Her Beautiful Boy

All characters portrayed are eighteen (18) or older.

*****

1.

She sees him get out of his car and look around. To her eye, he hasn't changed; he still looks like her Beautiful Boy. Her excitement is almost palpable, but besides her arousal, there is something else, a deeper sense of longing that she hasn't felt since they last met. She wonders if he feels the same.

It's been two months since Mother and her Beautiful Boy had a session. After their last meeting which ended in upset words from her, she was sure he didn't want to see her again. He practically said that their game of mother-cat and boy-mouse had lost its novelty. It blindsided Mother.

When you meet someone who has kinks that fit with yours perfectly like puzzle pieces, it's magical. It's as if the clouds part, the stars align, and the light of horny gods shine down upon you. It is enough to find someone who doesn't make you feel guilty or strange for being into what you're into; that alone would have been a blessing. But her Beautiful Boy was more than enough.

They'd been going strong for almost a year now, and over that time Mother had chipped, chiseled, and sculpted him until he was a fucking Adonis! He knew the game, the rules, the roles, and he was obedient. Their past three sessions had all been amazing, with her Beautiful Boy even improvising some things.

She likes the motel just outside of the city. It's far enough that she's certain no one will recognize her, and cheap enough that it doesn't drain her purse. When Mother hands over her credit card to the clerk behind the counter, she wonders if the woman knows what they're here for; this odd couple of a young emo guy with his undercut and brooding stance, and this voluptuous womanin her mid fourties who may or may not be a librarian. It's amusing to Mother, and after she signs for the room, she has to resist leaning on the counter and boasting about what they're about to get into.

In their room, she asks, "Have you washed?"

"Yes,"

"Yes, what?"

He sighs, and answers, "Yes, Mother."

She can't tell if he's being obstinate because of the role-playing, or if he's genuinely sulking. She thinks that he should be as excited as her. After all, he was the one who came back. She pushes past all this. He may be lethargic now, but Mother is sure she can get him back to his old self; back to being her Beautiful boy.

"Strip," she commands, and he does so mechanically. First shoes, then jeans, then shirt, then underthings. She watches him with increasing interest. It's only been two months, but her libido lies to her and says it's been ages.

When he's naked, her Beautiful Boy stands in his normal brooding fashion waiting for Mother to decide what's next. His cock is flaccid and she reaches for it, curling her fingers around this delicate part of him.

She allows him a small truth, and confesses, "I missed this." He'd be forgiven for thinking she was talking about his cock, but it's more than that. It's his lean frame, his raven-colored hair, the smell of the cheap hotel, their role-playing; everything she's been denied since their last session.

Hearing this honesty, however small, does something to him. Whereas before he was sluggish and lethargic, now she sees a glee in his eye. His cock, begins to grow and twitch in her hands, and Mother lets out a surprised 'oh, before she began stroking him.

She watches for a moment, his cock now as hard as a measuring stick, then he's pulling her close, and kissing her. There is so much passion in that kiss, two months of build-up that tells her just how much he wants this, despite his standoffish attitude just moments ago. She remembers that tonight, her Beautiful Boy has come back to her. And that sense of being desired fuels her ego, so much so that Mother cannot help but fall headfirst into one of their shared fantasies.

She breaks their kiss, stares at him for a moment, then in a breathy voice says, "You have to be quiet, or your sisters will hear you. Do you want your sisters to hear you? Do you want them to see you like this?"

Mother lets these questions hang in the air as she lubes up her middle finger with spit. Then it disappears out of sight before curling down around his balls and teasing his asshole. He shuffles around, protesting with his body at her intrusion, but Mother knows what he wants.

She swipes his hair out of his face and forces him to look at her. Even while pouting, he's such a pretty man. Not handsome, but pretty. Her lovers have always been androgynous men. She prefers them effeminate, younger, and malleable. She makes them call her Mother because the idea of being tempting and indecent with her son wraps her in barbed arousal, even though she's never had children of her own.

And now here he is, back with her, where he belongs. Mother can hardly keep her hands off of him. In her mind, she steers clear of the word grateful, but she is glad to have him back. Mother wants to reward him, a rarity in their twisted relationship, but this is a special occasion.

There had been so many duds before him, so many disappointments and letdowns. There had been so many indignities and moments of regret. But then he'd strolled into the library, checked out a book with her standing behind the counter, and it was lust at first sight.

Mother was used to men staring at her with that smarmy disgusting look in their eyes, but rarely did they look at her in awe the way her Beautiful Boy did. She was a great complication of wavy brunette hair, lacker glasses, and a shapely Venus body. He'd looked at her with a slack-jawed revere like she was a goddess.

2.

She might have overreacted. Might. Two months ago, after a particularly good session, He'd asked her once if they could have normal sex.

"What does that even mean?" She'd asked in a simmering tone. Why was he talking about normal? What exactly did he want: missionary sex with her on her back and squealing like a bad pornstar?

"What the fuck does that even mean?" She'd shot up from the bed and added, "Normal is a setting on a washer machine."

Her Beautiful Boy didn't answer her. He only sighed. His face looked fraught, but his frustrated silence wasn't enough for Mother. "Go on then," she prompted, taking his clothes and launching them at him. "Go have your normal sex with someone else. Go have your washer machine setting sex."

They split after that, and the moment Mother understood it was over, it felt as if something inside of her dropped from a high place. She might have shed a tear or two over him. Might.

Two months was a long time; enough to wonder if she'd overreacted. It was enough to wonder if she's had two months to wonder if she drove him away. And on the tail of those thoughts, she even considered reaching out and trying to coerce him back into her arms. Reluctantly, she thought that maybe they could have washer-machine sex every now and then. But then her Beautiful Boy messaged her, saving both Mother's pride and her libido.

"You want your sisters to see you like this, don't you?" She doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, she probes his asshole. His eyes flutter for a moment, and he sucks in air through his teeth before his chest, shoulders, and hips relax. When his mouth gapes open in quiet exaltation, it only spurs her excitement onward. The sight of his body submitting is such a tasty morsel to her.

Mother falls to her knees and slips the head of his cock in her mouth. She sucks it until it's as pink as a ballet slipper and he calls out in a high, wavering voice. "No Mother, please! No, it's..." His voice strains as his asshole clenches around her finger. Then she feels warm nectar spurt into her mouth. His vegetarian diet makes his cum taste strange, but not unpleasant.

It's more than she expected, but Mother swallows it all the same. She looks up at him, making a show of wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. It isn't very ladylike, but she feels sinful when he watches her. She likes the idea of turning out a boy she's supposed to be taking care of, even though in real life her beautiful boy is in his twenties and in grad school.

"In my mouth?" She scowls. "Your own mother?" She stands and enjoys his downcast eyes. "Your own mother?" She repeats in a low hiss and her Beautiful Boy all but flinches as he is a bare out in the world, and she is an oncoming tempest.

"You like that, don't you? You like it when I swallow, huh?" She chides. He gives her the subtlest of nods. She says while wiping her fouled middle finger clean before asking, "You know what you have to do now, don't you?" He nods again.

"Remember," she says, reinforcing the fantasy. "We have to be quiet. We can't have your sisters find out about this." The fantasy is potent and has hold of her. She lays back on the bed and spreads herself open for him, it starts again:

They live in a quaint little cottage far out in the countryside. She's widowed and trying to raise two twin girls and a growing son who's fresh into his manhood. One day she catches him behind the woodshed with his pants around his ankles. His cock in one hand and his sister's panties clutched in the other.

Mother is appalled. Man or no man, she drops onto a wood block and folds him over her knee. She spanks his ass until it's raw and her palm aches. Then she proceeds to bugger him, and her son squirms as her finger reaches into him until she's knuckle-deep. The fantasy ends when Mother realizes that her son's erection never diminished. She feels it batting around between her thighs, oddly exciting her. Finally, Mother feels him spurt into the fold of her dress, leaving an ugly little stain.

This mother-son fantasy runs on repeat in her mind while her Beautiful Boy licks her pussy. At first, he's timid with her, as if this is his first time. Mother's impatience threatens to ruin her mood, but Then the feel of his tongue soothes her. His mouth has always been magnificent, perhaps because her Beautiful Boy was and is always eager to please her.

Her head sinks back into the pillows as he plunders both of her holes and the fantasy starts again: Mother finds son, mother spanks son, Mother bugger's son, son dirties her dress. Except, after two months of his absence, his tongue feels so goddamn good, that for a moment she's pulled out of the fantasy.

"God, you eat pussy like a woman!" She follows her praise with an amused little laugh before her breathing ramps up. It goes from an amble to a brisk pace, to a jog, then an all-out horse's gallop as she heads closer and closer towards an orgasm.

Between her thighs, her Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Boy tongue-fucks her and playing with her asshole, until a chorus spills out of her. It fills the room, and in the back of her mind, Mother wonders if she's loud enough to be heard throughout the motel.

He slides another finger into her and Mother feels a familiar fullness. With her thighs open and knees bent, Mother's body tenses against him before she explodes! A spray of warm ejaculate gushes onto her Beautiful Boy's face in a single hot rush. She hears him make a pleased little noise just as her mind becomes glitter and hazy, and the orgasm washes over her.

For a moment Mother feels as if the room is revolving around her while she gasps for air and speaks in vowels. She can't remember the last time she climaxed that hard, and for the first time since she can remember tears stand in the corners of her eyes.

She feels him pull his finger from the grip of her ass before the weight on the bed shifts and then her beautiful boy climbs on top of her. His face hovers over her, and she thinks he's bent down to kiss her but there is something dark and brooding in his eyes.

3.

"Wait, what are you-" But then he's inside of Mother in one push, and the question dies in her mouth. In all the times they've played this little game of theirs, they've only ever had sex once. It was alright, but it never matched up to her fantasy. There, her son never pined for her maidenhood. They never crossed that line.

Even though this is going off script, she can't help but throw her head back and moan. When she does, he leans down and licks up her neck, past her adam's apple, and off of the slope of her chin. He's never done that before, and Mother wouldn't mind if he did it again.

The fantasy starts up again in her mind, except now there is an addendum: Mother finds son, mother spanks son, Mother bugger's son, son dirties her dress, son gropes mother with pants still around his ankles. Son forces mother down and kicks open her legs, Son fucks mother. She tries to swallow past the knot of wanting in her throat and almost can't.

"Mother," he whispers, driving into her with the force of a boxer's fist. She hasn't recovered from her last orgasm, and her pussy isn't just sensitive, it's on the edge. Hell, it's dangling over. It's almost unbearable.

Her moans rise in a flare, and he has to put a hand over her mouth before shushing her. "Quiet, or my sisters will hear you." He drives into her harder, and she cries out into his hand. "You want them to wake and see you cock drunk over your Beautiful Boy?"

She can hardly answer with his cock reaching into her. But her beautiful boy continues. He leans in and whispers, "Please," he says in her ear. "Please, I can't hold out any longer. Take my cum," he purrs, "Like my sisters do."

He whispers the last sentence in a dark reveal, and it is enough to drive Mother off the deep end. Tears sting her eyes as she cums in an unhinged cacophony into the palm of his hand. Her body strains hard against his and her pussy clenches so tight, she forces him out of her like a bad deposit.

"Good," he whispers. "I thought you'd like that."

When she's finally climbed down from the heights of her orgasm, she doesn't know what to make of their finale. Mother rolls to her side away from her Beautiful Boy. As if sensing her qualm, he slings an arm around her and kisses her cheek while it all replays in her mind. Yes, It was perverse. Yes, it was a little cruel. But God, it was all so hot. Mother came so hard she thought she'd end up cross-eyes.

"I missed you too, Mother." His voice lulls any sense of wrongness out of her. He's not role-playing anymore; she can hear the sincerity in his voice, and his words leave her choked with emotions.

Frightened, embarrassed, and even a little grateful, Mother turns back to him and presses her face against his chest like an affectionate cat, afraid he'll see all the things she hides behind the role-playing and twisted games.

She thinks, "Maybe there is something to this washer-machine sex, and laughs. She thinks, "God, he's such a Beautiful Boy."