A Lifetime Kink Ch. 01

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For those who know my work, this will be a slow-release series based more around the drama of a not-so-well-adjusted mother and son. I’m not doing it for that little red H. I’m doing it to explore the psychology of people for whom the fetish has crossed into lifelong obsession.

In my mind, after committing myself to a fuck-tonne of research (and the great fiction of my fellow scribblers here), there’s no way two characters I’ve invested so much reality in – for the sake of exploring the taboo – would so easily give in.

There would be fear, doubt, anxiety, self-doubt, self-loathing, and the terror of facing society’s very real and very unsympathetic judgement, which nobody survives; and we know it.

So if this story bores you, I can’t hold it against you. If it creeps you out a little, then that can only be healthy. If it helps you to re-acquaint yourself with the stark line between reality and fantasy, then I have done what I set out to accomplish…



‘Can we talk?’

Their little world edged on those words, ground to a stop, leaving a lingering silence hanging over them both. It was the tentative yet laboured tone of her voice, and the unusually meek nuance in the way she delivered those words, which implied that Lee Nicholson might not have wanted to hear whatever it was that was coming.

Lee’s relationship with his mother had developed into something minimalistic and trivial, though very much amicable, in recent years. It was not that their bond had suddenly diminished. That had happened during his formative years.

Neither had they become enemies. The bridge was not gone, though it once hung by tethers and took some work to rebuild. It had taken a lot of time to learn to appreciate the little things, helped infinitely by the absence of his now ex-stepfather.

The silence he now shared with Stevie in the wake of that event was still something of a novelty. In fact it was bliss to Lee, who would be 21 in the summer – another year of daydreaming gone, with the time to act on those dreams diminishing alongside it.

He just needed time to adjust, yet again, and she had given him that so far. Childhood had been a strain. He deserved a break. So the way she asked that question made him wonder, what was going to change?

Now talking was good. Stevie knew that. Stevie, named after her mother’s favourite singer of the seventies, and a woman she actually shared no physical traits with, especially knew that since becoming an advocate for mental well-being and talk therapy, through first-hand experience.

Many of Stevie’s problems had reduced over time, by the power of talking, and left little in her way of improving on the life she had, and of leaving the past behind. A problem shared was a problem halved, and a problem halved was a burden lifted.

But Lee couldn’t have known this, yet – least of all the size of the burden to come!

Was it time to get a real job and move out, he wondered? Was he neglecting his mother, or taking her for granted? Was she simply worrying about his silence, as she often did? Of course he had the time to talk. All she had to do was ask.

Well Stevie did indeed have the mother of all confessions to lift off her shoulders, and she had dreaded this moment, though it had to come. She had been feeling a stranger in his presence, more and more lately. But not because of anything he had done, or not done.

The chances were, however, that that Lee already knew at least the tip of the iceberg, in regard to his mother’s dilemma.


Lee loved his mother, but that love was as unconventional as it was unconditional. To his mature and reserved twenty years she was a youthful forty-four. To her carefree attitude he handled himself with sometimes excessive sensibility, unable to see the bright side unless the roof was falling in.

That’s probably why she didn’t nag him about the weed smoking. It probably did his hidden anxieties the world of good, though he smoked it the way the same man twice his age might quietly imbibe in scotch before dinner and bedtime, rather than socially.

Lee’s unconventional love for his mother came in the way that he doted on her in his quiet way, and yet didn’t speak much to her. He regarded her conscientiously, and otherwise roamed the world as carefree and curious.

At 5’9″ Stevie was a raven haired, grey-eyed metal-head – one of the original alternative crowd. She wore a life-story of sorts on her skin. A tapestry of tattoos down both arms made her a living testament to all things punk and metal.

The head of Judge Death, 2000AD’s eponymous villain, grinned at her right shoulder. A black Punisher skull complimented the right. And filling both sleeves all the way down were the black flag of Henry Rollins fame, a Celtic cross, Marvin the Martian, Tank Girl, and others; filled in with an ink garden of roses and thorns and barbed wire.

Eagerly true to the saying that you never stop at the one, tattoo, perabet a black Chinese dragon snaked along the line of her left hip, its tail curving to its end beneath one gravity-defying 36G-cup breast.

She was a strong woman and a real man’s handful, though her ability to drink any man under the table gladly didn’t show. If anything did, it was the glorious fake tits her ex-husband had paid for into the second year of their marriage.

She was made for them. Her body-type complimented those fleshy globes and vice versa. Many a guilty teenage pleasure was once had thinking about her and those tits, during the horniest years of Lee’s life. That time of his life was marred, however, by the presence of Stevie’s short-lived husband, “The Laughing Man.”

Ray was a cocky sod who lived to show off his sex life with Stevie. He was a low-class opportunist trying to impress his way into a high-class world hopelessly beyond reach. But at any time other than when he was drinking, watching the games, or gambling, he had time for nobody.

On occasion he made time for Lee at his mother’s insistence. And in those instances he had no patience. Lee was not his son. He owed that boy nothing.

Stevie couldn’t have argued either. That was never part of the deal. Their relationship was never business, meaning that there was no deal. Lee had always been her responsibility, and the decision to marry had – at the time – been partly influenced by her desire to give Lee the security he needed, but otherwise he was her responsibility alone.

Looking back, Ray was never with Stevie for Lee, and why would he be?

But Ray loved fucking, which he and Stevie did a lot of. And Lee learned a lot about sex from having heard and even seen his own mother treated as a filthy sex object, dressed up and fucked like a porn starlet, and very often giving as good as she got.

They liked to role-play a lot. It was no secret that Ray was a pervert, but to hear his mother being fucked – sometimes even to see her, tits out and bouncing, legs up, knees wide apart and panting, Ray’s cock slamming into her with that oh so familiar sweaty clap-clap-clap as she begged for more…

“That’s it baby, how does your loving mother’s cunt feel wrapped around your big fucking cock?”

“You’ve been fantasising about mum again, haven’t you, dirty little boy?!”

“Oh yeah, my poor pussy is so fucking hot and hungry for my son’s spunk.”

(And other sordid shenanigans from Fuckingham Palace)

That was the tip of Lee’s own private iceberg. Teenage life under that roof had been one hell of a mind-fuck for so long, and now the silence was beautiful but somehow, against all odds, almost as alien.

What now? That was the question, still to this day.

Ray had been gone only a matter of months but he was not coming back. Lee’s mother had assumed some mode of normalcy, or so he thought. But Stevie did not know what normal was. Even the therapist didn’t use the word normality without posing the eternal question.

What was normal?

But returning to his mother’s all-important question;

‘So, uh, life has been kinda strange and I’m to blame for a lot of that. I know it’s not as simple as asking for forgiveness, but we’ll work something out,’ Stevie was saying to her son on this day of firsts. But there he was, much like the reader now, scratching his head in confusion, because she had said a whole lot of nothing.

‘What exactly are you trying to say, mum?’ he asked. She looked mortified as she tangled with her own thoughts.

‘Well,’ she paced around on the spot, paying close attention to the invisible patterns she weaved with the toes of her lack suede boots. It was the first time he had seen her act so coy. He was more used to seeing teenage girls with crushes act that way, but this certainly wasn’t the same.


‘As you know I’ve been in counselling. I’ve been working through some old stuff, some very deep and personal stuff. Talking is good. It makes problems small. It makes them small enough until you see that they’re not all your problems, or problems at all in some cases.’

‘Who is it that needs forgiving?’ Lee tried to help her along, naturally. The older adults weren’t so good at talking. Kids could say anything though, to the point of making problems for themselves out of nothing but hot air.

‘Me,’ she said soberly. ‘And I’m going to find a way to explain why soon enough, I promise you,’ she said uncertainly, ‘but for now I was wondering if you’d spend this evening with me. We don’t see much of each other lately.’

There was really nothing to forgive. He was certain of that. Any old problems were water under the bridge. He had grown up beyond the turmoil and petty problems of having a dick for a stand-in dad.

‘Okay, mum,’ he agreed with a wan smile. And he felt that she could do with being reminded that he cared, so he closed the short distance between them in the hallway and hugged her perabet giriş cautiously. Surprised by the move, she gasped softly against his broad shoulder.


That evening was relaxed and cozy if not quiet and uneventful. They made small talk as was the way these days. That was part of the problem, and not one that she alone had to work at to bridge the gap. There had been a bridge there previously, but it had fallen into disuse rather than be burned.

But she appreciated the little things and so dinner and a drink and a movie was nice enough. She just couldn’t bring herself to talk about the things she wanted to. There were as of yet no words in mind that could express why she needed to be forgiven.

With guilt and doubt she still doted on him as they sat side by side on their favourite sofa. Occasionally she would pat his thigh, rub it through the rugged material of his jeans, and smooth the creases, but other than that her mind would wander, gathering and winding up more and more of that guilt like sickly candyfloss.

Stevie really was so lonely and horny and it played mischief with her anxiety. Admitting it and seeking to do something about it felt something like how an alcoholic might fall off the wagon. The hell was she going back to Ray, and she was scared to go back out there so soon and try again. She didn’t need that and neither did Lee.

But a woman had needs, and Stevie was more woman than most. Secretly frustrated beyond belief she felt the warm deep tingle sitting next to her strapping young man. And at night, when they were both soundly settled in their beds, she would stay up half the night looking for new material to help ease her frustrations.

How did an alcoholic fool themselves into believing that they weren’t straying back into their own ways when they fell off the wagon? Well a man who liked his whiskey might drink a bunch of beers, and then a woman who liked her wine might go to cider. But alcohol was not Stevie’s world.

To stay on the straight and narrow, Stevie liked those atmospheric long-drawn-out lesbian seduction videos. Older and younger women, mostly – though her past experiences had never been like that. In Stevie’s reality, women weren’t so different to men. Casual sex could be so bland and normal and without feeling.

The older women in those videos were so sultry and naturally sexy, she’d have loved to be on the receiving end of Brandi Love’s strap-on, or to grind pussies with Jelena Jensen or Dyanna Lauren; but those women didn’t exist in her reality either.

But with the hype around incest these days it was, in the end, impossible not to stray back into her old ways. Frustrated with herself and aching for sweet release, she tried to dodge the bullet by reading a few erotic stories on the subject instead. That way the visuals would not affect her so deeply, or so she had hoped…


The laptop closed at the side of the bed now, Stevie swiped through her phone in the pitch black with the uncanny speed of an addict. She knew that website like the back of her hand. From homepage to stories, to categories and straight to Taboo/Incest, she was home again.

She swiped down through the list and went straight to the story tags then and sought out her favourite subject – mother and son incest – feeling a knot tighten in her lower abdomen. And for a while she hovered over the titles, reading their synopses, fighting her own curiosity.

Was she really going to get into this? More honestly, was she going to just admit to herself more easily than she admitted to Lee, her son, that this was simply her kink?

Her secret hardcore kink…

Stevie checked the time in the top right hand corner of the screen. After searching porn to suit her mood for so long and not finding what she wanted, it was already quarter to two. Now it was going on twenty past and she was in no mood to roll over and go to sleep.

Instead she finally settled on a short story about a mother and son sharing a bed to stay warm during a winter storm. Curiosity had gotten the better of her. If anything she wanted something so far-fetched that suspension of disbelief might actually ruin it for her.

But the sex scenes were good, and they roused the fantasies that resided within the dark corners of her mind into waking. If only she was in his bed, being spooned by her son from behind, his hard cock nudging between her thighs and causing her to drip.

If only she was pretending to sleep in that moment, though her flesh’s responses to his would betray her in the end, as he grew hornier, and bolder, to the extreme that he would dare to at least give her the tip.

And if only she could somehow, in her feigned state of sleep, give him the ease of access – maybe lifting a knee up slightly, so that he could push in an inch deeper. Maybe she too would give him a little squeeze with her tight wet pussy, almost as if to invite him to stay.

If only any such innocent situation would perabet güvenilir mi turn so dirty, then she would want to take it and have her fantasy served to her like a five-star breakfast in bed.

Jesus, twenty to three now, and she was so fucking wet and horny, like she hadn’t been in so long, that she was just getting warmed up. Her sexual appetite still hadn’t diminished. Once Stevie got in the mood, there was no stopping her.

The gusset of her panties to one side, Stevie worked herself steadily to her first climax reading that story and then went in search of another, but her eyes were beginning to strain in the dark and now she wanted some real visual stimulation.

She opened up the laptop again and within moments she was back on the porn sites, looking for anything under the tag of “mother fucks son”. She no longer cared how guilty it made her feel. She’d deal with it afterwards.

And little did she think that Lee would still be awake, able to hear her quiet moans through the wall. As the fictional mother and son on-screen went from drunkenly talking in bed about girlfriends and boyfriends to touching, and then to mutually masturbating…

And then to sucking and fucking in glorious POV – the monster in Stevie was fully awake and even as the clock struck four, and her soaked panties were hung around one ankle as she treated herself to orgasm after orgasm, with three fingers, slippery to the knuckles, fingertips wrinkling, and one thumb up nudging against the protruding pink hood of her engorged clit.

‘We can’t let anybody know about this,’ the suspiciously young fictional mother whispered as she stared through the fourth wall. All the while her son’s cock slid frantically in and out of her shaven pussy and he was riding to orgasm like a racehorse galloping to the finish line.

Indeed, Stevie agreed in mind, nobody could know about this. Except it was the one thing she had vowed to get off her chest, because she was guilty of more than just having her little kinks.


A week passed and with no more word from Lee’s mother about her vague problem. He had considered asking, but trusted her to know when the time was right. Maybe it wasn’t so important after all, if the matter was forgotten. And not knowing what she did, he slept soundly over those following days, enjoying the lion’s share, as it were.

Gradually Stevie got her sleep back, having forgiven herself for her little slip, though the loneliness didn’t go away. She was a woman. Therefore she could control herself better, and namely by busying herself with her motherly duties.

Saturday morning rolled in bright and warm. Lee slept with his bedroom window blinds open, letting the day stream in uncontested. Come eleven, there was still no sign of life coming from within that room. All the while his mother was stood in the spare room, dressed in one of her form-fitting workout combos – yoga pants and a strappy tank-top – ironing a pile of laundry.

A stack of Lee’s shorts, socks, jeans and t-shirts ironed, Stevie was going to wait not a moment longer, and yet she did not take it with her as she approached his door, listened momentarily, and then quietly opened it to enter.

Her heart leapt up between her lungs and hung there like a daring acrobat. A stifled gasp hung also between her opened lips. The perfect picture, there lay sleeping beauty and with the daddy of all sleep boners.

Something in Stevie didn’t register that this was her son, not at first. All she saw was exactly what her body reacted to, and essentially what it needed – sweet youthful flesh in its prime and very likely able to sate the insatiable.

The sheets flung off sometime in the night, her boy – her handsome muscular boy – lay completely still on his back, softly snoring. One forearm lay draped over his eyes, the hand twitching, maybe holding onto a dream. The other hand did its best to shield his magnificent erection, but covered barely two thirds of his stiffened length as the rest throbbed and pulsated against his hip.

Her mouth dry, her breath long hitched in her throat, Stevie stood mesmerised by the sight. Many an image had been burnt into her brain over the years, courtesy of the infinite sexual melting pot that was the internet.

What she saw with her own eyes, the mouth-watering reality laid just out of reach before her, was what the horniest most erotic dreams were made of. It might have been a crime and a sin combined to have believed she could just help herself to that heart-achingly gifted specimen, but the juice of the most forbidden fruit possibly tasted as good as it smelled there and then, and she could smell him like a big cat could catch the scent of a stag upwind.

It wasn’t long before she was imagining herself riding a cock like that. Or more precisely, riding her son. Oh dear god he would fit so snugly in her moistening depths. It would take a moment or two to accommodate, but she would stretch to fit him like the snuggest velvet glove.

Back up and leave, her mind commanded. But rooted to the laminate flooring, her silent sock-clad feet remained. There she rocked on her heels, stealing just one last glance – just one last lingering glance…

But he began to stir!

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