My Son's Photos
I drink. Not a lot, and not that often. But since my husband left me, over six years ago, I occasionally drink more than I should.
For me, "more than I should" isn't a lot, because drink affects me differently than it affects most people. I don't get loud, I don't get morbid, I don't become incoherent. I just disappear from view. That is, I pass out. A few wines and I can be dead to the world for hours.
I'll give you an example. When I was 18, some friends offered to drive me home from a party. I was already past my usual limit and barely made it into the back seat before I faded into la-la land. Somewhere along the way, the driver -- who was probably also above his limit -- took a corner too fast and rolled the car. Everyone but me scrambled out by themselves. My friends dragged me out and tried to wake me, but without success. They thought I'd been badly injured. When the ambulance came, they asked the medic if I was dead. Yes, he told them: dead drunk.
They told me all this the next morning. I had no recollection of any of it. I just woke up in my bed with a slight headache.
Well, that still happens. I have a few wines -- only now and then -- and fall asleep. No harm done. It all happens in the safety of my own home, and I always wake up in my own bed without any unwanted company. Sometimes I'll fall asleep on the sofa, but over the last year or so my son Jack, who is a little over 19, has been helping me to bed when that happens. Again, I only know because he tells me in the morning.
Since my divorce, he's been the rock of my life, the one person I can rely on. And he knows he can rely on me. We're very close, and I'm very proud of him. He's tall, handsome and kind -- nothing like his father I tell people, but that's probably me being bitchy. He's doing well in college but though he's smart enough to be a doctor or lawyer, he's got his heart set on being a photographer. He's been working part time with a local fashion photographer since he was 16, learning the skills at nights and weekends while studying by day.
Which is where our little 'problem' started.
I work from home. Before I was married, I worked in advertising -- I wrote ads. When Jack was still a baby, I started doing freelance writing from home. Nothing too major; mainly just brochures and that kind of stuff. After my divorce, the brochure writing became a full time job and I've been able to make a good living out of it. But one day recently I had a computer problem. I do almost all my work via email, and when my email system froze, I was in danger of missing a deadline. Fortunately Jack has a computer in his room, so I put my work on a memory stick and plugged it into Jack's computer. His email was still working, and the work got sent.
Then I got curious. I saw a file on his desktop marked 'photos', so I thought I'd take a look at his recent work. There was some lovely photos on it. Old people in a park. Children playing sport. Some wonderful shots of a sunrise over a nearby lake. After looking at a few of these, I noticed an un-named file inside the photo file. I clicked on it but it was password protected. Odd, I thought. So (wrong thing to do, I know) I tried a few random passwords. After four or five attempts, I tried Jack's father's name -- Maxwell -- and voila, I was in.
That's when the surprises started. First there were some nice pictures of Sophie, Jack's girlfriend. Then some that were, um, let's say, more artistic. As in nude. They were, I admit, very stylish nude shots, mostly, but some were a little too graphic for my taste. I was seeing rather more of my potential daughter in law than I'd ever expected to see. At least I knew why she never had a problem with her bikini line. Yes, totally bald down there, she was.
I was beginning to feel a little guilty when I found another un-named file, again password protected. The temptation was too much; I tried my luck again. This time it was much harder. I was about to give up when I tried a long shot. If my ex husband's name was one password, what about my middle name, Sarah? Suddenly I was in. And was very quickly regretting it.
The first photo was -- of me! Quite a nice shot, but not one I remember him taking. Then I noticed that my eyes were shut. He'd taken a photo of me asleep. I clicked on another photo. Me again, lying asleep on my bed. I started to feel a little queasy. I raced ahead and clicked on one of the later photos. And almost fell off the chair. My heart started pounding. It was me again. Nude. And not just nude. My legs were apart and my pussy was clearly the main focus of the shot.
I started shaking. I almost vomited. But I forced myself to go on. One by one I opened every photo in the file -- over 100 of them -- and the shocks kept coming. There were wide shots of my naked body taken from all kinds of angles. In some I was on my back, in others I was on my stomach, in yet others on my side. Sometimes my knees were lifted, sometimes my legs were spread wide apart. The worst of them were the close up shots. Close ups of my breasts, close ups of my pussy -- some inside my pussy, with my lips held open -- and even some of my asshole. They were all very well taken shots. They were high quality -- but they were high quality porn.
It was clear that on at least one of the occasions when I had drank too much and passed out, Jack had taken the opportunity to explore my body photographically. But why? He had a beautiful young girlfriend who, it was obvious, was more than happy to pose for him? Why bother with his 42 year old mother? Yes, I'm still in good shape, and the photos made me look much younger than I am -- but it didn't make sense. At least, not to me.
If it was me taking photos of him, that I could understand. As I said, he's young and handsome and many's the time I've looked at him and thought, wow, if only you weren't my own son. But what could he see in me?
What was I going to do? I had no idea. I didn't want to harm my relationship with him. He was far too important to me. And if I confronted him, it would have a terrible affect on him.
I started to rationalise the situation. Artists don't just paint beautiful women. In fact, they often prefer older, heavier women. The lines and wrinkles, and even the layers of fat, give them more scope for catching the light and adding character to their work. That's what Jack was doing. I was just a model. Just as Sophie had been a convenient and co-operative object for him to practice his art, I was a convenient and unconscious object for the same purpose.
But still, what was I going to say to him? Nothing? Should I just let it pass? But if I did, mightn't he be tempted to do it again? I didn't want that. No way.
And then I had an idea. What if pretended to be drunk one night, just to see what happened? And if he tried to do it again, I would start to wake up. I wouldn't catch him -- that would ruin everything -- instead I'd just make him think that I might catch him. Make him think that I was likely to wake up at anytime. If I went through the charade two or three times, he'd come to believe that alcohol no longer affected me the way it used to, and then wouldn't risk doing it again.
That was my plan. And I put it into affect that very night. I got an empty wine bottle and filled it with a light coloured apple juice. Early in the evening, soon after dinner, I had a bath and changed into my pyjamas and gown. Then I got out my 'wine' and joined Jack in front of the TV. I started sipping in the casual way I always do -- I like to make the bottle last the evening. We were watching a movie together, and around 10.30 the bottle was empty and I pretended to doze off.
He started talking to me.
"Mom? Are you asleep? Wake up mom, the movie's reaching the best part."
I said nothing. Instead, I let myself slip down on the sofa, lying down flat across the cushions. Jack laughed.
"You know mom, you really shouldn't drink. Well, bed time for you."
He picked me up in his strong arms and gently carried me to my bedroom, laying my head on the pillow. Then he left and went back to watch the end of the movie.
I sighed in relief. It had been a one off. No photos tonight. I snuggled up a little and after about ten minutes began to doze off for real. And then I heard the door open again.
"Mom...are you asleep? Mom?"
I kept my eyes shut tight. A moment later, I felt hands on my dressing gown. Jack was slowly pulled it off me. Maybe he was just going to tuck me in? But then I felt his hands undoing the buttons on my pyjama top. My breasts fell out.
"Oh mom, you've got such beautiful tits."
I was fighting to control my breathing. Trying to stay calm. In my original plan, I was going to start to 'wake up' around now, to scare him off, but for some reason I didn't. I wanted to see what he would do next. I didn't have to wait long. My pyjama top was soon off and his hands were rubbing across my breasts. This didn't seem very artistic to me. What was he doing?
He moaned. Moaned! That wasn't what I expected.
Now his hands were around the top of my pyjama pants. He slowly began to pull them down. I didn't resist; I just went along with the charade. I was suddenly totally naked. Any moment now I would have to wake up, before things got out of hand.
But wait. If I 'woke up' now, naked, wouldn't it be natural for me to be suspicious? Wouldn't any normal person ask questions: "Jack, how did I come to be nude in my bed when I woke up?" What could he say? No, no, no. That wouldn't do. That would put him in a terrible position. Our relationship would be broken forever. I would lose my son. That couldn't happen.
But there I was, nude, and it was my son who had undressed me.
What next? Now I felt his hands moving me, rolling me onto my back. Then my legs were being opened, my knees lifted. I felt fingers parting my pussy lips. Was he about to take another close up photo of my open pussy? Then...OH! A finger was running across my clit. By reflex, I tried to close my legs, but Jack held them open. A moment later -- OH GOD! -- he started to lick my clit. I was panic stricken. This couldn't be happening. No, no, no. This is all wrong. I had to stop it right now. But I couldn't. I was too afraid of what would happen. And then -- I don't know where it came from -- but suddenly, I moaned. Jack's clit-licking had hit the spot. So while my mind was racing, my body was experiencing a totally different emotion. I moaned again. And Jack laughed.
"You always like this, don't you mom. Don't worry, I'll lick you good."
Always? How many times has this happened? And do I 'always' respond this way? How could I not know? And yet, yes, it was good. Wonderful. I couldn't stop moaning, couldn't sop writhing my hips, pushing my pussy into his face. But it was being done to me by Jack, my beloved son. I had to stop him. Now.
But I didn't. Instead, I half opened an eye; just enough to see, but not enough for him to see that I could see. And what I saw was an even bigger shock: I wasn't the only one who was nude.
Jack stood up. His young body was rippling with muscle, and the biggest muscle was the one between his legs. I hadn't seen him nude since he was 13, and boy had he grown. He had a raging nine inch hard on, the biggest cock I had ever seen in the flesh. And it was coming towards me.
"Now it's my turn, mom."
And with that, he gently opened my lips and started to push his cock into my mouth.
"Come on mom, suck me the way you always do."
That word again -- always. Apparently I had done this before. Would he know something was wrong if I didn't do as he said? If I always sucked his cock, I'd have to do it now. So I did.
It was lovely. The taste of him on my lips was heaven. I ran my tongue round and round the head of his cock, sucking hard, and he pushed it further and further into my mouth. Then, suddenly, he had had it half way down my throat. I'd never taken a cock that way before. Or had I? Because it was slipping down there very easily. I expected to gag. I didn't. Instead I took more and more of him, until eventually I had the whole nine inches down my throat, sliding in and out, and it was amazing. Jack thought so too -- he was groaning loudly, holding my head and pressing me hard against his cock, so that his balls were against my chin. And then he exploded. Cum came pouring down my throat.
"Oh yeah, take it all mom, swallow my cum. You love it don't you. Oh yeah. Drink it all, every drop. Ohhh mommm!"
And I did. Till then, I thought I'd never swallowed cum in my life, but I was doing it like a natural and loving it. I could feel Jack's cock shrivelling in my mouth but I kept sucking till had swallowed every drop of him. And even then, I kept licking and sucking him, sucking and licking. And as I did so, his cock began to harden again.
"Oh you love my cock, don't you mom? Don't worry. You'll get much more of it yet."
More? The terrible thing was, I should have been horrified, but I was pleased when I heard him say that. I had gone beyond just trying not to let him know I was awake to actually enjoying the experience. I felt ashamed. But not enough to stop him.
He slowly pulled his cock out of my mouth. It wasn't easy -- I kept sucking on it and trying to get it back down my throat, and even grabbing it with my hands, but Jack gently pulled my hands away.
"Easy mom, easy. Your favourite part is still coming."
Well, I assumed I w2knew what that would be. And now, horror of horrors, I was looking forward to it. Jack rolled me over, then dragged my legs across so my waist was on the edge of the bed and my legs hanging over the edge. Standing at the side of the bed, he opened my legs wide, put a hand on each side of my hips and lifted me up. I felt his huge cock pressing against my pussy lips.
OH! In three quick movements, he slipped an inch, then three, then the whole nine inches inside me. I hadn't realised just how wet my pussy had become. I had never felt so full! (Well, not while I was awake, anyway.) And then he started to drive that huge nail hard into me -- harder and harder, faster and faster. How could I pretend to be asleep while this was happening to me? I tried to stop from screaming with pleasure, but I couldn't help myself. I was cumming, and the scream was coming with it. Surely I'd get found out? But no.
"That's it mom, scream. Scream while I fuck your lovely pussy. Cum for me mom, cum hard. Oh, you're so beautiful. Scream while I fuck you mom."
And I screamed. I had never cum like that before. Never ever, ever. (Again, not that I could remember, but...) In fact, I was screaming with pleasure so much that I didn't even notice that something else was happening -- Jack was sliding a finger into my ass. Then two. He was rubbing the juice and cum from my pussy all round and inside my asshole. I was ramming my pussy against his wonderful cock so hard that I was also forcing his fingers deeper into my ass. But when, for just a terrible moment, he pulled that beautiful cock out of my pussy, I got a sudden realisation of what was happening when I felt it returning -- but not to my pussy. My asshole burned as the massive head of his cock forced its way past my weakened anal defences.
Now let me be straight up about this. I have never had anal sex. Never. (Again, no need to say...) I have always been disgusted by the thought. I never let any boyfriend or my ex husband even touch my little dark hole.
This was different. There was dried cum on my chin. I had the taste of cum in my mouth, my throat, in my stomach. My own cum was pouring from my pussy. I was in another place. I was another person. A person who would do ANYTHING. And who was loving it.
So, when Jack's huge cock started its journey into my ass, I didn't resist. I actually reached around and pulled my ass cheeks apart, opening the path for him. And he didn't hold back. Slowly, gently, but determinedly, he pushed it harder and harder, further and further into me. And though I felt pain, it was a kind of euphoric pain. The very idea of his cock in my ass was suddenly the most erotic thing in the world.
And to my surprise, it slid in quite easily. How could that be? His cock was so big, so hard. And my asshole was so small and tight? How many times had he done this to me to make my asshole so receptive? Many, many times I was beginning to realise. How had it felt the first time? Had I cried in pain? Had he forced it in to me anyway, through all my tears? Or had I liked it from the start, that curious combination of pain and pleasure?
But these thoughts quickly faded, for the pain had passed and the pleasure had taken over. And what pleasure! He was pounding me now, driving his cock the full nine inches into my asshole. Stretching me to limits I never thought possible. And I was screaming again. Even louder than before. I reached down squeezed his balls as he drove his cock into me, then forced four fingers into my dripping pussy. It was unbelievable. He was fucking my ass -- my most private place -- and I was cumming like I had never cum before.
Then, for the second time, he exploded. I felt his hot cum first deep in my ass, but then he pulled his cock out of me and allowed the cum to pump over my stinging asshole. He started to rub one hand over the cum, driving his sticky fingers into my ass. Then, with his other hand, he reached across and pulled my face towards his throbbing cock. It was mine again, that lovely piece of rock hard meat. With cum still spurting, he pushed his cock back into my mouth, and I sucked on it hungrily, as if I was dying of thirst and his cock was a pouring tap.
I was holding onto his cock with both hands, almost like crying with joy, as his fingers rubbed cum into my asshole and pussy.
And then it was over. He pulled his now deflated cock out of my mouth and walked out of the room for a moment, returning with a wet face washer and towel. Meticulously, he began to clean me up, wiping the cum from my pussy, my ass, my mouth. Then, with all traces of the last magical 40 minutes removed, he gently pulled my pyjamas and night gown back onto me. And all the while, because he was still naked, I could see his delicious, delightful cock hanging just inches from my half open eye. How I would have loved to reach out and grab it, to suck it, to make it hard again, to start all over.
He turned off the light and closed the door. A moment later he was in the shower.
Well, at least I now knew why I sometimes woke up with a croaky voice and sore asshole after getting drunk. I'd always blamed it on the wine -- which, in a way, was fair enough. The wine was to blame; it had given my beloved Jack a chance to act out a fantasy.
But now that I had failed to put my plan into action, failed to stop Jack from taking advantage of me, what was I going to do? It was terrible, I knew, for such a thing could happen. But it had happened. What were my options? They hadn't changed since I first saw the photos on Jack's computer. I loved my son and couldn't lose him over this.
So, once again, what was I going to do? Lying there, my pussy and asshole aching from the pounding they had received but my whole body glowing with ecstasy, I knew the answer.
I was going to get some more of that light coloured apple juice to put in an empty wine bottle.