Copyright© 2002-2003

There was a young girl of Spitzbergen,
Whose people all thought her a virgin,
Till they found her in bed
With her twat very red,
And the head of a kid just emergin'.

... she grasped his erect cock and turned her mature attractive face upward, looking directly into his eyes. Moving her hand slowly up and down its hard length, she licked a drop that appeared at the crown. She then leaned back and stretched upward so that the hard pointed nipples topping each small breast tickled his teenage balls briefly. Finally, knowing what she was doing to him, she asked thickly, "Do you want to come on mommies face or her tits Master?"

I dropped the white printed sheet as if burned. My god! What the hell was John finding on the Internet! How could he read this... filth!

The paper had dropped onto the carpeted floor and I stared at it almost as if it was alive. Why had my son printed out such blatant pornography?

Just as I do most mornings, since I am on Social Assistance and have time to spare, I came into my son's room and cleaned up his discarded clothing, dusted, and generally tidied up. Finding a single white sheet of paper between his garbage and the desk, as I've seen a dozen times before, I never hesitated to retrieve it from the awkward place. My eyes, naturally, travelled to the black printed words on its surface.

Obviously it had been a small part of a larger story and obviously it was disgusting! Perhaps John had printed it out before he knew what it was and had thrown it out?

The garbage next to his desk, the same refuse container that this troublesome sheet had missed, was empty. Cleaned out. My son, the slob, never cleaned anything out.

What should I do with that... that smut?

I couldn't just put it into his garbage, he would immediately see that it was found. And obviously this sort of thing could damage a teenage boy's persona. Of course John had just found this crap on the Internet, printed it unconsciously and then realizing what it was, had thrown it into his garbage. Then, not wanting his mom, me, to find it, he had dealt with his garbage so that I should not read it and come to the wrong conclusion.

What was that conclusion?

No... it is unthinkable. Disgusting.

Perhaps I should just take it down to the street and put it into the garbage directly. There was risks there as well - someone could find it, and I would not want a child to see this disgusting filth! Or a neighbour could see me and investigate what was so important that I should go to the garbage for a single sheet of paper. No, I should just slip the paper between the desk and the garbage, just how I found it!

Trying very hard not too look at a single word on that page, I finally picked it up and bent to return the paper to its original spot.

I busied myself with the laundry and then cleaning the kitchen. When those printed words would not leave my thoughts, I scrubbed the floor by hand and then polished my wedding silverware. The printed words were not gone but in their place was shadowy images of what they represented.

What the hell was wrong with me? I never advocated pornography as a means of sexual gratification. Hell, it demeaned and humiliated the fabric of our society - it also debased women!

Oh sure, I was aware that John my have been... lets say... checking out such things on the Internet. The temptation was simply too great when the supply was so easy to get. I had talked with him about 'trust' and 'being an adult' over a year ago and he promised to always to do what was 'right'. Of course it had been awkward and embarrassing conversation - what parent likes talking to their child about sex. Add to that, I suspected my talk actually pointed my son toward the very filth that I tried to segregate him from. After that talk, he started to spend more time, alone, in his room with the door closed. I could hear the ticking of the keyboard and when I asked him, numerous times, he always said it was homework. My son, though a good boy, rarely needed to do homework to get his high marks prior to that chat.

When I blinked thickly my eyes opened to reveal my son's messy room. I had somehow found myself standing in the open doorway and no memory of actually taking the steps to get there.

Almost as if I did not need to consciously formulate what needed to be done, I knew, deep down, that I needed to know!

I took a few steps into the room and turned on his computer, the best our sparse budget could afford about fourteen months ago and then a few upgrades from my son's earned savings.

Enter BIOS password?

I didn't really understand what that meant but it was obvious to me that I wasn't going to get into my son's computer right at that moment. I pressed the power button yet again and the machine turned immediately off.

Damn. I have this need to discover what else my son was looking at on the Internet. To find out why he... what he found desirable about such filth?

No I'm not the prude you may think of me - had I confronted John with my suspicions in the last year? Did I interrogate him about every, or any, stain on his shorts or sheets? I know teenage boys - I have one! My ex-husband had been one, a few years before I met him.

And what about my ex-husband, god-rot-his-soul, should I not just call him and let that cheating-bastard deal with his only son?

I knew I couldn't do that. I could not do it a year ago when I tried talking with John and I could not do it now, after finding those few lines of smut. Pride maybe, anger at being left for a younger woman perhaps... ? Disgust at living near-poverty while my husband rose the corporate ladder.

Standing there facing my son's monitor my eyes trailed to the side of his disorganized and messy desk - the papers, compact disks, the floppy disks. Make that floppy disk. There was only 1 half hidden in a pile of other desktop items. I pulled it out and saw a clean label with nothing else on it.

Nothing right?

My imagination was taking too much control of this situation and I should just push the floppy disk back into the pile as I found it.

It was the correct thing to do, after all. This was my son's privacy we were talking about!

I had my own computer, a year older than John's, but capable enough for the little I use it. It could certainly look at the contents of a single floppy diskette.

My old computer took forever to boot up, seemingly longer than it ever had before.

It was nothing right?

Putting the diskette into the drive I opened a file manager and pointed it at the floppy. There... nothing but files with names that looked like dates, '2002jun-10.txt' etcetera.

I almost pulled the diskette out, perhaps I shall forever regret what I did instead. I moved my mouse pointer so that it pointed at a file in the middle of the browser and double clicked. With but a brief grinding noise from the drive a text processor opened and the contents of the file was there before me.

I sat frozen and read those first couple of lines.

Mother In Bondage

by Master J

The forty two year old woman awoke by the light beamed directly into her eyes. She yanked at her arms and legs to find them bound to the four corners of her bed, her body completely bare. "What!" She yelled an instant before she heard her son's voice, "Comfortable mother?"

The blood flowing through my veins turned to ice and my heart was beating incredibly fast.

Like a robot I forced myself to close the file. The next drew the mouse and like my finger was not under my control I double clicked on its name.

Mother, Come Slave

by Master J

She never knew that her only son had been spiking her food, almost daily, with a dosage of his sperm. Standing over her plate stroking his cock so that his seed would mix with her substance. No, she only thought he was being helpful by cooking for her... '

And the next file.

The Loving and Willing Mother

by Master J

The dog collar just barely fit about her thin neck as her son attached it carefully. Her eyes followed him with love, knowing that her Master would fuck her this evening - probably in her virgin ass. Her son had not hidden his desire for her anal passage in the week since they had both had the chance to meet. She was more than ready, she was wet and almost panting for him.

Slowly, suppressing any response, I looked at the top few lines of each story.

There he sat, my son John, rushing through his supper as he does every night while I sit across from him staring.

Several things I discovered as I read the title and a few lines of each of the twenty eight stories; that these stories were a product of my son's imagination, that he had wrote them, and that... he was in some way infatuated, sexually, with me!

My god!

Wearing a milk moustache, reminding me of his age, he set down his empty cup and re-attacked his plate of food.

How can I describe my son? He was honest, at least I always thought so, he was smart, which I knew even without seeing the excellent marks on his report cards. He was also a bit of an introvert, a little smaller than boys his own age that I felt hindered him in peer activities. All my attempts to get him interested in sports, and yes even girls, all failed. He always preferred to spend time in his room with his door closed.

Well, now I knew why - didn't I?

He was not unattractive, I suppose, in an adolescent sort of way. A few whiskers starting on his chin and the odd pimple on his forehead. A little thin and small.

Not so unlike me.

Should I just come out and tell him what I found? To start the dialogue up with, 'honey, I read your porn... and its OK that you find me attractive and want me to be your slave'... ! Like hell. Talking about being aware of perverts on the Internet was different than confronting your seventeen year-old son with proof of his infatuation of his own mother!

His father was not an option, for the same reasons as a year ago, coupled with the fact that the bastard would get malicious pleasure in using this to torment me even more. His new wife, you see, has these great big tits and a wide ass - two things that I did not. One of the most hurtful things that bastard had said to me, as he was walking out on his family, was that he did not found me sexy enough to fuck anymore so he was leaving.

"Mom?"

I had to blink twice to clear those old cobwebs up, and to try and suppress a few new ones. "Sorry John... yes? Would you like more?"

"No mom. I just said I'll be up in my room... studying."

Yea right. "Sure John."

"Something bugging you mom, your real spacey today?" He was walking away as he said this.

Of course I answered, "No nothing dear. You go up and study."

"Later mom!" He bounced up the stairs and across the hall until I heard his door slam.

I knew at that moment that I had done the right thing returning the floppy diskette to the pile on John's desk, just as I had found it early in the day.

It was best just to ignore my son's infatuation, he will grow out of it.

I awoke sweaty and trembling, sitting up in my dark room, alone and frightened.

"God help me!"

I had dreamt about sex... or rather that ecstasy of sexy that was barely a memory of the first years of my marriage. No faces, no body parts, nothing but that barely-remembered feeling of lust fulfilled. It had happened so rarely in my marriage, that my ex-husband actually took the time and care to ensure I found pleasure rather than just ride between my thighs till he left me a sticky mess. Yet it had happened enough times that I remembered... if only in my dreams.

"Trouble sleeping mom?"

My son had his head in the fridge, his hands in the fruit drawer.

I felt sudden guilt, "What do you mean John?"

"I heard the vacuum early this morning." When it was still black out actually the dawn had not yet appeared.

I had to do something, I felt a need to reread one of John's stories - that I had copied to my own computer. I wanted to feel the rush of blood to my head, and to my loins, the rare excitement that caused my breathing to quicken - even if it came at the expense of reading more of that smut. And that, I could not let happen, not in the fragile state that I awoke in.

At that moment I saw John's eyes quickly glance down my body before his head returned behind the door of the fridge.

I stood there dumbly and looked down at myself, realizing with embarrassment that I had forgot my old terry-cloth robe that I normally wore and stood with only my cotton knee-length nightie. My son had been checking me out!

Red hot shame came to my cheeks and before I could retreat my son closed the door to the fridge, much too firmly so that it shook the wall behind, and with an apple in hand and his book bag in the other he rushed past me without a glance. "Gotta go mom... gonna be late!"

The door to our home slammed two seconds later.

Still standing in exactly the same spot I again looked down at what my son had seen. This time, having happened in the few seconds since I last looked, I saw that my small nipples had hardened and pushed the well-worn cotton of my nightie out from my chest.

My god - was this all my own fault!

When he returned that evening, he did not realize that our home was cleaner that it had ever been. I had worked like a dog, sweating out thoughts that were impure and just plain wrong. No, he ate quickly and went to the living room and turned on the television - his second favourite hobby. This one, though, I felt a little less violated with.

Or so I thought.

After the dishes and a few spot wipes of the kitchen walls and then scrubbing the sink till it sparkled, I walked on tired legs into the living room to see what was on the tube.

It was some movie that looked quite intense. "Whats this about John?" He was sprawled across the length of the couch so that there was no room for me - so I went over to the only other seat, a well worn ugly red easy-chair and fell back into it.

"Some movie that was on." One thing about John, he rarely just randomly picked a show, instead, he scheduled exactly what he wanted to watch.

A girl, on the screen, suddenly looked up, past the camera, with tears in her eyes and wordlessly mouthed 'no'. A sinking feeling started to gather in the middle of my gut.

"What have I missed?"

After sighing deeply, as only teenagers can do, he finally answered, "One of her students took pictures of her cheating on her husband and now he is blackmailing her into having sex with him."

That sinking feeling turned to stone in a second. It turned to lava as a harsh male voice sternly ordered the woman on the screen, "Take off your blouse!"

My mouth was suddenly dry and I had to clear my throat twice before I was able to say, "Is this really appropriate John?"

His eyes, for this first time since this morning, at least that I noticed, turned to me, "What do you mean mom?" He looked a little angry and rebellious. As if I was treating him like a child.

I could not meet his eyes but watched the terrified woman on the screen start to unbutton her blouse, "It seems a little... intense for you."

He sat up and I felt his angry gaze upon me, "There's no nudity and its on the television mom!"

The scene, thankfully, cut to a bunch of teenagers talking outside a school.

"Its a made-for-television movie!" I felt, rather than saw, his eyes turn back to the screen as if that was the end of the conversation.

It was for me, I did not have the constitution to continue, what was obviously, turning into an argument. I waited a couple of minutes before slowly getting out of my chair and retreating, to any other place, from the sight of that television show. I tried to look non-chalant and calm, but my hands were trembling for some reason, though John did not see - he was ignoring me and staring stubbornly at the television.

The dream was cloudy and surreal but I felt the realism of it. I was kneeling on the floor in a skirt and blouse, my black high heels scuffing the clean floor. I was facing myself, looking down from above as I knelt upon my tan coloured nylons and crying violently. It was black in the room with what amounted to a single light facing me, reflecting off my tear-stained cheeks. My eyes were filled with shame, fear... and something else that I could not comprehend. Slowly that light moved around my kneeling body, to look down at my well dressed person, my face following the light. I knew I was humiliated, treated this way, but could not refuse, could not simply stop what was happening and stand up. A voice from the direction of the light, the familiar voice of my son, John, ordered, "Go ahead mom, take off your blouse!" My hands, trembling, slowly rose and began to unbutton the satin white blouse.

I awoke sweaty and trembling - feeling the same humiliation and fear as in dream. My god what was happening to me? Then I felt it, the cool dampness of wet cotton against my skin and looked down to see the dark shade of wetness circling the place over my crotch upon my nightie.

A light suddenly turned on and I lifted both arms to cover the glare from my pain-filled eyes. I heard the steps come closer and the light move so that it was barely a meter from me, on the side closest to where I sat upon my bed. Someone was holding a flashlight, aimed at me.

"What were you dreaming about mom?" Oh god! My son, John!

I had to answer, the truth, though, too humiliating to reveal. I mumbled thickly, "Nothing."

The light moved closer and aimed toward my lap - directly upon the round dampness on the front of my nightie. "Then what is that? Do you need to start wearing a diaper mom?"

The implication was more humiliating than the truth, and I answered with the bare amount of angry defence that I could muster, "Of course not!"

"When I came in here, it looked like you were humping your mattress - you couldn't have been having a sexy dream were you mom?"

What could I say - so I said nothing.

"Why don't you lie back mom?" Without waiting for a response, my son's strong teenage hand pressed upon my forehead so that I fell back with my head upon my pillow.

The light travelled up and down my body, slowly, as if he was studying every inch of my night-clothed body. I squinted against the light to see why he spend much time studying my covered chest - my tiny breasts were topped by an incredibly hard thrusting nipple that was obvious in my well-worn nightgown. The reason why he studied the cloth of my gown above my crotch obvious, the dark stain the centre of my humiliation.

I didn't move, couldn't move - frozen in fear and humiliation.

"Turn onto your stomach mom." It was said gently but left no room for argument.

That was fine with me, as I felt this new position would hide my embarrassingly hard nipples and the wet stain on my nightie, so gratefully turned upon my stomach in the middle of my, normally, lonely bed.

Then the most humiliating of things, my own son lifted the hem of my nightie up over my buttocks and left it about my waist. I was naked beneath and he was now looking at my exposed ass!

I remembered going to bed with a panty beneath my nightgown - what the hell is going on!

Horror of horrors! I pressed my knees together and clenched my ass tight, but as if powerless, did not otherwise move or say a word.

"Thats it mom, hump that bed!"

Oh god! He thought my embarrassing clench was representative of my earlier uncontrollable nocturnal passions. Ever since I was a young teenage girl, thirteen, I had used the flat of my own bed as my fantasy lover, pressing my pelvis repeatedly, clenching my ass, shoving my hips downward. That was what I must have been doing when asleep and it was now what it must have looked like laying there with my naked bottom exposed to my only child.

Sobbing, tears now filling my eyes, I cried out, "Please John, don't do this to me?"

Rather humorously, he answered, "Do what mother? This?" A hand came down and struck the naked soft skin of my right ass cheek and immediately a sharp pain, that turned to a dull hot persistent cloud, filled my one buttock.

I had been spanked as a child, my father and my mother using a belt or a hand upon my naked bottom, as a means to punish me until I was about twelve. Yet, not since that time, decades ago, had I been struck. Most certainly my ex-husband had never shown the slightest desire in my backside.

Get up you bitch! Scream at him! He is your son, for gods sake!

The harsh white pain of the strike was not as I remembered it, having felt it drive a hot electric shock into the depths of my sex. I bit my bottom lip to stifle any sound.

"Or this mother?" This time I felt a hot moist tongue lick along the other cheek, leaving a trail of saliva that felt cool in my dark room.

God help me but I could not stop the groan from escaping me. And as deep as I can look into my psyche, I can not tell you the base of that groan, be it desire or humiliation.

Perhaps I just did not want to look too deeply, for fear of what I shall find.

I felt him come closer, though my face was pressed firmly into a pillow, until his lips were but millimetres from my ear. "I love your ass mom. Now start humping your bed and finish what you had left incomplete or god help you, I'm going to spank your beautiful ass until it bleeds!"

I believed him. My own son was threatening me with harm, which had never happened before, but I heard the raw truth in his words.

Almost against my conscious will, my ass started to clench and my hips pressed my groin into the flat surface of my mattress. Like that prepubescent girl, with her father glaring at her to lift her skirt, drop her panties, and lay upon his lap - I could not refuse!

"Thats it mom, hump that sexy ass!" I knew without opening my eyes or looking up from the pillow that the light was aimed at my naked backside. That eyes followed my intimate moments, one cheek possibly bright red the other glistening with my son's saliva.

Another groan escaped my lips and I was conscious of my own heavy breathing. Though I wanted to only move as order, and not to enjoy it - it seemed as if that plan was simply a phantasm.

Heat was filling my loins, and I felt the pleasure so long forgotten begin to fill my soul. My son moved backward on my bed, but I did not care any more until I felt his small strong hand grasp my wet ass cheek and fondle it generously as my passion rose rapidly.

My god, I could feel his hot breath upon the skin of my ass! Even between... he must be inches away from my bottom hole!

Only half conscious of what he was doing, I felt the hand slip down between the sweaty clenching cheeks of my ass until I felt a finger touch that which had never been touched in passion before. He seemed to tease it for a bare moment, which I may add, greatly heightened my excitement, before it slipped lower.

My flowing sexual grease allowed his small hand to gain passage between my clenching soft thighs and my working buttocks. It slipped, as if naturally, into the folds of my passion until two of his fingers were engulfed by it.

That was when the white fire blinded me to all reason and my first orgasm in several years froze every muscle in my body. I was a statue that distantly heard the scream of passion from my own lips as my head was frozen upward, my back arched backward in erotic spasm.

My harsh breathing seemed to return me to the now and I lay upon my stomach in the after glow of orgasm. My eyes opened and I realized that my room was dark and that I was alone. I also felt my hand behind and between my legs, two fingers immersed in my own body. I jerked them quickly from the hot wet enveloping flesh, with a momentary sorrow for their loss.

With nearly every muscle in my body sore, especially my thighs and stomach muscles, I quickly sat up and tore off my soiled cotton nightgown and the panty that lay about one ankle, forgotten. I could smell my earlier passion in the room, so awkwardly made my way to the window to open it so that the fresh cold air could cleanse the stench of my minds treachery.

Stumbling I made my way to my private bathroom and turned on the water of the shower too cold, and climbed in.

Sobbing continuously with so many emotions I willed the freezing water to cleanse me.

I feared for my sanity.

So many thoughts rushed through me those first few hours, so many that I am not able to regurgitate them here in print. I fought the temptation of the pleasure of fantasy and try to suppress the images from my, oh so real, dream.

That I orgasmed the first time in years had only given me a momentary respite from my desires and a small deep urge, an almost painful, throbbed in my loins for only a slice of what that dream promised.

I am so confused.

Mothers and sons do not feel this way about each other. Oh sure, some crazy doctor, a hundred years ago, had written some theory's about mothers and their sons - but what was my excuse?

As in so many things, since my husband left me, I blamed him. His weakness for a younger, prettier and more voluptuous woman sickened me. His final, parting, words taken as fact, so that I never went out, never dated, and told myself that I hated men. Mostly, though I simply did not trust them - all except my son. Perhaps that was why this realization of his affections, of his kinky desire for me, was so difficult? I knew my son loved, me, and that I loved him - so this love-lust, thing was new to me.

I had been sexual ignored for so long, months before that bastard walked out, that I started to have suspicions of that my husband had been having an affair. He was not a great lover, but he had always had a steady desire to mount me once or twice a week. These suspicions caused me to purchase some slutty lingerie and try to seduce my own husband. Of course it worked - he is a man after all. Just like old times, my husband spread my stocking covered thighs lay upon me and grunted and sweated like an animal as he pumped his skinny prick into my body. That was the first time. Then every Sunday afternoon, he ordered me to dress that way - he would sit on the bed, his head propped up on pillows and order me to pose about the bedroom before yanking me down and rolling on top of me to empty his seed into my body.

I thought it was working - my adventurous methods, as I thought of them at the time, were enticing my husband to rekindle his interest in his wife.

My mother would have been proud, I thought with just a little anger.

Of course I was wrong, he fucked me on a Sunday afternoon and then packed his bag and left that same day, just before supper time. He told me I was a boring fuck, that he could barely stand to look at my 'skinny little girl body' any more.

What woman could take that without being affected.

I had to rent this crummy townhouse and move into it, leaving our large comfortable home and neighbourhood and friends behind. I tried working, but could not keep a job - crummy jobs anyways. Now I was waiting for a new semester at the local community college so I can get a real job, and dump Social Assistance.

One thing, I realized during this trip down memory lane, was that my husband had never looked at my ass, never touched it during sex, and most certainly never referred to it with any sort of desire. Why had my son, even in my dream, vocalize about this part of me?

I stayed in my room when I heard my son rise - yes, hiding from him. I was scared that he could see what I had dreamt in my weary sad eyes. Crazy I know but I was not exactly coherent that morning.

The normal chores for the day were ignored, the light of the sun not even allowed to enter our home as I did not open the window shades. I was alone, safe, in my cocoon - to think, to reflect.

It was obvious that I had been a bad mother, a bad wife as well. My husband had left me because I could not satisfy him - the sex with his young big-boobed girlfriend more enjoyable this his petite small-titted wife. Now John could not leave me, at least not for some time, but I could loose him if he discovered my intrusion into his fantasy world, his stories. I would loose him emotionally, the thought of which pained me to even contemplate.

There in my private bathroom, the door closed and locked of course, I stood naked before my full-sized mirror and stared.

Before me was a middle-aged woman, small of hip and breast. With short slim legs and small feet and very small ankles. She had small 'A' cup cone breasts, with a very tiny dime-sized nipple that angled slightly up to the ceiling. She had a tiny neck and a small round head. Full red lips, small pointy nose and a round face which I had never found attractive - and, in the end, neither did my ex-husband.