Chapter 1

Oh shit, I can't believe what happened. Oh yeah, it's me ... Tim. You know, the asshole who forced his mother to have sex with him. I still can't believe I got away with that dumb scheme, but I did. Well, sort of. At first anyway. My mom was too embarrassed to call the cops and afterwards when we made love she was just so happy that nothing else mattered. Even my guilt was fading. Everything was working out great -- that is until it all blew up in my face.

I was staring up at the ceiling lying next to my mother's nude, sweaty body. We were in her big king-size bed. I hardly ever slept in my own room anymore. Glancing to the left I saw contentment on my mother's face. Her breaths were deep and slow -- she had been on top which she finds more strenuous. I guess when she's in control she really lets go. I can still see her blonde hair whipping about and sweat dripping down her face. Maybe it's not ladylike to perspire, but it sure is hot when having sex! Especially when her cunt grips my cock like a fist as she's bouncing up and down on it.

"Mom?" My voice was soft, hesitant.

"Yes I loved it."

"Um, me too, but ... well, that's not what I was asking. Did my father have dark hair like Grandpa?"

Her eyes snapped open and she turned to me. "What do you mean?" It was clear it was an uncomfortable subject for her, but I guess at 15 years old I was curious about the father I had never met.

"Well you're so blonde and I have dark brown hair like Grandpa. I was wondering if I got Grandpa's genes or if it came from my father."

"Grandpa has gray hair."

"Yeah, now, but it didn't always have gray in it."

Mom turned onto her side and stroked my face. "Your father had the same color hair as you."

After hesitating, thick silence hanging in the air, I said, "Did he live--?"

"Tim, honey, why are you all of a sudden interested in your father?"

"I don't know. You never speak about him and ... so ... I'm just curious."

"Maybe some day I can tell you about him, but not now. Please let it go ... for me. Okay?"

My mother's fingers were curled loosely around my slimy dick which had stiffened the moment she touched it. Her fist slid up and down and all thoughts of my father evaporated. She lifted up slightly on her free elbow, her face hovering above me. Her eyes looked like she wanted to tell me something, but then she pressed her lips to mine. I thrust my tongue out, but her mouth didn't open. She pulled away.

"You know what I like about you?" she asked, and without waiting for a reply squeezed my dick and said, "You get so hard so fast."

Again our mouths meshed, her tongue pushing my lips apart. Her tongue found mine and they thrashed against each other while she crushed her mouth against me so hard I felt her teeth. Flinging a leg over mine, she ground her pussy on my thigh.

My arms encircled her, holding her tight, and then one hand slid down her back raising goose bumps as my fingertips caressed her warm skin. My arm stretched until my hand covered her round ass. She moaned into my mouth when my fingers dug into her meaty buttock and squeezed hard. Her pussy rubbed against my leg harder. I didn't do it consciously, but the tip of my finger dipped into her asshole.

My mother's head shot up and she stared down at me, eyes wide. "What's my little boy doing back there?"

"I'm sorry," I said yanking my hand away.

"I'm not mad. You just never did that before."

"It sort of slipped inside."

"Yeah, like when you climb between my legs and your big, hard cock just slips into my pussy."

"No, Mom, I meant it. I mean I didn't mean it. I mean I didn't mean to do it and I meant it when I told you that."

A huge grin spread across her face. She reached behind her and grabbed my forearm, and then her hand slid down to my wrist and then onto my hand. Locating my index finger, she pulled it to her ass-crack and guided it to her hole. When she pushed it, my fingertip popped into her anus again. This time my eyes opened wide.

"I know what you meant," she said, still smiling but her eyes were filled with lust. I've learned to recognize that look. "If you don't want to do it, you don't have to. But if you want to, you can. There are no taboos between us. Whatever makes us happy is okay."

I pushed my finger deeper into her. Knowing where my finger was felt kind of icky, but sexy too. Mom's eyes closed and her mouth opened. The smile was gone, but her legs clamped tightly around mine and her face dropped onto my chest. I pulled my finger out partway and gently shoved it back in. Mom sighed loudly, her breath tickling my hairless chest, her hips humping, her pussy wetting my leg. I stroked her hair with my free hand.

"Oh, baby, I love you so much," she said softly, her tongue flicking at my skin.

We stayed like that for a while and then Mom pushed up onto her forearms, staring down at me. "Do you want to fuck me in the ass?"

"Have you ever done that?"

"No, but if you want to I will let you."

"I don't think I wanna."

"Okay, honey, I was just asking. We'll never force each other to do anything we don't want to do."

Guilt consumed me! I had forced her to do a lot she didn't want to. Thankfully she distracted me. Sliding her hand under me, she leaned to the left. I don't think she was strong enough to actually move me, but I willing rolled over. She was now on her back and I was on top of her -- with her legs spread.

I may be young, but Mom didn't raise a dummy. Much more experienced now, I didn't even need my hands to guide my cock to the proper place. I tilted my hips, felt the tip of my hard cock sink into her pussy, and thrust. Mom let out a little squeal and her legs flew into the air, coming down on my back, her ankles locked. Her hand cupped the back of my head and she pulled it down so that our lips were together, our tongues alternating between each other's mouth. And then, with her legs locked around my body and her arms around my neck, we fucked.

Like I said, everything was going great!

But then one day, the telephone rang while we were having dinner. Mom answered it. She spoke for a while and then came back to the table.

"That was Mr. Jackson," she said.

"My Mr. Jackson?"

"Yep, your math teacher. Is everything going okay in math?"

"Yeah, sure. Why?"

"Because he wants a follow-up to our teacher/parent conference. Are you sure you're doing well?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I think so. Yeah, I do well on my tests and stuff and I participate in class. Yeah, everything's cool."

"Funny, though, he wants to meet here," Mom said, sort of speaking to herself. Then she looked up. "Is that normal?"

"I dunno. I guess so if my teacher says so."

We finished dinner. I was nervous the whole time and my mother was quiet too. I was sure I was doing okay in math, but why did my teacher want to speak to my mother? And he was coming to our house. Teachers don't make house calls. Like every other teenager, I was sure I had done something wrong. Maybe it had nothing to do with my grades. I wondered if it was because I'm a jokester. He was one of the teachers always telling me to grow up.

The next day after dinner the doorbell rang at the set time. I opened the door and took a step back. It wasn't because Mr. Jackson was a big man, I was used to that, but he always wore a suit to school. Even though some other teachers dressed casually, Mr. Jackson didn't. I think it's because he grew up in the slums and wanted everyone to see how successful he was. Or maybe it's because he was one of the few black teachers in the school. But standing on my porch, he was in a polo shirt and jeans. It was odd for any teacher to be dressed like that meeting with a parent, and especially for Mr. Jackson.

I was staring at the way the white shirtsleeves dug into his bulging black biceps when he said, "May I come in?"

"Of course. I'm sorry. Please come in."

My mother walked up to Mr. Jackson with her arm extended. They shook hands and I noticed my mother try to pull hers away, but Mr. Jackson didn't let go right away. Then my mother led him into the living room. She offered him the chair and she sat on the couch.

"Should Tim be here for this?" my mother asked.

"Yes, it concerns him too."

I plopped down on the other side of the sofa.

"Are Tim's grades okay?" Mom asked.

"Yes, they're fine."

After first looking at me and then back to my teacher, Mom asked, "What then?"

"He's acting inappropriately."

"He is. I can't believe that."

"You should know."

"I beg your pardon."

"Remember our last conference?" Mr. Jackson asked.

"Yes, you said everything was fine. It wasn't that long ago."

"Well, do you remember what happened afterwards?"

My mother stared blankly and then turned to me. She looked back at my teacher and said, "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

Mr. Jackson leaned forward with his forearms on his knees, his large hands clasped. "You must be a horny bitch to let him feel you up on school grounds."

My mother's mouth opened wide and her face paled. Her whole body trembled. "Get out of my house! Get out right now! Who do you think you are? Get out!"

I never saw my mother so mad, even when I broke her favorite vase trying out a new tennis racket -- in the living room! She was on her feet, her arms crossed over her chest, her face burning red.

"Ms. Swanson, sit down," Mr. Jackson said calmly.

"I will not! Get out of my house!"

"I saw you two, you know. You and Tim. I saw you kiss and touch each other."

Mom turned white again and collapsed onto the couch. She stared at the large black man, her fists clenching and unclenching.

"And I saw you two in your bedroom. You should really close your drapes. Just because you don't have a neighbor that can see in, it would be the prudent thing to do under the circumstances."

My mother finally regained her wits. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

Mr. Jackson lifted his black leather briefcase onto his lap and snapped it open, the sound causing both Mom and me to flinch. His hand came out holding an 8x11 paper which, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed like a Frisbee towards Mom. It sailed through the air and dove at her feet. She leaned over and her hand instantly covered her open mouth. Her body went limp and she fell back onto the couch, pale and trembling.

I scooted closer to her and looked down. It was a photograph of us, in her bed, my cock in her mouth. Both our faces were clearly recognizable -- and we were naked. I picked up the photograph and tore it into a zillion pieces.

"Don't you wish it was that easy?" Mr. Jackson said to me. "I have the original and a lot more. Your mother told you to keep your hands off her after the conference. I guess you should have listened. Then I wouldn't have gone snooping."

I had a sunken feeling remembering that day. Mr. Jackson was right. Mom had told me to stop. We were in an area void of people so I felt safe. Stupid me. I remember kissing her hard and squeezing her tits and ass, right there on school grounds. It wasn't until my hand went up her dress and I cupped her pussy that she forcefully pushed me away and told me to wait until we got home. How was I to know that's where Mr. Jackson smoked his cigarettes?

"What are you going to do?" my mother asked, her voice timid, shaky.

"That depends on you." My mother stared at him. "You're a fine piece of white ass. It's time your son shared."

"Are you out of your mind?" my mother said incredulously, her voice raising an octave at the end. "You expect me to have sex with you?"

"Either me or the dikes in prison. And they ain't as pretty as me." Mr. Jackson's white teeth showed when his fat lips parted in a sneer.

Mom looked at me -- my eyes dropped to my lap. When I looked up she was glaring at my math teacher.

"Let's see what you got under those clothes," Mr. Jackson said.

"Tim, please leave the room," Mom said.

"No, he's to stay. Anyway, it won't be anything he hasn't already seen. Who knows, maybe he'll get so worked up he'll give you a good fucking later."

My mother stood and walked to the middle of the room. I don't think she wanted to be closer to my teacher, but rather to have her back to me. She pulled her tee-shirt over her head. Knowing Mr. Jackson was coming, she was wearing a bra. She flipped her sandals off and then opened her pants, pushing them down her legs. When she bent to remove them, her beautiful round ass stuck out towards me encased in shear, black bikini panties. I glanced past her at Mr. Jackson. He was taking deep breaths, his eyes locked on her body. Mom's arms curled behind her and she unclasped her bra. With a flick of her shoulders, it fell to her feet. In one quick motion, she pushed her panties down and stepped out of them. She stood tall, but I noticed her body trembling slightly.

"Yesiree, that's Grade-A white meat," Mr. Jackson said licking his fat lips. "Now let me introduce you to black cock."

Once more that knot formed in my gut and I felt nauseated. Again my mother was being forced against her will, and I was to blame. Maybe not directly this time but, nonetheless, it was my doing.

"Please, Mr. Jackson, don't do this," I pleaded.

My mother looked over her shoulder and I saw for the first time her tear-stained cheeks. She was pale and stared at me as if looking into space. Her head spun around at the sound of Mr. Jackson's booming voice.

"Why should you have all the fun?" he said, staring at my mother's nudity even though he was talking to me. "The slut can handle both of us."

I cringed at him calling my mother that demeaning name. Not being able to see her face I wondered how she had reacted to the slur.