A Visit to See My Son
by MicaMeesha
Copyright© 2026 by MicaMeesha
Incest Sex Story: I go by train to see my son in London. After a wonderful meal we head back to his and we enjoy a wonderful night
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Incest Mother Son .
I loved going to see my son. It had been over a month, and seeing him was always such a treat; he looked after me so well and always took the day off work when he knew I was making the journey to see him. I got off the train and could see him on the other side of the ticket barrier. I waved to him and wheeled my case up the platform. The train, luckily, hadn’t been too busy, and I had been able to sit in my selected seat without the too frequent arguments when someone had already taken my reserved seat. Not today, easy travelling.
“Mik,” I said, air-kissing him and hugging him.”
“Mother. Let me take your bag.”
I followed him to the rank; we queued for perhaps five minutes and then got in a black cab. Mik gave the driver the address, and we were off. It was about 25 minutes by taxi to his house, and Mik and I made small talk as the taxi driver negotiated the horrendous city traffic. I would never drive to Mik’s: impossible to park, congestion charges, roadworks on the motorways – no. I went by train, and Mik met me.
I stood by the taxi as Mik paid the driver and then followed him and my small suitcase to the front door. Mik unlocked, opened and pushed the door in, and I stepped through. I adored the aroma in Mik’s house. He was an excellent cook, and there was always the smell of fresh pastry; today was no exception.
“I have made babka for you, Mother. Let me just get the kettle on. You know where your room and the bathroom are if you want to freshen up.”
“Thank you, darling, I will.” I took my suitcase up to my room, lifted it onto the bed and flipped it open. I dived into the ensuite and sat on the loo to relieve myself. Ooh, a little damp down there. I pulled my knickers off and stood over a towel at the sink and washed myself, then dabbed dry with a towel. Back in the bedroom I found a fresh pair of knickers, camisole knickers, to let the air flow and keep me fresh. My damp knickers I put in my laundry bag to clean later or when I got home. Refreshed, I went back downstairs.
“In the conservatory Mum and I am just making the tea.”
“Thank you, darling. I walked through the dining room and into the conservatory. The Babka was on the table with some side plates, forks and napkins. I sat on the cane sofa by the table; I assumed Mik would sit opposite.
He came in with two cups of tea in his bone China service and placed them on the table.
“Well then, Mother.”
“Yes, Mik, well then.”
“Journey good?”
“One of the better ones. Oh, it is so good to see you.” I cast a critical eye over him. He looked fit, not overweight, but I saw that he filled his shirt nicely and, of course, had a nice tight bulge elsewhere. Yes, he looked good. I sat back on the sofa, relaxing with my tea, my knees apart a little but my ankles together.
“I have the rest of the day to catch up but am very busy at work, so sadly we will only have early mornings and evenings together.”
“That is absolutely fine, darling. I can’t expect you to drop everything just because your old mum comes down. “I was, to be honest, a little disappointed.
“Don’t mother; you are not old, you are just older. How is Dad?”
“Either at work or on his allotment. I suppose it is worth his while because we do get some good vegetables, much better than in the shops, but we only get those in season, and then we get too many.”
“Get a chest freezer, Mother; you can store the excess in that.”
“I suppose. I guess it could go at the end of the garage. We don’t use it for a car.”
“Dad’s okay dropping you off at the station?”
“Yes, no problem. I just have to let him know when I shall be back, and he will collect me.”
“And eating whilst you are here? He never was much of a cook.”
I laughed. No, he really wasn’t.
“Uber Eats, I expect,” I said.
“Well, I have a table booked at GastroSe’ed; it is Michelin-starred, and it is a short taxi drive away. I can easily cancel if you are too tired, though.”
“Don’t be silly; I would love to go out with my handsome son to a good restaurant.”
We sat, nibbled at our babka and drank our tea, and chatted about nothing, and then I asked the question I always ask.
“Girlfriend yet; only grandbabies are expected, you know.”
“No, Mother, and no, I am still not gay; I have just not met the right one.”
“Oh, that is so sad for you, and so sad for me.”
“It will happen, Mother; at some point, it will happen.”
After a while I went up to shower and get ready to go out. I always bring an evening dress when I come down; we nearly always go out at least once, and I do like to look nice. I showered and dried. I didn’t need to shave, as I had done that yesterday to ensure any irritation died down.
My bra was first, red lace, lifting the cups and seating each breast comfortably. Then my suspender belt, matching the bra, of course. Stockings rolled up my legs and clipped to the suspenders, two per side; I preferred four per side, but those were rare these days. I pulled up my knickers, again matching, and a thong design. Not my favourite; I wasn’t keen on the rubbing on my bottom or at the bottom of my hooha, but, well, I need to be properly dressed. I stood and looked in the mirror. Life in the old girl yet.
I undid the dress and stepped into it, pulling it tight over my bust. Small zip at the side, and it was on. I sat on the side of the bed and put my heels on. I had bought white heels; I thought red heels and a red dress were too much.
One final look in the mirror and I nodded. Yes. Good looking. I picked up my white clutch and my silk stole, made sure I had some tissues, and went down to wait for Mik. I sat in his lounge, perched on the edge of his sofa. I heard him coming down the stairs and stood to meet him.
“You look fab, Mum,” he said.
“And so do you, darling.” He was wearing a pale blue lounge suit, a white shirt and a pale blue tie. His shoes were Oxfords. Very smart.
“The Uber will be here in a moment,” he said.
“Perfect, darling.”
The ride to the restaurant was uneventful; our driver exuded the aroma of curry or other Middle Eastern spices. It wasn’t offensive but was definitely present. When we arrived, Mik got out first and walked around to open my door and help me out, and then he paid the driver.
“Good evening, Madam and Sir,” the greeter at the door said. “Do you have a reservation?”
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