My 'Working' Mother

"Andy, can you fuck me with this." She offered the black vibrator to me. "And I'll use the other one."

I don't know what came over me. I just took the black vibrator, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, I turned it up full and leaned over and pushed it deep into my own mother's passage. I can even remember thinking that this was the same route through which I'd made my entrance into the world. She gasped with pleasure as I started to plunge it in and out, and then she put the small one back against her clit and smiled happily.

"Oh, Andy." She whispered after a minute or so. "This is heaven. Nobody has tried to help me to cum for years, and I'm going to be there soon, very soon."

She was true to her word, for only seconds later she arched her back, groaned mightily between gritted teeth and squeezed her eyes tight shut. She held that position for what seemed like ages, her breath hissing in little wordless gasps and her hips twitching slightly in midair as I thrust the vibrator into her, until finally she collapsed back onto the bed with all her breath coming out in a whoosh. It may not have been the noisiest or most dramatic way to orgasm that I've ever seen, but it must surely have been a good one, because she lay there totally winded and unable to speak for several minutes, her hands just flapping aimlessly as she tried to convey her delight.

"Thank you, Andy, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

At that moment, inexplicably, my embarrassment and my dismay at what we'd been doing hit me in full force and I bolted, bounding up the stairs and locking myself in my room, not coming out until well into the evening. By that time I'd had time to wank and to come to terms with things, and it's just as well I had because Liz met me with one of 'those' remarks.

"I suppose." She began, wagging a finger at me like some Victorian schoolteacher. "You realise that it's rude to leave a lady like that, with a vibrator stuck up her hole?"

Her mock severity and the mental image generated by her words were enough for me and I collapsed into helpless laughter, followed seconds later by my mother. By the time we'd recovered our respective composure all mention of the afternoon were superfluous, and were never mentioned again.

After that we tackled her clients and her needs in much the same way. I'd keep watch through the mirror and then clean her up after she'd finished with her client. If need be I'd finish her off with a vibrator or, very occasionally, with my fingers, making sure that she had at least one orgasm each day -- my self appointed task! Usually, when that was done Liz would disappear into the shower and I'd shoot off upstairs and have a surreptitious wank, something I didn't think Liz knew about. Then, of course, something happened to change things yet again.

On that particular day, a couple of weeks later, her last client was an art student who came in with hands stained with printing ink, which naturally got transferred to the skin on Liz's back during their session together. No amount of wet wipes would get rid of it and, because it was on her back, she couldn't reach it in the shower. The result was that before I'd scooted off to the privacy of my room and a well earned wank she called to me to scrub her back for her.

I was a little bit reluctant, mainly because I was wearing my favourite shirt and I didn't want to get it wet from leaning into the shower to soap her back, but all that did was trigger a snorted, 'then take your damn clothes off' from Liz. I stripped down, but kept my boxers on in some kind of misguided attempt to keep some decorum and also to hide my erection, and stepped into the shower with her. All the shorts did, of course, was serve to draw attention to my arousal as soon as the water hit the cloth.

"My." Liz observed with a smile. "My little boy really has become a man."

I grinned a little sheepishly, and then turned her round by the shoulders to squirt soap onto her back, hopefully diverting the possibility of similar comments. She rested her hands on the side of the shower cubicle and waited for me to get on with it, and very nice it was too. Isn't it strange how skin feels so much nicer covered in warm water and soap suds? I was enjoying touching her in the shower much more than when she was on her professional bed. Unfortunately the ink wasn't too stubborn and a generous application of liquid soap followed by good rub down soon cleared it, leaving me with no excuse to continue running my hands over my mother's skin.

"Thank you." She told me, turning round, still under the cascade of warm water, and sending her eyes straight to where my cock was trying to burst through my shorts. "You know." She told me, raising her eyes to mine and blinking with the water running from her hair. "I've just realised that you never get any satisfaction, do you?"

I knew just what satisfaction she meant, but I tried to play the innocent. After all, I wasn't sure how she's take the fact that I shot off upstairs for a wank each time.

"Yes, I do. I enjoy sorting things out for you, you know that."

"Yes, I know that. And now I think about it, I can guess why you go up to your room afterwards."

I shrugged. So much for her not knowing I wanked.

"I'm not being very fair, am I?" She asked me, her eyes suddenly serious.

I shook my head, sending droplets of water flying like some wet dog, and shrugged mutely again.

"If you're going to help me out, I ought to help you out, didn't I?"

I could see where this was leading, but I didn't want to believe it. She waited for me to reply, standing close to me with water splashing over both of us.

"I suppose..." I faltered. "But, but you don't need to. You shouldn't. It isn't needed."

"I don't suppose it is, but I'm going to rectify it, starting right now."

She faced me directly and placed her hands on my hips, and then waited to see if I would object. I didn't, but that was more from not understanding or believing her intentions than from consenting. Her hands moved, hooking her fingers under the waistband of my boxers as she dropped to her knees, dragging the last of my clothing down around my ankles and liberating my very hard cock. She took one last look up at me and then, parting her lips as wide as she could, she engulfed my cock deep in her lovely warm mouth.

My instant reaction was to try and pull back in alarm, to stop my mother from giving me a blow job, but she had her hands around my bottom, gripping my cheeks tight and preventing me from moving. Not only that, but she was good too, presumably from much experience, an expert, a professional in both senses of the word, and it didn't take more than seconds before my held was tilted back and I was gasping with pure ecstasy. I let her do it, let her blow me, her son, telling myself all the while that, yes, she was my birth mother, but not my 'proper' mother, she hadn't brought me up, so this wasn't really incestuous - even though it was. I stood there, my legs weakening and my hands on her shoulders to steady myself, my mind racing at the implications, but still mesmerized by the sensations of her tongue on the head of my cock. I wasn't a blow job virgin, but the girls I'd enjoyed before were rank amateurs beside my own mother. The sensations were amazing and it seemed almost immediately that my balls were tightening ready to shoot my load.

"Liz!" I tried to warn her. "Liz, I'm going to cum, Liz, I can't hold back."

She didn't want me to. She gave a little nod of understanding and then cupped my balls in one hand while her mouth did wonders on my cock, until I groaned and pushed, and shot spurt after magical spurt of spunk into my mother's mouth. She milked every last drop from me as I stood trembling and wobbly, with water pouring over my head and down my body.

When she could extract no more, she licked her lips, stood up, turned off the water and then smiled at me, an open, satisfied, happy smile that said much for our relationship.

Later, when we were sitting silently eating our evening meal and contemplating the day's events, she suddenly pointed her fork, replete with potato and cabbage, and made an announcement.

"Right" She began. "From now on, every time you have to finish me off because some punter has left me high, I'll make sure I bring you off too. Is that fair? And is that a deal?"

"You'll bring me off? How?"

I was hoping she'd say with her mouth.

"I've been thinking." She looked at me under lowered eyebrows. "What if when I let you have a freebie fuck?"

That stopped me dead. But then, what's the difference between a shag and a blow job as far as morality is concerned.

"Alright." I said slowly. "But on two conditions."

She looked at me in silent expectation.

"Not downstairs." I didn't want to do it where paying customers did it. "And not after one of your 'special' clients." I didn't fancy sloppy seconds after a punter, either.

"Done!" She exclaimed immediately. "And if I've just been given a pussy full, then I'll blow you instead, how's that?"

That was very good as far as I was concerned, and in fact that's what happened. I've been living with my 'working' mother now for more than a year and we've fucked regularly. In fact, although I maintain my own room for my conscience's sake, I've probably spent more nights in her bed than mine. We don't think about our blood ties, I'm Andy and she is Liz, and the fact that she gave birth to me no longer matters. She won't conceive, and so no incest begotten child will ever appear and I still act as her security, cum maid, cum cleaner, cum lover, and it works for us both. I'm not saying it's right, but it works for us.