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This story is almost entirely concerned with mother/son incest. If this subject offends you, please read no further.

All characters in this story are aged over eighteen years. And they are purely imaginary and bear no relationship at all to any persons either living or dead. They are entirely the product of the author's fevered imagination.

I would also like to thank my editor, Hatsuda, for his patience and skill in polishing the sometimes rough edges of this story.

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To say that the funeral was highly stressful was a gross understatement. My father's death was unexpected; a sudden, massive heart attack took him at 60. I sighed, but I knew the obsequies wouldn't last forever, and then we could get back to something roughly approximating normal. Families—funerals have the capacity to create either closeness in shared grief, or highlight divisions. In ours, the divisions ran deep. My father's family, particularly his mother, had never approved of his marriage, believing that he had married well below himself.

I knew this was pure, unadulterated snobbery, and I also knew the reason he had married her. My mother, Claire, had been stunningly beautiful, and at forty-four, still was. She was tall, probably 5'8", with long, thick dark hair with auburn highlights. Her oval face was unusually regular with dark brown eyes, rather deep set, over high cheek bones and framed by long, thick eyelashes. Her nose was what is often called "celestial", with just the slightest uptilt and thick, almost "pouty" lips, her skin a pale, flawless alabaster, all balanced on a long, slender neck.

This all led to high-set 36B breasts (in my adolescent fantasies, I'd checked out the laundry basket), age now adding the slightest sag. A tapered waist with a smooth, well rounded bottom leading to long, long well shaped legs and small feet completed what I had always seen as a mouth-watering ensemble—even though this was my mother. But in addition, as an extra "veneer", my mother was supremely elegant. She moved gracefully and wore clothes as if she was a professional model. And all this was complemented by a soft, warm contralto voice that could still send shivers of pleasure up my spine.

I supported my mother through the funeral. Her tears suggested a grief almost palpable, but, at the same time, I felt it was not totally convincing, and to my professional eye there was something almost theatrical about it. She held herself rigid and aloof from everybody, including me at this point, as if determined not to let her true feelings show. I knew that my parents' relationship was strained, but he had been the apple of his mother's eye, and I recognised that my mother needed to show appropriate respect to avoid family conflict.

Nevertheless, this was strained to the limit when my grandmother, dressed entirely in black, caught up with me after the service. She ignored my mother, but addressed me in her most patronising voice, "Ashley, I shall want to speak with you about the family trust."

"For heaven's sake, grandmother, we've just buried your son, my father and my mother's husband. The last thing I care about at the moment is the family trust."

"Very well, Ashley, I shall put your insolence down to grief and I will see you in the near future." She stalked away, ramrod straight.

After the funeral a buffet meal was provided in a somewhat strained atmosphere before everyone dispersed, and I imagined I could hear the sighs of relief. I drove mum back home and she changed from her dark suit into rather unexpected jeans, tee shirt and flatties. Mum had a part-time job as a receptionist at a large medical practice, but was taking some time off following her husband's death.

"I know this may seem disrespectful of your father, Ash, but I'm not going to be a hypocrite. We had drifted further and further apart, and I'm not going to go into extended mourning for him. I'm so sorry if this shocks you, but ..."

"No, mum," I was quick to respond. "I know dad had become difficult, moody and demanding. If you want total honesty, I'm surprised that you stayed with him over the last few years."

Mum smiled, on reflection, a relatively rare phenomenon of recent times. Her smile lit up her whole face, warm and sensitive, and carrying a message of love and acceptance.

"Thank you, Ash. I've missed you so much since you've been gone and I've felt so isolated. Do you think you would be able to stay here for a day or two just while the stress dies down a little?"

"Mum, it will be my pleasure—if for no other reason than you are a superb cook."

The smile again, although this time with a decided twinkle.

"Oh, so that's all I am to you, a convenient provider of free meals?"

I growled deep in my throat and jumped towards her; mum squealed with delight and ran off. Thinking about that little incident later, I don't know what would have happened if I'd caught her.

I quickly settled in to my old room. The house was also closer to my practice (I'm a psychologist) than my unit, and mum's cooking was a definite bonus. I enjoyed her company, too, and she seemed to be emerging from her shell, even becoming playful and giggly.

After about a week, I decided I probably needed to return to my own unit, and said as much to mum.

She pouted. "Must you, Ash, I have so enjoyed you being here? I feel I can be myself around you, something I never managed with your father, particularly after you moved out."

I struggled with my own feelings. Mum's presence and light heartedness had been a balm for my own sorrows. In my case, it wasn't related to Dad's death, but three months before that event I had gone through a painful divorce. Sarah and I had split bitterly over the revelation that I was "shooting blanks" and couldn't father children. She was a model, a beautiful blonde making money hand over fist, but she made no secret that she wanted to start a family. The sex had been great, but nothing came of it and she wasn't prepared to let it go at that. We had some wounding arguments that led to the divorce court, but as her income was higher than mine, and I wasn't particularly interested in sordid money-grubbing, we walked away with what we each had.

"Yes, mum, I need to sort myself out, but to be perfectly honest, I'm going to put my unit on the market. Too many memories of Sarah, so I need a fresh start."

"Yes, honey, I can understand. I must admit I've thought about downsizing to something more suitable for a single woman, but ..."

Here she stopped and looked at me intently, rather as if I was a specimen under a microscope.

"Ash ... Ash, I've just had an idea. Why don't you move back in with me permanently, or at least until you've found yourself somewhere else to live that suits you properly?"

"Mum, it's a very tempting offer, but I can't impose myself on you like that, because of all the added work around the house and having a twenty five year old slob under your feet all the time."

"Now listen to me, young man." My mother's attempts at severity were never very convincing. "Firstly it is not an imposition because I invited you. Secondly, you need someone to look after you; you're not eating properly and not getting enough sleep. And thirdly, I won't charge you any rent, so you'll be financially better off as well."

"Yes, mummy," I said with obvious mock humility, and she couldn't stop the laughter bubbling out.

"Oh you. But at least give it some thought."

"I don't really need to think about it too hard, mum, and if you're sure you're okay with it, I'll take you up on your offer, although I will have to go back for a few days to get the unit on the market and clear out all my junk."

I returned to my own unit to tie up all the loose ends and contact a real estate agent. My heavier furniture went into storage and all the rest of my belongings were transferred to mum's place. She helped me move in with great enthusiasm and much laughter.

I settled in and we quickly established an effective working relationship. Things looked set fair for a week or so, but then the first storm blew up.

Late one Sunday afternoon, there was a ring at the doorbell. Mum answered, and my paternal grandmother sailed past her with her nose in the air.

"I must see my grandson," she demanded and as I rose to my feet, she forced her way into the lounge.

"Good, Ashley, I have some instructions for you."

This set my teeth on edge; I had no great affection for my grandmother and her overbearing ways, and I wasn't about to bow to her demands.

"I don't believe it will be either necessary or appropriate for your mother to be present during these discussions."

Before my mother could comment, I jumped in, my temper starting to fray.

"Anything you have to say to me, grandmother, can be said in front of my mother. The decision whether to stay is entirely up to her and not to you. In any case, I should tell her exactly what was said the minute you leave. Okay, mum, what would you like to do?"

"I'll stay if I may, please, honey."

"You heard the lady, grandmother, now what is it that's so urgent on a Sunday afternoon?"

My grandmother looked at mum with open disdain, and then turned to me.

"I have decided that it is not appropriate for you to continue to live with your mother. You shall pack and return to my house, where you will assume responsibility for the family trust. This was your father's role, but, regrettably, he is no longer able to take on that responsibility."

I was only able to restrain my temper with a great deal of effort. "Grandmother, I'm not going to argue with you. I have not the slightest inclination to accede to your demands. In fact, I think them both ludicrous and presumptuous."

"You have no option, Ashley. You are the sole remaining male heir and so the duty of trustee falls to you under the terms of the trust. It is your responsibility to take on this role and I expect you to do so."

"Blessed is she who expecteth nothing, for she shall not be disappointed. In other words, grandmother, what part of 'no' is it that you don't understand."

"You impertinent young pup. If this is to be your attitude, you will not receive one single penny from the family trust."

The grip on my temper slipped. "Granny, you can take your ideas and shove them where the sun don't shine. The trust is cast in concrete and what is due to me will come to me. Is that clear enough?"

"I don't have to stay here and be insulted like this, grandson or not."

She stormed towards the door, and I gave her a parting shot. "Fine—just remember, you weren't invited here in the first place."

After my grandmother's departure, I breathed a deep sigh and slumped into a convenient armchair.

"Phew; I don't want to have to go through that too often."

As I finished I realised that my mother had not said a word, and I looked at her to gauge her reaction. She looked at me with what I could only call amazement blended with admiration in her eyes.

"Ash, I've never heard or heard of anyone speaking to that woman like that. I'm sure your father never did, but you took it completely in your stride."

"No contest, Mum; I was certainly not going to be bullied by her, and I don't give a rat's hat about the sacred family trust. She was just trying it on for her own purposes. She's a control freak and doesn't respond well when people stand up against her."

"Ash, I'm so proud of you." I stood as she walked over and gave me a soft, warm kiss on my forehead. "But be careful, she's a vindictive old witch, and she won't let go easily."

"Thanks mum," and I linked my arms round her waist and drew her close for what I had expected would be a simple son/mum hug. But she was unexpectedly pliant and yielding, holding me tightly in return, her soft, warm body moulding itself to me.

"Honey, please just hold me for a minute. I need to draw on some of your strength."

I could smell the fresh fragrance of her shampoo as she nuzzled into me, and feel the warmth of her breath on my neck. But another part of my anatomy was reacting, and I'm sure mum felt this.

She pulled away and smiled, whispering an enigmatic "Thank you," and kissed me on the tip of my nose.

I watched her walk away, puzzled but aroused. Was mum coming on to me? Nah, couldn't happen—but if it did, what then? That led me to some deep speculation, and ultimately, a masturbation session as intense as any I could remember.

We celebrated my birthday a few days later, and mum insisted on taking me to dinner. I readily agreed, knowing she would be dressed to kill, and I wasn't disappointed. She wore a cobalt blue dress in silk jersey with a rolled halter neck but completely bare shoulders. The ensemble was finished with a pair of black above the elbow opera gloves and 3" black patent pumps. I stared in admiration at this vision.

"Judging by the expression on your face, I appear to be acceptable?" she laughed.

"Um, yes, mum, you look absolutely gorgeous. I don't know how I'm able to keep my hands off you."

She laughed, but her laughter had an almost excited quality about it. We took a taxi to the hotel, and as we entered it was obvious that mum was the centre of many admiring glances. "You do realise that you've already been stripped and raped six times, don't you," I whispered, but mum just giggled quietly.

"Five of those times were by me," I continued, and she punched me gently on the arm, continuing to laugh.

The meal was delicious and the company scintillating. Mum seemed to let go of her inhibitions and really enjoy herself. She was engaging, talkative, funny, flirty, tactile and generally had the time of her life. I was delighted to see her relax and enjoy herself, and just a little disappointed when we had to leave.

We took a taxi home, and as we walked into the lounge, mum grabbed me and threw her arms round my neck, treating me to a hot wet kiss on the mouth. "Happy birthday, darling. I'm so glad you're back home again."

That was as unexpected as it was pleasant, and while I was tempted to go further, there and then, I managed to resist, although it was a close run thing. Just as well as subsequent events showed. I thought I saw some movement outside the lounge window, but could see nothing and nobody there, and let it go as a figment of my imagination.

It wasn't, because a few days later we had a visit from two police officers. "We have received information that you and your mother are engaged in an incestuous relationship, and we need to ask you some questions about this accusation."

"I guess I could demand the presence of a lawyer before I say anything, but I won't because this is just trumped up bullshit. I know where it came from; my poisonous old bitch of a grandmother is trying it on. She has no evidence, just her corrupt mind."

"That's as maybe, sir. We have her Statutory Declaration and some photographic evidence," and he produced a photograph of my mother and I embracing in the lounge.

I laughed. "If that's the sum total of her evidence, I'm surprised you didn't just tell her to mind her own business. Still, here is my driving licence, officer. If you look at it, you'll notice that my date of birth is the same as the date stamp on the photo. Yes, my mother kissed me, an affectionate recognition of my birthday after a particularly pleasant meal."

"Sergeant," I addressed the senior of the two officers, "would you mind telling me who instructed you to make this accusation, please?"

"I'm afraid I can't comment on operational matters, sir."

"No, I'm sure you can't, but can I suggest that you speak to Mrs Maddox senior and let her know she will be hearing from my solicitor concerning a potential action for defamation and lying under oath. Perhaps you can also let Detective Inspector Paul Cox know I shall be joining him in any such action."

The sergeant looked at me carefully. "I see, sir. Now why should the inspector be involved in something like this?"

"Because he and my grandmother have been connected socially for many years. It stands to reason that if she wanted to stir up a hornet's nest, she would whisper in Paul Cox's ear."

The officers looked at each other and both blushed in embarrassment. "Our apologies, sir, there appears to have been a misunderstanding," and they crept from the house.

"Will you really take action against your grandmother?" mum queried after they'd left.

"Dunno, mum; let's wait and see what happens with the threat."

"Oh Ash, thank you. You saw off the bad guys again. I'm so impressed; can I give you another 'birthday kiss', just to show you how grateful I am?"

"Wild horses wouldn't stop me, mum," and this kiss was warm, wet and demanding, her mouth working against mine, with our tongues engaged in battle. She whispered endearments with meaningless murmurs of desire, and as we parted I could see a special light in her eyes. Nevertheless, with an enormous effort of willpower, we said goodnight decorously and retired to our separate beds.

Early one morning about a week later, the receptionist rang through. "Mr Maddox, there's a Ms Julia Prentice who would like to see you. She doesn't have an appointment, but ..."

"Aunt Julia. Yes, Betty, please show her in."

I was on my feet and granted a powerful hug by my aunt, my mum's younger sister by four years. She was a smaller version of mum, with short, curly brown hair but with a permanent smile and a wicked sense of humour. She had been a real "wild child" in her younger days and had been married to a complete arsehole who had abused and degraded her. That broke up after a couple of years, and she subsequently "came out" as gay. I knew she had had a series of lovers and now was in a more stable relationship. Even so, I suspected that she was really bisexual, but couldn't find a guy to meet her rather exacting standards.

We had always got on well, and I told her how happy I was to see her.

"Hmm, yes, Ash, but you may not be when you hear what I have to say." Then her wicked twinkle shone from her eyes; "or maybe you will!"

"Okay, Aunt Julia, spill the beans. What's going on?"

"Ash, you may remember that your mum and I went out on the town a few days ago and had a great time."

"Yes, I do recall some stumbling and giggling when you two returned at some disgusting hour."

My aunt tried to look stern but, as always, failed.

"Well, anyway, I need to tell you about part of our conversation. I won't beat about the bush, Ash, but to be ruthlessly honest, your mother confessed that she wants to make love to you, or, more to the point, she wants you to make love to her. She told me that she has been having fantasies about being with you and having you in her mind as she masturbates."

My gasp swallowed my reply, and she continued.

"Ash, I don't think you realise how lonely and how vulnerable your mother is. I'm sorry to say this, and you can throw me out if you like, but your father was no good for her. Particularly over the past few years, since your marriage in fact, he had become distant and indifferent towards your mother. She felt totally isolated, but stayed with him, I think, for appearances sake. I don't think she had the strength or resources to leave him, especially with the attitude of the wicked witch of the west."

"Don't worry, Aunt J; I'm quite aware of my grandmother's vindictive nature, and I was aware that dad and mum's relationship had become strained. But there was nothing I could do about it, particularly as my own marriage started to fall apart."

"Your mother told me that after you returned home, she felt almost whole again, and after you saw off your grandmother, she felt something approaching hero worship. But she was still scared that you'd find somewhere else to live and maybe marry again. You need to know that your mum is really a very sensual woman; sex means a lot to her—or it did. Now it seems to have been replaced by the idea of sex.

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