Rights And Wrongs Ch 04

He -- Ben -- didn't realise just how much I'd loved the first part of his deal in the end. And, trust me, I wasn't going to tell him anytime soon. I scarcely believed me myself but I just knew -- totally knew -- that something was changing inside me.

It had been so long since I had ever been anything but a perfectly respectable wife and mother, but now it was if the clock had rolled back twenty years. I started to remember in far more detail how wild I'd been for a short period of time when I was around twenty, how much I had enjoyed being a figure of attraction for men. And here I was again, unexpectedly, almost shockingly, beginning to feel just the same way again. Only now I was acutely aware that I could turn the heads of men of very different ages in very different ways.

Ben had helped me fulfil a fantasy that was almost two decades old, and I had loved the whole experience. In many ways it had been beyond my wildest fantasy because I'd added my own son to the whole equation and rightly or wrongly (your call) I had been seen actually fucking my own son -- not that those who witnessed everything realised. With the exception of that very old woman.

It was wrong in lots of ways. But right in so many more as far as I was concerned.

And I had promised to repay my boy, to fulfil his fantasy just as he had fulfilled mine. But I had a serious attack of chicken, and no matter that I ended up just loving the muted exposure I was all too aware that I still owed my son. Sounds crazy, sounds so un-motherly, but there you have it. I owed him the second part of his part of the deal and I was comfortable with that. Nervous, excited, but comfortable. I trusted Ben completely. I didn't even think that was stupid of me, no matter that the 'rights and wrongs' scales were still present somewhere deep in my brain, oscillating gently.

As Homer often says, d'oh.

It was the rather sore morning after appearing in front of Ben's friend in the skimpiest underwear when my son outlined his second part of the deal.

And even as my inner excitement mounted, even as I began to look forward to the passion and arousal I would bring to Ben and a couple of strangers we were yet to meet, and would, according to my boy, never see again, part of me died. Or came to life.

I was living a lie.

All the wrongs came home to roost, scattering the rights as easily as a hurricane scattered a million rose petals.

I was almost forty, I was living out a near-childhood fantasy. I was -- god -- I was screwing my son!

Had I become so desperate as the years rolled past that I would find solace in helping my son play out wild and immature fantasies? Getting my own fleeting kicks before my clock finally ran out of normal time? Was I so desperate for sex and sexual antics that I would somehow pretend that I was a near-teenager in her first bloom of naughty youth and indulge the kinkiest of immoral fantasies? Did I really need, so desperately, to have my womanhood -- my pussy, my cunt -- filled and satisfied with no less than my own flesh and blood's smooth, hard cock?

I was no more than a whore who didn't charge a penny for access to her most intimate centre.

Ben's plan -- his great and oh-so meaningful concept -- for part two of the moronically agreed deal was to engage at least two other men, two strangers, in some sort of 'back to our room' session where he would bend me over any chair that might be in the room, yank down whatever panties I was wearing and, right in front of them, spank my bare butt.

He wanted other men to witness my humiliation, my pain, my naked sex, and sure, spanking games could be fun as I well-remembered, but this wasn't fun anymore. This was degradation, I now knew. Even if he hadn't been my offspring, he was still a just kid and it was showing through.

If he'd even tried to share his thoughts and plans and ideas, then maybe I might not have slumped so deeply into the pit of reality -- and sure, I knew what I said about this being his plan and anything was to be allowed, but couldn't he see? Didn't he even have, as yet, an ounce of decency and understanding in his testosterone-fuelled mind and soul?

I wasn't mad at him, didn't scream or yell. I wasn't stupid enough not to recognise my own complicity in his self-centred sex-fest and my own lack of parental responsibility. But I couldn't even look in his direction as my shoulders slumped and I turned and walked quietly from the room.

I barely heard his plaintive wails as he tried to call me back.

*****

It was three days before I let Ben engage me in conversation of any sort and a further three before I could bring myself to discuss my change of heart -- or, as I firmly believed, my coming to my senses.

"But, ma, you promised!"

It was, to a degree, my son's last line of defence or first line of prosecution depending on your viewpoint.

"Well I was beyond stupid to agree to anything, wasn't I?"

"That is so totally unfair!" he was close to tears.

I saw them for what they were -- tears of a frustrated, sexual-fantasy-fuelled teenager -- and I didn't let them affect me. I'd suffered his tantrums for nearly two decades. "So take a ticket and join the line. I keep telling you, Ben, I got carried away. Stupidly carried away. There was never going to be more than a couple of months' worth of fun and games even if it were viable, and I just gave in to the frustrations of a stupid, stupid woman, all too fast approaching middle-age after years of boredom. And now," my voice was rising inexorably, "now I have to live the rest of my already fucked-up life in the knowledge that I lost sight of everything that was right and oh-so fucking wrong, and let my own son get his testosterone-driven cock into my tired, bored, frustrated cunt!"

A wild array of emotions crossed Ben's features in the face of my anger and righteous shame, and I could see him frantically trying to work out which emotional thrust might penetrate the new armour that I was wearing, "You... you wanted it all just as much as me!"

It was a thrust that I had already been over a thousand times in my mind during the previous twenty-four hours alone, "Well I was stupid then, wasn't I? And before you say it I know there are a few others who think it's all fine and natural, and that's good for them -- but not me. I fucked this up, Ben. My mind was screaming 'wrong' but the second you got my body interested, well that screamed 'right' and the whole balance thing was destroyed. Or fucked-up, in every sense."

There was silence then, and we stared at each other, Ben trying to find another argument that might work, and me testing out which response I would need to shut him up.

One thing had changed after all that had -- idiotically -- happened. I was suddenly far more self-aware and self-assured. I knew what I wanted and needed. I carefully relaxed my shoulders, very aware and assured that I shouldn't give my son any reason to think that I didn't mean every word I said, "Ben, I love you, but I love you as a mother should love her son. What has happened, happened, and I guess I shouldn't look on it as anything but a silly mistake, but one that we shared with the best of feelings and intentions. Something might seem right but it turns out wrong, and that's life, that's learning, that's what we're all about. All we can do is learn from this sort of shit and not -- ever -- forget it, but learn to understand that we ended up getting it all so wrong. Son, I learned more about what I really want and need through all this, and hopefully you did as well -- and we can move on now with that knowledge and maybe achieve more than we ever could before we fucked up so royally. You understand?"

Ben stared at me, mouth open, shocked and stunned. Finally, under my steady gaze, he found his voice, "But ma -- mum -- we were... enjoying it all so much, right? I mean, I never forced you into anything and... well, you were loving it, I know you were."

"That doesn't make it right," I said, quietly now.

"But... but we had a deal!"

"What we had," I continued, "was a very stupid deal. The whole thing was stupid, no matter how complicit I was, no matter how much I was getting off on everything. I was just plain wrong, okay?"

"But we did so much!"

I nodded, "Oh yeah, we did so much all right. Ben, son, we made love -- fucked if you like -- but it wasn't right on so many levels. I know it was all accidental at the start and whatever else happens in future I promise I will never, ever blame you in any way for what happened. If anything I will probably be very grateful to you. I was flattered, I found out what I had been stupidly missing out on all those years, I realised I had been so dumb and so stupidly shy -- but Ben, I was so very wrong to let you... to become involved with you in that way."

Ben was close to tears and I felt the tiniest pang, pebble, of desire behind the mountain of guilt. And he was desperate, "Ma... I only ever wanted... I mean it was us, wasn't it? You and me together?"

I nodded again, "I don't deny it. Like I said, I hope we both learned a lot about what we want and need, but most of all, I have learned that I was just plain wrong. That doesn't mean I didn't..." I swallowed noisily, "didn't love every second of our passions. Fuck, I mean, didn't love every second we were fucking and playing. I'll never forget the feeling of that lovely... cock of yours inside me... but that doesn't mean to say that I don't realise now it was all so wrong, okay?"

"No. Not okay!"

"Ben, this is my call, my choice, and I will always know it was not what you wanted. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"Yes, I regret taking things this far. I regret disappointing you, letting you down. More things that are wrong -- but they don't change anything now."

My son looked hard into my eyes, his brain trying -- and failing -- to find an argument that would work against me. He had almost two decades worth of experience of his mother's iron-will -- when she wanted it -- and he knew, I could see, that this was one of those times when I wouldn't back down no matter how persuasive an argument he could find. His shoulders slumped.

"Ma... couldn't we just... I mean one more time, one last time...?"

"Oh my Ben, I'm so sorry, honestly, but no. I've already stored up enough wrongs to last me a decade or three. We can't." I simply didn't dare because I wasn't sure I could stop if we did.

Ben didn't know about that tiny kernel of doubt that hung deep within me. He saw the steel on the surface and believed it ran deep. Thankfully.

I grabbed my car keys from the table, no longer capable of even looking into his eyes. I needed to be chastised, punished -- by someone other than myself -- and, my mind whirling, I chose that second to end the whole wrong business. Mum would know best, and even if this particular mother had so badly screwed up, my own mother would surely know better? Head down, I picked up my handbag and marched straight out to the car. I would visit my parents, give Ben time to get used to the new order, and for me, take the chastisement I so thoroughly deserved.

Mum and dad's place was only an hour's drive away, and even in my slightly flustered, thoroughly wrong state of mind, I arrived there before the sun set and before my pride could reassert itself.

I'd planned to say 'no' to Ben, planned to tell him that it had all been a terrible mistake and that it was all my fault. And I'd done that, certainly. But I'd not realised just how awful it would make me feel -- just how guilty, just how much I deserved to be chastised.

And that's why I had taken this unplanned trip.

Neither mum or dad had ever been anything but reasonable with me. They had raised their little girl with patience and fairness, had tolerated my teenage angst, the dodgier of my boyfriends, and they'd doted on their grandson. And now I was going to tell them -- or my mum, at least -- just how terrible their little girl had become. This unexpected visit was going to be one of the hardest things I'd ever done, but that was the whole point of it, after all -- I deserved it.

And of course, when I knocked on the door and waited until it was finally answered, it became even more difficult. Mum was out at her yoga classes and it was dad who stood there, surprised but happy to see his daughter standing, fidgeting, on the doorstep.

"Hey, angel, I didn't expect to see you here. Mum's at her soppy class, but come on in and have a tea with your old dad, yeah?"

I could hardly say no, "Hi dad, tea would be lovely." I followed him into the living room and perched myself awkwardly on the edge of the sofa.

"So what brings our lovely angel here so unexpectedly?" Dad asked, handing me a delicate cup of what I knew was going to be hideously strong tea, "Nothing wrong is there?"

"Thanks, and no. Well... kind of... maybe..."

"Angel?" Dad sat beside me, concern wrinkling his eyes. "What's wrong?"

On the drive there I'd sort of planned roughly what I was going to say -- but that was to mum. Now that dad was the only person there, the only focus, I was suddenly confused, but at the same time I understood that if I didn't say anything right there and then, didn't dive into the pit of my guilt, I might never be able to confess my desperately stupid acts. And yet it was dad... suddenly I didn't know whether that made things so much worse than if it had been mum, or whether in a very weird way it made it more appropriate, more like the justice I deserved.

I wasn't trying to gain sympathy or make my own crass actions seem anything less than they were, but I started to cry softly.

"On, angel, whatever is it?" Dad took my cup and set it on the coffee table. His arm went around my back and he pulled me tight against his side, "Let it all out and then tell me all about it, okay?"

I sniffed and nodded. I cried harder and dad just sat there, hugging me firmly, providing me with the strength I so desperately needed. He kept up a stream of meaningless but oh-so welcome words and at some point he pressed a bundle of tissues into my hands so I could stop the worst of the constant stream of my tears from soaking my blouse.

Finally I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. "Oh dad, I've been terrible!"

"I doubt that," he soothed, "Those pesky kittens probably deserved to be skinned and boiled alive."

The silly joking quality of his words brought a snort of laughter from me and I slapped at his free hand, "Dad! There were no kittens involved, okay?" I paused and the tears started up again, "Or maybe there was," I managed. "My kitten..."

From somewhere deep inside, my confession welled up and I found myself spilling out every fragment of my story, saying far more than I had ever intended, wringing every drop of truth from my dark heart.

I finally finished and we sat in a silence that echoes around the living room -- the whole house -- until my father finally gave my shoulders a squeeze.

"It sounds like my little angel has a streak of devil in her."

"I know, dad, I know. Will you ever be able to forgive me?"

Dad sat back, his arm falling from my shoulders, "I might have more trouble forgiving myself."

That comment confused me, "What?"

"It sounds, angel, as if I was maybe a little too easy-going with you when you were that rebellious teenager who was always spouting weird ideas about how we should all be more liberated with our thinking."

It was true that I used to be able to say almost anything around the house when I'd still been at school and was finally finding my way towards adulthood. Mum always tutted, sighed and ignored me, but dad was even more tolerant. "You were always very understanding back then--"

"Sounds more like I was stupid!" Dad interrupted, a dark edge to his voice that both alarmed me a little, and in a weird way, vindicated my confessional mood.

"You weren't stupid, dad, that's what I've been but it's not your fault."

"Really?" Dad rose and turned his back to me, "If you hadn't called a halt to this... this nastiness... then you would have been swanning off with Ben this weekend to... what was it? Have some spanking game session?"

"Well... yes... but I stopped it before it happened, right?" I stood up, slowly, uncertainly.

My dad span round to face me, "Oh yes," his voice darkened further, "and perhaps if I'd dished out a real spanking or two when you were that mouthy teenager, I might be able to say this is all your fault now, or maybe you would never have become so... so... nasty!"

"No dad! You were always a perfect parent for me, you helped me think for myself, you--"

"And you think this is good thinking, do you?" Dad's right hand shot forward and he grabbed my sleeve, spinning me to face the sofa, "Well... perhaps... perhaps it's not too late to slap a little sense into you!"

I gasped as my father pushed me forward and gasped again as I felt my belly pushed over the arm of the sofa. "Dad!"

"Shut up, you disgusting little bitch!" A heavy hand slapped my ass through my summery skirt, "This is what you really needed when I was being such a 'good, kind father', right?"

"No!" I was sliding into the deepest panic, a tiny part of my mind wondering why I couldn't pull away, run for cover.

A second slap, harder, brought a gasp from me and a grunt from my father, "You always were the wilful, pretty little thing, weren't you? Wrapping me around your little finger even as your mind must have been filling with filth!"

"Dad! I'm sorry, okay, really!"

If I thought that I knew what panic and shame was, the rough hand that pushed up my skirt and ripped my panties down my thighs had me shrieking, "Dad! Daddy!"

"What's the matter, angel?" Another slap, this time on my bare skin, "Don't you think this would have helped put your mind straight all those years ago? Don't you think," slap, "that your daddy didn't want to make you see sense? Don't you think..." I heard a zipper sliding down and my mind swam, "don't you think that I never thought you were fucking gorgeous?"

Then I did try to struggle free but I was trapped there, "Daddy! Please don't!"

"You rutted with my grandson so why can't I fuck you, eh, angel? Don't you think that's fitting?" I felt a sudden heat between the tops of my thighs, "Don't you think this will be fitting inside you?"

I gasped, squealed, as a hot pressure started to ease the lips of my womanhood apart. My dad, my own father, had his hard, heavy cock pressed right up against my pussy. And I was opening for him, unable to stop him entering me, feeling a deep warmth, a wetness, start to rise.

My mind was filled with the word 'wrong'. It span and spiralled around every thought my panicked brain could form. Wrong, wrong, wrong... but as I felt that thick, hard, heat drive into me, its power and strength started to dissolve the wrongs. From the depths of my mind, driven by the joy and excitement that welled in my belly, I could feel a new word forming. Right... "Oh dad! Oh this is so, so, so... right!"