Incest stories,mom and son, Harry is going home after three years to his dominant mother
The train carriage was empty which suited my mood due to the fact I was going home and I really wasn’t looking forward to it.
I felt a dull ache in my stomach at the thought of meeting my mother again. It was because of her that I had left home in the first place.
My mother Celia, is a harridan, a harpy, a she-devil or whatever title you wish to convey upon her.
She had me late in life, at thirty, and she has always blamed me for the state of her life after I was born. My father was twenty years older than her and an extremely successful business man but he died of a heart attack when I was twelve years old.
My mother seemed to wallow in her new status as a widow, always dressing in black and forever mourning.
She was always a good looking woman, not pretty but handsome. Tall with shoulder length black hair and an hourglass figure. She had bright blue eyes and full lips that she always kept glossed in red lipstick, a large bust, flat stomach, curvy hips and a full bottom that had many men hitting on her and not just because of her wealth.
She looked at them with disdain. Nothing nor anyone was good enough for her so she started to take her frustrations out on me.
That’s when the abuse started.
It began with verbal humiliation then progressed to physical violence. Her favourite thing was to have me naked over her lap and spank me until I cried.
As I got older I was horrified to find I was getting an erection while being punished. It got to the stage where I looked forward to the spankings but then it dawned on me that my mother was enjoying it in a perverse way too. One time after a spanking I went to the bathroom to dry my tear stained face and while passing her bedroom door I heard grunting sounds along with a buzzing noise. It was then I realised she was masturbating.
The spankings became more frequent and that was when I decided I had to leave. I had to prove to myself that I could get away from her control.
But now at the age of nineteen I was headed back home as I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I had ran out of money and options.
For the last three years I had been living in London, working in hotels from pot washer to cocktail barman. I thoroughly enjoyed my time.
Especially when one of the older married cleaners tricked me into a store cupboard and took advantage of me. As soon as she saw my thick and throbbing nine inch cock she gasped with shock.
I’m average height, slim with boyish good looks. I get described as cute. Girls my own age aren’t interested in me but I seem to attract older women.
After that episode word traveled fast around the hotel and I was getting as much sex as I could handle, usually from mature ladies.
Then one day I was called into the managers office to be told I was being ‘let go.’ In other words I was being made redundant.
I was told that the American tourist trade to London had greatly decreased and that the hotel was making cuts so it was a case of ‘last in, first out.’
Time to leave and go home. I was aware of a peculiar feeling at the thought of seeing my mother again. Was it apprehension or excitement?
And then we were here. I stepped down from the train with trepidation and wandered over to the taxi rank.
Ten minutes later I knocked on my mother’s front door even though I still had a key but I thought it polite as I didn’t want to annoy her.
The door opened and there she was. As stern and attractive as ever. A smile formed on her lips. ‘Henry, so nice to see you again.’ I wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not so I smiled back and replied, ‘It’s lovely to see you too Mother.’
I was named Henry after my late father but everyone called me Harry, except my mother.
She beckoned me inside and when the door closed she took a step towards me.
She didn’t seem to be in mourning any more as she was wearing a cream satin blouse which showed off a vast expanse of cleavage, a tight navy blue skirt that came to just above her knees, with grey hose and three inch cream high heels.
‘How about a hug?’ she asked. I moved to her and we wrapped our arms around each other, her large breasts pressing into my chest.
The hug seemed to last longer than necessary and I could smell her particular perfume that she always wore. My cock was starting to stir so I quickly pulled away and headed with my laundry to the utility room.
‘Oh just leave everything in there and come and join me in the sitting room,’ she said. As she walked away I could see the dark seams up the back of what must have been stockings. My cock had just got harder.
We chatted, she got me a beer and a glass of white wine for herself. She asked about what I had been up to, whether I had a girlfriend and my general health. I filled her in the best I thought reasonable, joked about a girl in every port and confirmed I was fighting fit. She took a long look at me and said, ‘yes you do look very fit.’ in an almost seductive tone.
After we’d finished our drinks and got caught up I took the rest of my clothes to my bedroom to put them away.
Suddenly the door opened and my mother stepped inside. ‘Why don’t you have a shower you must be ready for one after your journey. I’ll sort you a towel out.’ and with that she left.
I finished unpacking and thought I would, in fact, have a shower before pulling on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and making my way to the guest bathroom.
When I stepped inside I couldn’t see any towels ‘ah well I will just have to dry myself on my shirt,’ I thought.
Then just out of the corner of my eye I spotted it. Drying over the end of a wooden chair was a black satin corset. My imagination was in overdrive. Was it there by accident I wondered.
I ignored it and stepped under the hot running water. Just then the bathroom door opened and in stepped my mother.
‘Here’s your towels Henry,’ she said but made no attempt to leave. The steam wasn’t completely hiding my nudity and I could sense she was staring at me.
‘Oh, did I leave that in here?’ she said picking up the corset and walking out of the bathroom.
My mind was now in a whirl. What was she playing at?
‘Dinner is at seven. Please wear something nice,’ she shouted as she went back downstairs.
At the due time I made my way downstairs and found my mother in the kitchen finishing off dinner. To say she was dressed inappropriately for the kitchen was a massive understatement.
She was wearing a shiny tight black leather pencil skirt, a white silk blouse with a bra that pushed her breasts up and out. On her feet were black four inch heels and her legs were encased in black silk stockings.
‘Ah, there you are Henry,’ she declared. ‘Be a good boy and pour the wine will you?’
‘Good boy?’ I thought.
I duly poured a couple of glasses of red wine and sat at the dining table. Mother served the lasagne then sat opposite me, my eyes drawn to her huge breasts.
She caught me looking a couple of times but just smiled, a knowing smile that unsettled me.
I ate half of it as we made small talk but I found I didn’t have much of an appetite possibly due to staring at her breasts and the raging hard on in my black trousers that I had to do something about.
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