I reached down, untied my mother's ankles and picked her up with one arm under her legs and the other behind her back. I carried her to the couch and set her down across my lap. As I gently kissed her forehead, her nose and then her lips, there was a salty taste where she had been perspiring.

With her face turned into my chest, I held her tenderly and waited while she regained her composure. She felt so small and vulnerable; I had an overwhelming desire to rock her gently as if she were a child.

Finally she stirred and swivelled on my knees to put her feet to the floor. After two preparatory rocking movements, she straightened her legs to stand but came back to my lap with a bump. On the second attempt, I helped with a gentle push.

She took a couple of unsteady paces forward and turned to face me. Her bare feet were apart and her arms hung by her side. Her short dark hair, usually neat, was a mess and a lock of it obscured her right eye. Her thin cotton dress was so crumpled it looked like corrugated paper.

She attempted to remove the offending lock by extending her lower lip and blowing upwards but it was unsuccessful. She looked so cute and comical, I felt a bubble of laughter rising but managed to keep a straight face.

With an attempt to regain her dignity, she announced, "I shall now take a shower" and added, "That is of course, with your permission." I waved a gesture of consent.

She took a couple of steps and then remembered that her shoes were still by the chair. As she started to bend down to retrieve them, she realised that her bottom would be towards me so she reached behind and pulled down the crumpled hem with finger and thumb. Then still half-crouching, she shuffled in a semi-circle until she was facing me and narrowed her eyes in an accusing glare. It was a delightful pantomime. Eventually, she left the room with a purposeful step and her head held high.





It was then that I became aware of a damp feeling on my lap and saw the dark patch that must have come from Mother. An examination of the chair confirmed that she had leaked considerably. It took just a few minutes to get a sponge and wipe the chair, thereby saving her embarrassment.

I solved the trouser problem by quietly going to my room and swapping them for a clean pair. I also had to change my boxer shorts.

When she returned to the lounge, she deliberately avoided me to get to a chair. She had completely changed into a three-quarter-length skirt and a blouse buttoned high to the neck. She sat down with her hands folded neatly and stared straight ahead without expression.

As one of us eventually had to break the silence, I said unnecessarily, "I see you've changed Mother."

She turned to me with a look of distain, "I wonder why? By the way, my clothes are in the laundry basket but I left the panties on top in case you want to play with them later. That's what perverts do isn't it?"

I felt the mirth rising again. "Why are you calling me a pervert?"

She assumed a look of disbelief, "Why?" and then more fiercely "Why? Because you sexually assaulted me, that's why"

I said calmly, "No I didn't. I haven't touched you."

She made as if realisation had suddenly dawned and lifted her fingers to her temple. "Oh that's right; it's all coming back to me. Now I remember. I had an irrational impulse to tie myself to a chair and, while still tied, somehow managed to play a pornographic CD. Then I forced you to watch while I abused myself."

I looked at the clock and saw there was still time for a pint. "I'm going to the pub Mother. We'll resolve who did what to whom some other time."

I always kissed her when I left the house but as I moved towards her, she held up both hands in horror and turned her head away. "Oh please; you're not going to rape me now are you?" Nevertheless, I managed to plant a kiss on her forehead without too much resistance.

On Tuesdays, my girlfriend Sue attends her Italian class and Thursdays goes to the gym. She has a stunning body and loves every inch of it. Fridays we go out with our friends and Sundays we both stay at home. We spend the other three evenings together. At nineteen, she's a year younger than me and we both work in IT.

She's very intelligent and highly sexed; and I'm highly sexed. We enjoy masturbating together and each of us takes it in turn to make up erotic stories to enhance the excitement. She's an exhibitionist and loves me watching while she tells me, 'Tony, my pussy's so hot and wet' and 'Oh God I'm cumming. Are you watching me cum?' We're both athletic and we've fucked in just about every position possible.

Anyway, back to Mother. On the evenings that I spent with her, she would read and I would watch TV or surf with my wireless laptop. During the days that followed, neither of us mentioned the bondage incident although Mother's demeanour became quite amusing. I would feel her looking at me but when I glanced up, she would drop her eyes with a little smile.

Once, with a tiny lift of her shoulders, she made a silent giggle. This time, I carried on staring at her until she looked up. Her eyes were wide and innocent, "What?"

"What are you giggling about, Mother?"

"Oh, it's this book", she said. "There are some funny bits in it."

The truth was, she was enjoying the 'I know, that you know, what I know' situation. She had access to my porn CD's and I presumed that she was still masturbating in the afternoons, or whenever. She was certainly watching them because she would occasionally comment on the merit of one.

She'd added 'pussy' and 'clit' to her vocabulary and asked if 'cocks' really came in those sizes. She talked about people 'cumming' but thought 'cunt' was an ugly word and best used to describe the leader of one the political parties.

I was curious about something. My father had died two years previously aged fifty-two so one evening I asked, "Mother, did you enjoy sex with Dad?"

She looked startled and remained silent while she thought about her loyalty to him. Finally, she said, "Not much".

I continued, "Did he satisfy you? Did you achieve orgasms?"

She laughed. "I don't think he knew that women are supposed to have them. He would roll on, put it in, give a few pushes until he was satisfied and then roll off. Once when he kept going for as long as ninety seconds, I felt a strange sensation but it didn't last. After he'd gone to sleep, I touched myself and had a little orgasm. It was my first ever and I gave a squeak. After that, I always did it when he was asleep."

I looked at her sadly. "Was sex always in bed?"

"Yep," She replied, "and in the dark. In twenty years, he never saw me naked or I him."

There was nothing I could do about her past but, at forty-two, she was still young enough to have a sexual future; although I had no idea how to help her achieve that.

The next weekend was 'Mothering Sunday' and Sue and her parents plus Mother and I went for lunch at her dad's golf club. We had champagne when we arrived and then wine with the lunch.

However, Mother cannot hold her drink and it soon showed as she flirted outrageously with Sue's dad. But I did the same with her mum, and Sue was generously tolerant.

Mother and I had cabbed there and back and we got home about six o'clock. She changed out of her good clothes and flopped down in a chair with her feet outstretched. I also changed and relaxed on the couch.

Suddenly, Mother came over and squirmed on to my lap. She'd never voluntarily done that before. She reached with her left hand and pulled my head down so she could wetly kiss the side of my neck. "I've had a lovely time today; thank you Anthony."

I smiled down at her, "I enjoyed it too Mother."

Her was very giggly and her face was still flushed with alcohol. She pulled my head down again and put her lips to my ear. It was mostly hot breath and giggles but she eventually said, "I want to ask you something."

I replied, "Go ahead."

She had several attempts to ask her question and finally, with more hot breath in my ear, she managed to say, "When you masturbate, do you think naughty thoughts?" and promptly collapsed with her hands over her face in feigned embarrassment.

I don't know why but I had reservations about answering, so I said, "Mother, you're tiddly and you're not going to feel very well in the morning."

She pouted, "Oh pooh, answer the question."

I could see this was leading up to something but I didn't know what. "Yes I do, I think most people have erotic thoughts that help them cum."

She persisted, "Tell me what you think about."

As we had an open relationship, if somewhat unusual, I answered truthfully. "I have lots of different ones. Sometimes I imagine I'm watching a young girl masturbate but she doesn't know that I can see her. When she cums, so do I. Sometimes, I'm spying on two girls who are experiencing their first lesbian encounter. I also think about Sue and some of the sex we have. Why, what do you think about?"

She ignored my question and put her mouth to my ear again, "Do you ever think about me?" She whispered.

I replied sternly, "No I don't and I hope you don't think about me. We must have a rule Mother, I don't touch you and you don't touch me. Understand?"

She giggled, "I was just teasing you. It wouldn't be nice if you were doing naughty things to me without me knowing about it." But she added, "Although it would be flattering."

She shifted her position to get more comfortable. "My problem is I don't have a very good imagination and no experiences to recall. Why don't you tell me an erotic story and I'll remember it for next time?"

She was obviously feeling sexy but as the alcohol was probably causing that, I thought about my reply carefully, "I'll tell you what. I'll make one up on my computer and print it out for you to read when you're in the mood."

She was insistent, "No, tell me one now."

There seemed to be no way out it, so I started in an ordinary voice and without emotion, "It's afternoon and you're sitting in a cinema which is nearly empty and you have a row to yourself. A man comes along your row and sits down two seats away."

She looked up and said irritably, "Why are you gabbling? Talk slowly; it's supposed to be an erotic story, you're not reading the news."

I sighed, "Mother, you're going to get horny, I can tell."

She looked petulant, "So what, it's Mother's Day. Now try again and make it sound sexy." She stretched full length across my lap with her head resting on a cushion and wriggled to get comfortable. "OK I'm ready, you can start."

Well I've had plenty of practice with Sue and I can tell a good story. So I set off again in a softer voice "It's afternoon and you're in a nearly empty cinema with a whole row to yourself. You're suddenly aware that someone is sitting down two seats to your left.

You turn to see who it is and it's a young man. You look left and right and wonder why he chose that seat with the whole row available. You continue to watch the film but you sense that he's looking at you. You're nervous but there are people near you so you feel safe.

Now he's getting up slowly but to your surprise, instead of moving away, he's sitting down beside you.

Suddenly you're scared and your heart starts to beat quickly. Why has he moved next to you? You take your arm from the chair rest onto your lap and press your knees together. You're looking at the screen but not watching the film any more because you're worried that he's going to do or say something.

It's all right, it doesn't seem that he's going to do anything.

Oh God, yes he is; he's putting his hand on your thigh. Your heart is starting to pound but you're too frightened to move. What should you do? You want to get up and run but your legs won't let you. Your mind is screaming to your body "Get up for God's sake" but you're paralysed with fear.

Now he's inching up your dress and it's already above your knees.

You've got to stop him, you must stop him! Oh Jesus, he's putting his hand on your bare thigh. Why are you letting him do this? He's moving his hand higher and the tips of his fingers are softly caressing between your closed thighs."

Mother shifted slightly and put her hand on her left breast. She moved her right hand down between her legs but still outside her dress. Softly, she murmured, "He's a naughty young man."

I continued in an urgent tone, "Your heart is racing and you want him to stop touching you. But do you really want him to stop? With an effort you turn your head to look at him but he's staring straight ahead without any expression. Surely this can't be really happening? You look down and yes it is!

His fingers are now pressing gently but firmly between your knees. Oh God, he wants you to open your legs. Why are you opening your legs? This is insane!

His hand is warm and slowly moving between your thighs towards your panties. Now he's stroking your pussy through your panties. Your body is so heavy you're sinking into the chair and your head is going to explode.

His fingers have gone back to the top of your panties and he's slipping them under the band. Now he's moving them down again. He's going to touch your naked pussy and you feel helpless. It's terrifying but exciting.

Surely you must stop him but your pussy doesn't want him to stop; it's anticipating those fingers. It's waiting and opening like a soft wet flower.

His fingers have arrived and he's slipping two inside you. You gasp as his fingers slide deep and then upwards, gently gripping your clitoris between them. Your body is throbbing with the delicious sensation and your pussy juices are soaking your thighs."

Mother was pulling up her dress and opening her legs. I watched while she pushed her fingers under the band of her panties and downwards. Her eyes were shut and she was breathing through her mouth.

"You're frightened but your body is paralysed with pleasure and you can only move your eyes. You look left and he's taking out his cock and gripping it. It's long and thick and he's sliding his hand slowly up and down as his fingers caress your pussy.

Now he's taking his hand out of your panties and getting down on his knees. What is he going to do? Oh God, he's getting between your legs. He's reaching up to take off your panties. Why are you lifting your bottom to let him do that? Are you crazy?"

Mother suddenly lifted herself said, "Take them off."

I said, "What?"

She was insistent, "He's taking off my panties. Take them off." She meant it, so I slid them off.

She lifted again and pulled her dress up to her waist. For the first time I saw my Mother's vagina. I didn't know what to expect but it was really cute. It was unshaven with dark pubic hair and very wet and the labia were swollen and glistening with excitement. She was rotating her fingers slowly inside the puffy crimson lips and, as they spread from her touch, there was a soft liquid sound. I was directly above and the acrid scent of her juices filled the air.

I decided to let her take over. I asked softly, "What's he doing Mother?"

She was breathless and could hardly speak. "He's kissing the insides of my thighs." Her clitoris was peeping out from its hood and her fingers began to encircle it.

I asked again, "What's he doing now?"

She was gasping. "Oh God, he's going to tongue me."

Suddenly she bought both knees up until they were wide apart with her bare heels pulling tightly against my right side. "Oh Jesus, he's licking my wet pussy." Her fingers were now his imaginary tongue as they caressed the drenched slit of her vagina.

She had become emotionally hypnotised and her imagination was now totally in control. "Oh God, he's sucking my clit, he's trying to make me cum." As her mind experienced her erotic fantasy, her fingers began to flick her protruding clitoris.

Her voice became desperate, "I'm going to cum. Oh God, I'm cumming."

As the exquisite sensations started, she stopped breathing and her fingers gouged deep into her pussy. It looked painful to me but the intensity of her pleasure was forcing her to do it.

As the ecstasy increased, her body began to rise with her weight evenly distributed between the soles of her feet and her shoulders. Her head was straining back and she lifted crablike until her bottom was high above my lap.

The first orgasm was intense causing her pelvis to thrust forward violently. Her eyes were shut and she gave a long harsh groan. Almost immediately, she came a second time and convulsed again with a gasp of, "Jesus".

Still rigidly suspended and with her thighs wide apart, her fingers continued to grind fiercely in deep circles. As a third orgasm jerked her body, she moaned despairingly, "Oh God, I can't stop cumming."

But that was the last one and she collapsed slowly down to my lap. She cupped her hand and sank her fingers deep into her sopping crevice and kneaded it gently as the exquisite pleasure slowly faded. Eventually, she became motionless and lay in exhaustion with her arms by her side and her knees slightly bent and open.

After a minute or so, she made the effort to straighten her legs and brought them together. She lifted her head and looked down the length of her body, realising that her dress was still up to her waist. She lifted her bottom and pulled down the hem to cover her exposure. That was a nice touch, I thought, even if somewhat irrelevant.

I wondered who was going to speak first and the minutes dragged by. Finally, I thought I'd better say something, so I asked, "What was the film about Mother?"

She exploded with laughter and reached with her arms for me to lift her. She turned my head towards her face and kissed me firmly on the lips but there was nothing sensual about it.

Her eyes were shining with delight and I'd never seen her look so pretty. She said, "I'm getting really naughty aren't I."

I wondered how naughty she intended to get?