SUMMARY: Catching my son nude fucking a MILF changes everything.

NOTE 1: This is a Nude Day 2013 Contest entry so please vote. Please note that nudity is not the main plot of the story and thus may not seem to fit the Nude Day theme…yet I disagree. The whole premise is based on a mother seeing her son nude which triggers a domino effect in her life that changes her from conservative mother to submissive plaything.

NOTE 2: Thanks to MAB7991 again for editing and plot suggestions…you are a lifesaver.


I came home early from work and was surprised to see my son’s car in the driveway. It was only two o’clock; he should still have been at school.

I pulled in, parked, and entered the house. I called out, “Joey,” but there was no answer.

I went upstairs and saw his jeans on the floor in his room and assumed he was in the pool. I walked to his window and looked out. I gasped.

He indeed was in the pool, well his legs were. He was sitting on the edge while a blonde bobbed on his cock. I didn’t recognize the girl, I was too far away, but the window was open, and I could hear my son say, “That’s it slut, suck my cock.”

I was stunned; strangely, this seemed to excite the blonde who began bobbing faster, her whole body in the water except her head. I couldn’t believe my son, a straight ‘A’ student, a member of the church choir and going to Harvard this fall, on an all paid scholarship, was calling another girl a slut.

Part of me was furious at his disrespect for the girl, but also for his disrespect towards me by having sex in my pool. Yet, another part of me was turned on watching the sexual act, myself not having had sex with anyone but myself in over a year, since my husband Jack was killed in a tragic car accident.

I should have pulled myself away from the window and watching my son getting head, I should have went downstairs and confronted him. At the very least, I should have left and dealt with it later. Yet, I did none of those things; instead, I continued to watch him get a blow job, as he continued to humiliate the blonde mystery girl verbally calling her a slut, a cocksucker and his bitch. I tried to get a closer look at the blonde, she looked vaguely familiar, yet I couldn’t place her yet. I couldn’t help but notice that my son, a dead ringer for his father, had a very impressive package down below, at least it looked to be from this distance.

“Ready to get fucked, my MILF plaything?” my son asked, as he slid into the pool.

I suddenly recognized who the mystery blonde was. Jane Wilkinson, a trophy wife from down the street, a stuck-up bitch who wouldn’t give me the time of day and who detested me for being a working woman, a psychiatrist. Luckily, my husband’s life insurance policy was very generous and we were still capable to live the same lifestyle we were accustomed to. We were not rich, like the Wilkinsons, but we were still financially stable and able to live in a rather upscale neighborhood.

I smirked at the thought that the stuck-up bitch was being put in her place by my son.

“You love my cock don’t you, my little slut?”

“God, yes,” she moaned as she bent over the side of the pool as he got positioned behind her.

“Beg slut,” Joey demanded.

“Fuck me, baby, shove that big snake in my cunt,” she begged, listening to her obey him like a bitch in heat was both amazing and arousing.

“Not your ass, slut?” my son questioned, surprising me yet again. I had only had anal sex a couple times, both in college and both times I was very, very drunk. Both times I walked a bit bow-legged the next day, my college ex had a small but thick cock. I would have let Jack take my ass, if he had ever been aggressive enough to try. But he was the utmost gentleman and we always had rather bland sex. I loved him unconditionally, but in the bedroom, I longed for more. I knew without a doubt I was definitely submissive and liked being told what to do…I liked to please…to obey…to be a good bad girl…an oxymoron if there ever was one.

“All my holes are yours, baby,” she answered, sounding just like me all those years ago in my wild college days.

“Tomorrow I am going to pound your ass while your husband is outside entertaining guests,” my son said, as he clearly penetrated her.

“You are such a dirty boy,” she moaned.

“And you’re a dirty slut,” my son countered, as he began fucking her.

“Oh God, I love your cock in me,” she whimpered, as my son slammed into her. My mind flashed back to when I was fucked hard like that, pounded, and used as a fuck-slut. My cunt dampened in my panties at the thought of someday again being fucked hard like my son was fucking that bitch Jane Wilkerson.

“What about your husband’s cock?” Joey asked, although his tone implied he already knew the answer.

“He couldn’t fuck his way out of a wet paper bag,” she said, her tone harsh, her marriage the facade I assumed it was.

“Who owns your cunt?” Joey asked, as he continued fucking her.

“You do, Masssssster,” she squealed.

“Come finish me off me,” Joey demanded, pulling out of her and getting out of the pool, his hard cock swaying like an elephant’s trunk, long and thick. I couldn’t take my eyes off his cock. He laid down on a lawn chair his cock standing completely erect. Jane got out of the pool completely naked and I saw what thousands of dollars can do. Her fake breasts didn’t move as she climbed out of the pool and sauntered like a teenage slut to my son’s cock.

Joey snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground. Jane immediately dropped onto all fours and crawled the rest of the way. Once the submissive slut reached him, he snapped his fingers again and pointed to his cock.

Jane moved to his cock and began bobbing up and down impressively taking most of his cock in her mouth. ‘Well at least she is good at something’ I thought rather cattily.

“That’s it slut, get it all in those sweet cocksucking lips,” Joey groaned.

My hand went inside my pantyhose, inside my drenched panties and to my burning cunt as I continued to watch the taboo act of my son getting head.

I frantically rubbed myself for a couple of minutes and was close to coming when my son turned me on even more by ordering, “Open wide, slut and take your Master’s cum.” Joey sat up and started pumping his cock aimed at her open mouth. I watched as rope after rope after rope of his cum sprayed into the bitches’ mouth and across her face.

I flashbacked once again to my college ex coming on my face while at the lake and making me walk around all night with it on my face. It was so humiliating, yet so satisfying allowing myself to be controlled. Thankfully, it was dark and only my friend Kim noticed the white goo in my hair.

The slut was back deep throating Joey, apparently trying to retrieve any last remnants of his cum.

I fell onto my son’s bed and brought myself to orgasm reminiscing about my slutty college days: my many lesbian encounters, my time as a submissive to my college roommate, my one black man, my one four-way (is that a gang bang?) and my multiple threesomes. As my orgasm crashed through me, I envisioned my face being coated with cum by my son as I eagerly kept my mouth open from my submissive position on my knees. When I finally opened my eyes, my son was smiling down at me.

It was like a cold splash of water as I was instantly brought out of my fantasy and into a cruel reality where I just subconsciously fantasized about my eighteen-year-old son shooting his cum all over my face.

I pulled my hand out of my still trembling cunt and weakly walked out of his room, down the stairs and back to my car. I pulled out of the drive way my head spinning.


Two hours later, I returned home still flushed and rattled by what I had seen and what I had done in my son’s room. I decided I would confront him about what I saw but when I tried to during dinner I couldn’t even begin to bring it up. Near the end of dinner, I attempted to bring it up again.

I asked, “How was school?”

He answered with the most overused answer to the question, “Fine.”

“What did you learn today?” I continued.

“Nothing,” he answered, like he always did, apparently high school was just a glorified babysitting school.

“I saw, I mean I um, so prom is soon,” I finally got out after attempting to bring up what I had witnessed.

“Yep,” he said, his one-word answers suddenly driving me nuts.

“We should go rent you a tux soon,” I suggested.

“I was planning to just wear one of dads,” he replied. My husband had three, as he often had to go to formal dress events as part of his job. I looked at my son, my mind flashing back against my will to his earlier nakedness, and I realized he had a very similar build to his father.

“We’ll let’s try them on,” I suggested. “Make sure they fit.”

“Ok,” he said.

After dinner, I called Joey upstairs and laid out the first tux onto my bed. He came in and I said, “Try it on. Call me when you are done.”

A couple of minutes later he called me and I returned to my room. I gasped. I briefly didn’t see my son, but rather I saw my husband. I stammered, “Y-y-you look exactly like your father.”

“Really?” He said, looking at himself in my full-length mirror.

Without realizing it, I checked out his ass. I quickly shook my head as I realized he had inherited his father’s perfect ass too. “Yes, you look dashingly handsome.”

“It fits perfect,” he said, turning back to me.

I glanced at his crotch, unable to resist, as I agreed, “Yes it does.”

I zoned out for a minute remembering his father and the one time I sucked him off in this very room while Joey was banging on the door. He must have been five and was mad as hell that we were leaving him with a babysitter. Jack was in the same tux and I couldn’t resist devouring him whole.

“Earth to mom,” Joey said.

“What? Oh, sorry, a brief moment of early menopause,” I joked. My face flushed as I wondered how long I was staring at his crotch.

“Mom, you are too young for menopause,” he said, although he had a slight smirk on his face.

I playfully hit him. “Trust me, your mom isn’t getting any younger.”

Joey surprised me when he said, “Mom, maybe it is time you started dating again.”

I was surprised by the sudden turn of events; Joey becoming the adult, while I was the insecure teenager. “I am not ready,” I admitted.

“I hope it is not because of me,” Joey said.

“It is a variety of things,” I answered, which was true. I wasn’t ready to replace Jack, I was worried how Joey would react, and truthfully, I was scared of going back into the open market after being out of the game for over twenty years.

“Mom, you are still a very beautiful woman,” he complimented.

I felt a chill go up my back, as his voice too had transformed to sounding like his father. I stammered, “T-t-thanks, but you have to say that.”

Joey laughed, “Trust me, I am not the only one who says that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused by his innuendo.

“Mom, you must know you are a MILF,” Joey said.

“What’s a MILF?” I asked, the term one I had heard before, but never bothered to inquire the meaning.

“A mom I would like to….” He answered.

“Like to what?” I asked, still clueless.

“Rhymes with duck,” he said, clearly amused by my complete cluelessness.

“Ooooooh,” I said, the light bulb finally flickering on.

“All my friends say so,” Joey continued.

“Oh my God,” I said with a chuckle, “this conversation has taken a turn.”

“The point is Mom, you are still a very hot woman and need to get back out there,” Joey said, a slight shift in his demeanor.

“Did you just call your Mother hot?” I asked, smiling, even as my face felt flushed, memories of earlier today popping into my head.

“Mom you are the hottest woman I know,” he said, moving towards me and giving me a hug.

The words were out of my mouth before I had time to process them. “Hotter than Mrs. Wilkinson?” I asked.

He let go and asked, “W-w-what?”

Realizing what I had just said, I joked, “Oh nothing, you know she just thinks she is all that and a bag of chips.”

He relaxed a bit, assuming his secret was still safe, “You and your eighties sayings. Plus she is all show.”

“How so?” I asked.

“She is all outside dressing,” Joey said.

“You and your 2000s sayings,” I quipped, wanting him to say more.

“She looks good all prim and proper, but underneath she is completely different,” Joey said, a confidence he rarely showed in front of me revealing itself.

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to get him to admit the truth I already knew.

“Well her breasts are definitely fake,” he said.

“But they are huge,” I pointed out.

“And unnatural,” he countered.

“How so?” I asked, setting him up to tell the truth.

“They don’t move when she jogs,” he covered nicely, before admitting, “I’m a guy, sorry I look.”

“Men are all the same,” I replied, playfully hitting him on the shoulder.

“Mom you are an incredibly intelligent, slightly corny, very attractive woman, who would be a great catch,” Joey said. “You deserve a man who knows that.”

I squeezed his hand, apparently flirting with my own son, as I said, “I do have a man who knows that.”

There was a strange silence as our conversation shifted tone. I couldn’t believe what I just said, nor could I believe how giddy I was as I waited for his response, like I was a high school girl in the eighties waiting by the phone for a boy to call.

I broke the awkward silence as I said, “I’ll let you change.” I high tailed it out of my room mortified that I had just hit on my son.

Nothing else was said the rest of the night about that conversation, both of us returning to the superficial mother-son conversations.


That night, in bed, my subconscious drew me deeper into the underlying thoughts that lay just below the surface.

Joey, wearing his father’s tux, in my room, looked at me with a smug smile, “How do I look, mother?”

The way he said mother was completely different from his usual tone and I felt a sexual tension between us, my pussy getting wet staring at my handsome son. “You look very handsome.”

“Not hot?” He asked, his smile, crooked and playful.

“Yes, Joey, you look really hot,” I played along, even though deep down I thought he looked good enough to devour whole.

“On your knees, mother,” he ordered, as he walked over to me in what felt like slow motion.

“P-p-pardon?” I stammered, my cunt instantly damp at his words even as my mind tried to comprehend the four words my son had just said.

“On—your—knees,” he repeated, slowly, as he reached me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

“B-b-but you are my son,” I weakly protested, even as I felt my body giving in to the gentle pressure from his hands guiding me to my knees.

“You crave submission, don’t you Mommy?” he asked, somehow knowing what I craved.

I didn’t respond as I was now crotch level and in a daze.

“Answer the question, Mommy,” he ordered, his stiff cock outlined by the rather tight black pants.

“This is wrong,” I said, even though I couldn’t pull my eyes away from his outlined cock.

“Take it out, Mother,” he instructed. “We both know you want to see it up close.”

“I-I-I shouldn’t,” I weakly replied, even as my hand went and unzipped his zipper.

“Yes, you should,” he firmly responded.

“But I’m your mother,” I pointed out, even as I could see the tip of his cock poking out of his underwear.

“Right now you are just another MILF for my personal enjoyment,” he corrected as he released his fully erect cock out of its restrictive cloth barrier.

“But…” I began but couldn’t finish as I was mesmerized by his long, thick hard cock.

“But what?” He asked, his tone implying he knew exactly why I hadn’t finished my sentence.

Unable to put into words my reasoning to why I shouldn’t be on my knees in front of my eighteen-year-old son, I just sat there frozen unable to take my eyes off his perfect cock.

Seeing he had me exactly where he wanted me, he ordered, “Take my cock in your hands.”

I obeyed, his cock feeling like steel in my small hands.

“Stroke it,” he demanded.

I again obeyed, distancing myself from reality as I focused entirely on the task at hand (pun intended).

“Do you want to suck it?” He asked, a minute later.

“I-I-I don’t know,” I stammered, even as my mouth watered with an insatiable hunger.

He tapped his mushroom top onto my lips as he asked, “Are you sure, you don’t know?”

“Joey, you are my son,” I said, looking up at him.

“And you are a slut, my slut now,” he countered, as he traced my lips with his cock.

My face burned with shame, yet I opened my mouth and took it between my lips.

“Good Mommy,” he purred. “You look so good with my cock in your mouth.”

I slowly swirled my tongue around his cock, in awe with the reality that I was sucking my son’s cock.

“Tell me what you want, Mommy,” he ordered, as he pulled his cock out of my mouth, showing amazing restraint for a teenager.

A switch turned on in my head, I was no longer his mother nor he my son, I was a hungry slut and he a studly teen. I answered, “I want to suck your big hard cock.”

“But you are my Mother,” he replied, using my own weak earlier resistance against me.

His cock swaying slowly like a watch that hypnotized I responded, “No, I am your cock-hungry slut ready to please you.”

“You’ll give me your cunt?” He asked as he shoved his cock in my mouth and back out, a teasing appetizer.

“Yes, fuck my cunt as you wish with that long, thick rod of yours,” I replied, my only focus now giving him pleasure, obeying his words.

“And your ass?” He questioned, as he again shoved his cock in my mouth, slowly fucking my face with his stiff cock.

I didn’t answer because I had a mouth full of cock, but when he pulled out I answered like a good slut is supposed to, “All my holes are yours to use as you wish.”

“Good Mommy,” he purred, as he slid his cock back into my mouth and began slowly fucking my face. My hand went to my cunt and I frantically rubbed my clit trying to bring my fevered cunt to a climax. “That’s it Mommy-slut, get yourself off thinking of being my full-service plaything; my personal fuck-toy; my very own cum bucket; my very own Mommy-slave.”

I rubbed and rubbed, his nasty talk only enhancing my desire to come and to make my son come. My orgasm continued building and just as my son shot a full load of his white seed down my throat my cum flooded out of me like a rapid river.

I woke up in a sweat, my hand in my soaked panties, having apparently came from my shockingly vivid dream. My eyes wide open, my dream came rushing back to me. Had I really just dreamed of becoming my son’s sex slave? Obviously, I had based on my very wet panties. I was mortified by my own thoughts, even if only in dream. Being a psychiatrist, I understand that dreams are often deep down truths in our sub consciousness and thus my incestuous dream was all the more alarming.

I got up, changed my soiled panties, and returned to bed still disturbed by very authentic dream. I eventually concluded it was a mixture of what I saw today and a lack of sex since my husband’s death. I tossed and turned for a while before falling asleep.


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