

My mother and I had only returned to a mother-daughter relationship after years of silence. You see, mother did not want me to continue the pregnancy when she was told of it - at least not alone. Not only had I gotten pregnant out of wedlock but I had no intention of finding a man to marry to support me or the child. She was horrified. There was lots of screaming, threats and finally a separation.

She had not even seen her grandson until he was thirteen years old, and then only in pictures. Robert and I had visited my parents the last two summer vacations and I rediscovered my relationship with her.

It did not hurt that mom and dad were across the country - that they could not interfere in my life. This visit of mothers, was the first such trip to my home - leaving dad at home with his books and his ever-present pipe.

Let me describe my mother so you can appreciate a little of what was my life - outside of Robert and my relationship. She was a strong cold woman that needed to control all those around her. Her hair may have gone white and there was lines about her face but she can still use her well-trained smile to turn a male head to her whim. Be that a waiter at the restaurant or a ticket person at the airport. Then there was the religion; mother was the matriarch of their community church, the female version of their deacon. She controlled it all - and demanded pious and submission in all about her.

The only reason, that I guessed, she had been willing to ignore our past differences and restart our relationship was for her grandson. It worried me that she was coming to visit for two weeks but I was resolved to endure all... also for my son. That was before my son and I made that horrendous agreement and now I feared that he may alienate and disgust my mother with some bawdy advances.

That night I lay in bed and considered taking that fateful step and welcome my own son into my bed if only so that he does not embarrass us with my mother. I am not sure if it was lucky or not that I fell asleep before a decision could be made.

The next day was surreal - mother giving Robert and I chaste peeks, commenting about how well we looking physically, then immediately tearing into why my house was so disorganized and a mess. Ninety minutes into her visit she was reorganizing my kitchen - cleaning each and every dish before replacing it back in the cupboard.

I endured it - of course - for the sake of keeping mother in my son's life. Whom, I may add quickly made himself scarce as soon there was real work. Just like any teenager would have done.

For seven days our home was almost alien - but after the first day, also very clean and tidy. I missed the touches of my son, the hot sexy kisses, his intimate requests. Yet I was also thankful that he had seemed to forget our deal - that my mother and her grandson acted in only a proper manner, that I never saw a single action on his part that could be termed sexually suggestive or embarrassing in any way.

That is until next morning when I awoke and walked toward my bedroom door but before I opened it I heard some faint whispers from the far side of doorway, in the hall.

I pressed my ear to the hard wood but all that I could make out was that the voices were indeed my son's and his grandmothers. So I leaned down and pressed my ear to the small hole of a lock in the door - you know the kind that you rarely find in fifty year old houses but were common in turn-of-the-century homes.

The voices, though, turned into words. Listening carefully I could hear everything.

"Please stop that Robert!"

"Tell me when grandma?"

A lengthy pause, a small groan and then my mom asked, "When does she wake up?"

"Normally right about now... no, don't worry grandma, mother makes so much noise that we will hear her." They were talking about me of course. And for the record, I did not make any noise when I wake up! "Did you enjoy last night?"

A bit firmly, "You know I did Robert!" What had he done?

"You would like me to do it again wouldn't you?"

A lengthy pause and then a long drawn out sigh before my moms answer, "Yes I would."

"Then tell me when I get to fuck you grandma?"

"Robert!" Mother almost yelled this, but quickly quieted herself. "How about tonight darling?" Darling? Tonight? "What about your mother?"

Robert laughed lightly and then said, "I told you last night - every night mom uses sleeping pills to help her sleep. She'll be out until morning."

There was a lengthy pause and I heard small moans and nothing else before mother whispered, "God, you can kiss darling!"

Didn't I know it!

"I can also lick pussy pretty good can't I grandma?"

My mother giggled, a sound that I have never heard from her before, "You certainly can darling!"

"Relax grandma, mom will never know!"

I heard nothing for some time before I thought I heard my own mother grunting. "I feel so naughty darling!"

"You are naughty grandma, my naughty secret lover!" She giggled again. "A naughtily little girl that likes nothing better than to have her grandson lick her sex for an hour in the middle of the night or to finger her in the hallway like some common slut!"

"Yes... yes! Don't stop darling!" She was getting louder but I thought I could hear a sloppy sound and knew it was my son's fingers moving in and out from between his grandmothers sex.

"Oh... oh... oh... !" Then I heard a guttural squeal and knew what it signified - the sound could almost be a recording of what I heard at the end of one of my own masturbation sessions! My mother was having an orgasm.

There was more moaning and then mother was again whispering, "Do you think she heard that?" Mom sounded scared.

A short malicious laugh and my son answer, "No, she didn't hear that grandma."

More silence with low moans before Robert asked, "Tonight grandma?"

My mother did not even hesitate, "Yes darling... yes!"

I dropped slowly onto my hard wood floor and sat stunned for a very long while.

Nearly an hour later I found Robert in the kitchen eating a huge breakfast that his grandmother must have made - she being in the shower at the time. I ignored him and began to bang around the kitchen but felt his presence as my son came up behind me.

His two hands came around and grasped my chest. I roughly spun about in his arms and confronted him. "I make noise when I wake up huh?"

Robert did what I did not expect him to do, he laughed. "I was hoping you heard." His hands dropped back to his sides.

My reaction was to stand open mouthed and stunned.

"Tonight - midnight, why don't you come down to the dining room. Be quiet though."

"To do what? The proof that you won?" I was nearly shouting. The truth of that statement had not yet sunk in.

He laughed yet again, infuriating me, "I have not won yet mom - I haven't turned grandma into my slave yet. We are just having a little fun!"

I felt like I was about to fall to the floor, my head was spinning, and my strong bold son grasped me about the waist and pulled me to him. "Rest assured mom, when I do complete our bargain that I will collect from you what is mine!" His lips pressed roughly and possessively into my own and I found myself responding in kind. My groin had been pressing into his hard thigh as if possessed.

There was a faint foreign taste that puzzled and then horrified me - it was the sexual taste of my mother. I seemed powerless to stop the kisses, the first in over a week, until Robert broke away from me and returned to his morning meal.

I worked hard at making myself scarce for the rest of the day - pleading a migraine headache. Though, randomly, throughout the day I heard distant laughter and giggles from my normally uptight mother while I lay in bed feeling sorry for myself, seething with mingled rage, humiliation and jealousy. Only infrequently I would remember our bargain and what the future entailed when my son completed his task of turning my mother into his slave. That did not seem to quench the jealous rage that coursed through my soul and I felt as if I was tumbling uncontrollably down a very big hill.

I awoke minutes before midnight - as if my conscious would not allow me the respite of even ignoring my son's offer. The clock next to my bed glowed red, and the minutes slowly passed. I could hear nothing in my home, even after the midnight scheduled time. Were they down there in the living room right now doing it? Did I really need to torment myself to watch?

This was worse, much much worse, than the tramps my son dated. Beneath my roof, my mother was getting what was rightfully mine! Lets consider that for a moment. My mother, the cold distant bitch that liked to control all the lives that touched her own. How could she be this different woman in private with my own son, her grandchild. Oh, her defence may be that he had grown up not even knowing her - and so it may not be like a grandmother-grandson relationship between them. But that was all bullshit - I for one, knew what it was like to desire the forbidden - I've endured for years. And successfully I may add. My bitch of a mother could not still her desires for only two weeks.

Something came upon me - and I realized that my son may have successfully seduced his grandmother, but that was a far cry from turning that strong willed bitch into a submissive slut. I may be 'safe' yet.

It was twelve minutes after midnight and I sat up and stared into the darkness where my door stood. Why shouldn't I go down there and watch mother degrade herself for a simple lay? I've heard how my son uses his girls many many times - why not see it with the one person in the world that I've historically hated more than any other? Sure we may now be reconciled - but what about in the future? Why should I just reveal my knowledge of what she had done with her grandson on her first trip to my home - how she had used her old chubby body and acted like a slut! I can not imagine anything that she would not give up to keep my information from the rest of her world!

So with malicious intent, and my jealousy in check, I opened my door and silently made my way down the stairs, through the kitchen and very slowly through the darkened dining room. There around the corner was the glow of the fire from the fireplace but nothing else.

Everything I considered, imagined and planned went out the door as I heard a low female moan from beyond the couch just before my mother slowly rose up to a seated position. She giggled and then I saw hands come up and pull her thick cotton nightgown apart to get at the huge white flesh orbs beneath. They were held up by my son's hands as if for my inspection, as I could see them intimately. Mother, meanwhile, had placed one hand on the back of the couch and dropped her head back on to her shoulders, eyes clamped shut.

I noticed a little movement of her body, barely noticeable in the shadows from the fire, but it was obvious that she was rotating her bottom against my son, he probably inside her.

It was not at all like I had maliciously imagined - she looked lovely and the setting was romantic. My heart was near the breaking point as I watched even though I could barely see anything.

This was how it was to be for me - I should be coupling with my son before a roaring fire not my bitch of a mother!

"Move that sexy ass grandma!" My son, unseen.

My mother began to move more aggressively, more up and down movements. She was starting to moan lightly as well, her mouth opening and closing almost silently like a fish.

"Hold your tits up slut!" She brought both her hands to hold up her breasts, the dark nipples obviously hard and distended.

My son suddenly sat up, I saw his face and his open mouth just before he latched on a big fat teat.

"Oh... yes darling... !" Mother sounded delirious, well past the point of control. Her consciousness in the blissful place that I have never truly known but had imagined.

Robert was sloppily sucking and licking those great orbs, moving from one to the other rapidly.

Her breathing was coming faster, louder and harsher.

I hated what I was seeing but could not turn away. My son wanted me for a slave - but in most respects he already had me. I stood there watching him fuck my mother and knew how much it hurt me - but Robert had asked me to watch, wanted me to stand here and see him bone his grandmother. It was like silently listening to my son tell about his latest conquest, how some girl seemed to loved sucking his cock but had almost no skill. It as torment but one that I had little ability to stop.

Then Robert's hands came up and he lifted his grandmothers thick nightgown, her arms lifting to help him. There she was suddenly, naked before my eyes.

My son slapped some hidden part of her flesh loudly and grunted, "On your knees like a dog grandma!" Her eyes opened and she looked scared - nervous but climbed off her grandson and allowed him to stand.

There he was, my son, standing naked in the shadowed light - his hard thrusting cock obviously just come from my mothers sex, as it was dripping and wet with her abundant juices.