Mom's Friday Night In

At last, Friday had come round again! My night out! My....... but I'd better begin properly, with an introduction.

My name is Janine Hutton, usually called Jan, and at the time my tale opens I was 39 years old. My husband had died way back 11 years ago, and since my son Peter turned 19 I'd lived alone. And that was when my Friday nights out started, with a couple of girlfriends in much the same situation, i.e. footloose and fancy free!

Nearly every Friday we'd dress up to the nines and hit town, usually the Xigxag Club, and see if we could pull. Men!! Not boys, definitely men. It didn't always work, and not always to all of us on the same evening. But approximately 75% of the Fridays I was lucky. Sometimes it was a man I'd been with before. sometimes one that one of my pals had had, but always a man who had his own home to take me to - no one must know my address, for obvious reasons. Oh, and no doing it in the back of a car; I need more comfort than that.

Physically I'm 5 foot 6 inches tall, brown hair, all my own teeth, and whilst not huge a decent-sized pair of breasts - 34B to be precise. When going out on Fridays I usually wear a tight skirt and a blouse, with sexy underwear that includes suspenders and stockings. Men seem to like this combination and it makes stripping off more tantalising. The tight skirt shows off my bottom better from the side and back.

Anyway. on this particular Friday I had just finished getting ready when my doorbell rang. I hurried downstairs and opened it, and to my surprise there stood my son, Peter. He rarely visited me, staying in touch with regular phone calls and the occasional mid-week night out together. Don't misunderstand, we're very close but don't see each other as often as I'd like only because we're both always so busy. I am department head of accounts for a nationwide construction company and Peter has his own graphic design firm.

Peter leaned forward and kissed my cheek. "Hi, Mom, I thought I'd catch you before you headed out. How's things?"

As I went to reply he stepped into my hall and shut the door behind him. "I'm fine, Peter. Er, have I forgotten an arrangement for tonight? Are we going somewhere?" I didn't think I had, but it was an odd night to see him.

Peter smiled and headed into my living room. Instead of answering he switched on the light and went and drew the curtains. I was puzzled. Then he turned back and slipped off his jacket, tossing it casually on to an armchair. Then he stood still and stared at me, looking me up and down.

"Turn around, Mom, slowly."

'Peter,...... why" I said, but found myself doing as he asked. Asked? Told, really.

As I faced him again he was smiling still, and he moved a couple of steps closer. Reaching out, he stroked my cheek, very gently, and then stepped back again. I felt both warmth and love, but was still puzzling over his presence.

"Mother," he began. He never called me that. "I've been hearing stories about your nights out. About you and you pals. At first I didn't believe them, but suddenly several 'friends' told me the about the same behaviour, so I thought I'd come and check with you."

He paused, and my racing mind tried to invent an answer that sounded trueish. But before ~I could say a thing he spoke again. "Well? Do you behave, or should I say misbehave as I've been told?"

"Peter, dear, I don't know what you've been told. But it sounds as though you've been told a pack of lies."

"So, you don't go into town, looking for... men? You don't let them treat you for an evening and then go home with them? Hmm?

"I... I don't know what to say.....I can't believe anyone.." Peter raised his hand to silence me. "Don't tell lies, Mother, I was told by, amongst others, Jeremy Waites."

Oh. Jeremy. My victim from about a month ago. I had had no idea he knew Peter.

"He gave me a pretty graphic description of what happened, and I just thought I'd check it out for myself. After all, not every man has a slut as his mother."

A slut! Me? No. Good time girl yes, but harmless. Slutty? Gosh no.

"Peter, I have no idea....." I stopped abruptly as my son wagged a finger at me and made a tutting noise.

"You, er, go on the pull is, I think, the phrase. Hmm?"

I hesitated for a few seconds. and realised I must tell the truth. I turned to sit, but Peter took my upper arms and held me in front of him. It was hard to find the words. My mouth was dry. And then he let me go and stepped back again.

"Mother, take your jacket off." For some reason his instruction made no sense. "Now, mother."

My fingers had a life of their own and eased my dark blue jacket off my shoulders, and I carefully laid it on the chair behind me. Peter stood looking at me, letting his gaze slide slowly down my body. It dawned on me that my son was checking me out! What right....and then I felt my body reacting - my heart pounded just like it did when a stranger appraised me. and I found myself glancing down at the front of Peter's trousers - no reaction there.

"Very attractive, I've never seen you in this way before. Now I see why men want to be with you." His eyes were on my chest - my breasts - I was trembling! No!! He was my son for goodness sake!

Peter reached out with his left hand, and, using the top of it he brushed over my breasts. His expression didn't change as he reversed his hand and cupped my right breast. My breathing almost stopped. I knew this was wrong, but it made me tingle. He fondled me gently and then let go.

"Open your blouse."

Those simple words completely froze me. My son wanted to see my breasts! I was so pleased I was wearing my new Honeylux bra. It showed them off to perfection. I mentally shook myself. This was the moment; if I did as asked (ordered?) I was beginning to go down a very slippery slope. Peter opened his mouth intending, I think, to repeat his instruction but at that moment my hands again disobeyed me and began to unbutton my blouse.

Hell's bells! As i slipped each pearl-like button through its hole I felt the first twitching of my vagina and hesitated briefly to savour the thrill. Then I was undone and swept the blouse open to reveal my bra-covered breasts. My body was now beyond my control and I felt my shoulders go back as I thrust my breasts at my son.

Peter was looking at me, at my pale blue Honeylux bra, and at my still very attractive breasts. He reach forward and took each one in his hands and weighed them, then fondled them. His mouth was open in what was obviously delight. My vagina was throbbing.

"Mother, you have fabulous tits," he said as he continued his groping. I stood perfectly still, unable to speak or move. Tits! He called them tits, just like the randy men I usually ended up with. I like the word. Tits.

Suddenly he stopped the fondling and slowly walked around me. I remained paralysed and realised he had stopped behind me. Then his hands took a handful of my ever-so-slightly plump bottom and he fondled me again. His hands moved up and down until I felt him realise I was wearing a garter belt. I heard his breathing quicken as he caressed me. Then he took a firm handful of my bottom. "Mother, tell me what I'm holding" he whispered. I was, for a second, baffled, and then "it's my bottom. You're feeling mummy's bottom."

Peter exhaled sharply and he whispered once more. "No, mother, it's your bum. I'm feeling your bum. Just like I just felt your tits. And now..... take off your skirt." There was no doubt in his voice that I would do as he ordered, and I reached to the back for its zip. He removed his hands and watched. As I began to lower the skirt I had to bend forward and his hands were back on my,,, bum. ..as I did so. He was breathing heavily now as his hands fondled and caressed my bum im my Honeylux matching pale blue panties. My vagina...no hang it,,, my cunt was wet, very wet. I wondered if my son could see a damp patch from behind me.

As my skirt dropped below my knees Peter again took a handful of my bottom. His large hands roamed freely over the tight stretched skin as I bent to step out of my skirt. But now I was quivering with pleasure. No man had ever succeeded in bringing me to this level of sexual anticipation. My tits were aching for another touch from my son's hands and my cunt was leaking juice like I've never experienced it. I wanted to use my fingers to relieve it but somehow knew Peter would not permit that. I stopped at that thought: my son would not permit it? Did he control me? Reluctantly I realised that he did indeed have a hold on me, no matter how tenuous. Put simply, I had become his plaything. No, scrub that - I was becoming no more than a slut, for my son.

My reverie was halted when Peter spoke, loudly, as though repeating something: "Mother, I said lose the bra."

There, I knew it would happen. I was delighted to reach behind me to undo the garment and let it fall to the floor. Now I stood in front of my son, thrusting my naked tits at him and awaiting his next request. Command? I hardly knew what I was thinking - my son was ordering his mother to strip, and I was obeying!

I hadn't long to wait - Peter took my tits into his hands and began to fondle them, and tweaking my nipples till I was ready to cry out. Partly in pain and partly in real sexual pleasure. Oh I was so horny. My cunt was sopping, and I so wanted him to touch it.

"Tell me, mother, is this what you look for on Friday nights? Or do you just let them pull up your skirt and fuck you? A quickie!"

"Peter,,,,,Peter," I could hardly speak. "Peter, I've never.... oh please take off my panties!"

He smiled. "Oh dear, horny are you? Alright, I admit I'm going to fuck you and as long as you please me I won't hurt you." Those words! My knees buckled slightly. My eyes glanced quickly at the stairs as I tried to recall if my bedroom was tidy. Peter obviously caught the glance, and sussed its meaning. "No, mother dear, no bed. You're a slut, and I'm going to fuck you like a slut."

What did he mean? Rarely did my pickups expect quick grope in a car - at least we usually ended up in their bed, or a hotel room. Peter was quick to reveal his idea: still hardily fondling my tits he pushed me towards the settee. " Bend over the arm of the settee, Mother, isn't that what the naughty horny slut does?"

I gulped. This was unexpected. But I now acknowledged I was his slut, and turned my back on him as I draped myself as requested. Feeling very vulnerable I tucked my head down and rested my head on my arms.

"Push that wondrous bum up in the air, spread your legs." Eagerly I obeyed. "How naughty my Mother is - you've got wet panties. That alone makes it quite correct for me to spank you, but....your body had made your son soo randy I can't wait" and as he said this, my panties were jerked down to just below my knees. His fingers sought my cuntlips, confirming my sexually charged state. "Yes!" I murmured, unable to keep quiet. I heard Peter's zip opening, and then he was in me. His cock felt so good - and without hesitation he was pumping me, his thrusts accompanied by short gasps. For myself I was in heaven - my cunt was responding with back thrusts to meet his and I let one of my hands start to hold a bare tit. Then I moved slightly, to allow my other hand to come free and to reach back to my cunt. Oh the feeling as I fingered myself in time to my son's thrusts into my cunt.

Of course, I came. Again and again, as my son's cock spurted his cum into his mommy.

It probably didn't last too long, and I know I was disappointed when Peter pulled out, but boy! did I know I'd been fucked. Nobody had ever made me feel like that. Slowly, very slowly, I eased myself up and turned to look at my son, whose cock now dangled out of his trousers.

Before I could find words Peter had tucked himself away, and then he looked me up and down. "Mother, think about what we've just done. You've stripped on your son's order and let him fuck you. As I said just now..... slutty. I'm leaving now, but I forbid you to go out tonight. Think about how naughty you are." And so saying he turned on his heel and left the house. I was left standing in the middle of my living room, my panties still at my knees and cum dribbling down my inner thighs. My son's cum! Delicious!