The Incest Pictures

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I woke up and glanced at the bedside clock; 2-35 am. Thank God it was Saturday tomorrow and I could lie in a bit longer.

I felt thirsty, so reluctantly I got out of bed and going to the underwear drawer I got out a pair of jockey shorts and pulled them on. I always slept naked and the shorts were a precaution against someone seeing me nude, though God knows why I bothered since there was only mother in the place apart from me, and she would be asleep.

I left the bedroom and padded quietly down the passageway to the kitchen, took a drink of water and started to go back to my bedroom.

I hadn’t noticed it when I’d left the bedroom because the computer room was in the other direction from the kitchen, but on my return I noticed that the computer room door was just a crack open and there was a bluish light showing.

“Blast,” I thought, “I must have left the damned computer on.”

Then I thought I distinctly remembered turning it off, but no matter, it was on now so….

I pushed the door open and stepped into the room and stood stock still. Mother was sitting in front of the computer staring intently at the screen. I’d come in quietly and she hadn’t heard me, but she did hear my startled intake of breath when I saw what she was looking at.

She gasped and swung the swivel desk chair round so that she faced me.

There was a moment of silence as we stared at each other and I don’t know who was the most startled and embarrassed. On mother’s side it was being caught looking at an erotic site; on my side it was knowing how she’d come to be looking at it.

It happened to be one of the sites I often looked at and I’d got it set as a favourite. Mother must have been casually hunting around and come across it.

Mother was the first to speak.

“I…I couldn’t sleep so I was…was just playing around with the…I found…it’s one of your favourites isn’t it?”

There was no point in lying since it was obviously set as one of my favourites, so somewhat red faced I said “Yes.”

“You look at this sort of thing often?”

“Oh no, not often,” I replied, thinking that it would all depend on how you defined “often.”

I waited for her to berate me, telling me I was a lecher, filthy minded, or something like that. What she said shook me somewhat.

She swung the chair round again so that she was facing the screen and said, “It is rather beautiful, isn’t it?”

“You…you think so?”

“You seem surprised. I took it that since you’ve got it as one of your favourites you’d think it was beautiful; or is it just the sex that interests you?”

“Well, no, not just the sex it’s…it’s…”

“Rather moving isn’t? They may of course be just models and not mother and son, but they certainly convey a sense of love and not just raw lust.”

What she’d been looking at was a series of four pictures of a woman who appeared to be in her mid thirties and a young man or should I say boy, who looked about eighteen or nineteen.

Well, there’s no point in beating about the bush. The pictures were part of a mother and son incest site, and from the first time I’d seen them I’d been captivated. Much of the material on this and other incest sites promoted themselves as being nasty and having sexy slut mothers being fucked by horny sons and so on.

These pictures were different. Whether the couple were genuinely mother and son there was no way of knowing, but the pictures portrayed what seemed to be a tender, loving relationship with a hint of shyness.

In the first picture the mother was sitting and the boy was standing in front of her. The boy was naked and his penis was level with her face and his hand was touching one of her breasts.

The mother was not completely nude in the first picture. She was naked down to the waist, and at her waist was what I took to be a nightdress that had been pulled down.

It had been the woman’s attitude that had first appealed to me. She was not the world’s most beautiful woman — whatever that means — she was in fact very slender. In none of the pictures could I get any clear idea of how tall she was.

Blonde hair hung in a single plait over one shoulder; her brow smooth and serene, almost like a child’s, and child-like too was her slightly tilted nose above full, finely defined lips; sensual yet at the same time grave and sensitive. Between narrow lids her green eyes had a brooding look about them.

Her breasts were not large and dropped down a little, but with well defined forward pointing nipples.

One of her features that often drew my attention was her long thighs that gave promise of a powerful grasp round the boy — this was portrayed in the last picture of the series.

Yet for me there was something more than this. What she was sitting on could not be properly seen; certainly it was backless, and as she sat her head was turned slightly away from the young man and his penis that was so close to her face.

On her face was a look of tenderness combined with what I interpreted as shyness. This escort ataşehir for me was more alluring than all the more blatant and coarse pictures. I longed to be the young man in the picture, to be there to enjoy this woman with her touch of reserve, or was it modesty?

The next picture in the series showed the woman holding the young man’s penis with her hand while her lips closed over its head. Next he was kneeling before her, his head between her widely parted legs and her hands behind his head.

The last picture showed them on a couch or divan, the boy on top of her, her legs wrapped round him.

In a sense it was all very frustrating. I wanted to know how they came to be together like that in the first place; who said what to whom to bring about this scene of loving sexual encounter, and what went on between the successive pictures.

I used to sit there looking at them and imagining the circumstances, trying to fill in the gaps.

I envied the boy – the son if that is what he really was. I longed to be there with that sensitive looking woman; to kiss her, touch her breasts; to taste and smell her sex organ; to feel her lips over my penis and to shoot my sperm into her warm, moist tunnel of love; to hear her cry out as she climaxed, and afterwards lie with her in my arms.

Often I sat looking at those pictures, and if I thought there was no danger of being discovered I would masturbate.

I thought mother would be disgusted that her son looked at such things; that she thought the pictures beautiful was a surprise despite the fact that her opinion coincided with mine regarding the beauty of the scene.

“You…you really think they’re beautiful?” I asked

She turned back to the screen saying, “Yes…yes I do; I can understand why you’ve got them as one of your favourites. She’s…she’s…I don’t know…not beautiful, not even obviously sexy, but somehow appealing. And the boy…well…he’s…he’s really quite a hunk isn’t he?”

I must admit I’d never been particularly interested in the boy apart from feeling envious.

Mother gazed at the pictures for a bit longer then said very quietly, “He looks a little like you, don’t you think?”

I had never expected mother to find my little fantasy world, but she had and I was somewhat relieved that she hadn’t been shocked. The trouble was, she was now taking things in a direction I didn’t want them to go.

“Yes…yes, I suppose he does resemble me just a bit,” I said, hoping that mother wouldn’t take the next step.

She did take it. “Darling, the woman…don’t you think she…she looks a bit like me?”

That was it and I’d better tell all. You see, the fantasy I had about those pictures was only a substitute for another fantasy I had about a flesh and blood woman. The fantasy I had for the real woman was almost unbearable because it could never become reality and so fantasising over the pictures was safe. They served as a sort of safety valve for my — well, to put it in Freudian terms – the raging passions of my Id.

“Don’t let her ask…please don’t let her ask,” I silently implored a deity that I rarely communicated with.

Perhaps it was this lack of communication with the deity that brought the punishment down on me.

“Terence,” mother asked gravely — she always called me Terence when she had something serious to say to me — “do you look at these pictures because the boy and woman resemble you and me?”

I tried to evade a direct answer.

“Oh, I don’t think they really look like you and me.”

There was no escape.

“Yes, they do, and I think you know they do.”

“Well, perhaps a little, but that isn’t why I…”

“Don’t Terry,” (“Terry,” that was better), “don’t tell me that isn’t why you look at them, because I won’t believe you; I think that’s exactly why you look at them. I’ve wanted to get this out in front of us for some time but I’ve never known how; these pictures have given me the opportunity.”

“Have they…I don’t unders…”

“Yes you do Terence; you understand very well and so do I, so do you tell me, or do I tell you?”

I stood silent as she sat looking up at me intently.

Mother let it hang for a minute or so and then said, “All right Terry, you won’t say it so I will. For a long time now you’ve had a thing for me, haven’t you?”

Prevaricating I stuttered, “A…a thing?”

Mother was looking at me keenly, those all seeing emerald eyes boring into me.

“Don’t play dumb with me Terence, you know what I mean; if I must spell it out, you fancy me sexually.”

I couldn’t look at her as I said, “Yes, I do, but…”

“And these pictures have been a substitute for the sort of relationship you’d like to have with me, haven’t they?”

“Yes, but I’d never have tried to…you know…with you…”

“So you prefer the substitute for the real thing?”

“Yes…no…yes…I mean, I can’t have the real…you…”

I dimly realised we were at a turning point in our relationship. Whatever was said now was sure kadıköy escort bayan to define our future together, if there was to be any future together.

“Mother, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to have…those sorts of feelings for you but…”

She suddenly smiled; “So you’re sorry you’ve got those sorts of feelings for me; why, are they so unpleasant?”

“No…no, of course not; it’s just that…well…I thought if you knew about them you’d be horrified; you’d think I was perverted.”

“Well I do know about them now, and I’m not horrified and I don’t think you’re perverted.”

“You don’t?”

“Terry, you’re being deliberately obtuse. You’re supposed by a smart uni student you must know that…well if you haven’t read about it I have. Mothers and son often have sexual feelings about each other.”

“Do they?” I asked, trying to sound ingenuous. I’d read about that too but wasn’t going to admit it, and in any case I knew from my own experience that sons — or this son at least — had sexual feelings about their mothers.

“Of course they do, why else are mother and son incest sites so popular?” mother said decisively. You only have to look at these pictures to see…”

“Yes, but are they really mother and son?” I interrupted.

“That’s a point,” she said, “but even if they aren’t really mother and son it goes to show…”

I interrupted again, trying to change the direction of the talk.

“You know, I’ve often tried to fill in the interstices between the pictures.”

“The inter what?”

“You know the gaps. How did they get started and what went on between the pictures; I sometimes make up stories about how it all happened.”

“Do you?” Mother looked intently at the screen again.

“Yes, I see what you mean. How did they get started? It must have been difficult for one of them to take the first step.”

“Mmm, that’s always puzzled me.”

Mother swung the chair round to face me again and said brightly, “Let’s try and work it out, unless of course you’re too tired and want to get back to bed.”

“No…no, what do we do?”

“First we set the scene — work out their situation.”


“Use your imagination, Terry, be creative.”

“Ah, yes…er…”

“She’s a divorcee who has her son living with her.”

“That’s not very creative mum, that’s our situation.”

“I know it’s our situation sweetheart,” mother said with heavy patience, “so have you got a better idea?”

“No…no, that’s fine. So she’s a divorcee and she has a lover, or even lots of lovers; yes that’s it she…”

“No that isn’t it, she not that sort of woman. She only gives herself to someone she loves.”

“There aren’t many women like these days.”

“All right, she’s one of the minority and…”

“She doesn’t have a very strong sex drive.”

“Yes, she does, she got a very strong sex drive; it’s just that she doesn’t just…just…er…express it with anyone.”


“Who does she love most…?”


“Terence, if we’re going to work out the scenario properly, then stop coming out with silly comments — and stop standing there like that, looming over me; pull up that chair and sit beside me and we can both look at the pictures properly for inspiration.”

I pulled up a chair beside her and we both sat silently looking at the pictures for a while.

Mother, speaking slowly said, “She loves her son, they see each other day after day and she aware that he has sexual feelings for her.”

“And she gets turned on by him.”

“Yes, if you must put it that way.”

“What way would you put it?”

“He’s deeply in love with her and she responds to this love; she has…er…tender feelings for him, she wants to give herself to him but doesn’t know how.”

“What about him?”

“Well of course she’s the maturer of the two and he hasn’t had much sexual experience.”

“That’s not true,” I started to protest; then suddenly realising I was giving myself away I changed to, “He’s had some sexual experience.”

“A little, yes, but the mother realises that although he’s absolutely infatuated with her he’s never going to make a move.”

“No, well, he wouldn’t would he; I mean, incest, the way people talk about it and the way it’s presented in the media its made to sound worse than rape or murder by slow torture.”

Mother sighed and said, “Yes, even when it’s between consenting adults.”

“So they’re never going to get together?”

“Well if the pictures are to be believed, yes they do get together, but how…how…”

“That’s what we’re supposed to be working out.”

“I know;” mother paused for a moment then said enthusiastically, “I’ve got it. In the middle of the night the boy finds his mother looking at some lovely incest pictures on the computer and…”

“Like us tonight?”

“Yes…yes…just like tonight. They talk about it and…”

“Like we have.”

“Terence, if you don’t stop interrupting I won’t go on.”


“By escort bostancı talking about the pictures they’re both made completely aware of how the other is feeling. The boy starts to get and erection and…”

“Like m….sorry…sorry…won’t interrupt again.”

“She can see he’s absolutely out of his mind wanting her, and she starts to get horn…worked up her self. She’s got to have him and she becomes reckless.”

“She says ‘Fuck me…for God’s sake fuck me,'” I interjected.

“No she does not; she’s too delicate for anything as crude as that; she a sensitive woman. You can see that just looking at the picture.”

We both looked at the first picture. Certainly the woman did give the impression of gentle sensitivity.

“So what happens?”

“Well, she has to be sure that he won’t be repelled if she offers herself to him, so she kisses him; not passionately, just very gently, but making sure her lips are moist.

Mother ran the tip of her tongue over her lips and said, “Just lean forward a bit…towards me, that’s right. She kisses him like this.”

Mother touch my lips with hers They felt warm and moist and I could have sworn that she ran the tip of her tongue over my lips. My erection that had started some time before began to throb eagerly.

Mother backed off from me a little, looking into my eyes, then said, “She has to be sure he’s responding her, so she looks into his eyes and sees love there and deep hunger…so…”

“He rips her nightdress off — she is wearing a nightdress isn’t she…and he flings her to the floor and…”

“Right…right…I’m not going on with this; you’re spoiling it.”

“I’m sorry mother,” I said obsequiously, “please go on, it’s getting exciting.”

“All right, but no more caveman stuff, this is a moment of great sensitivity, their whole future together may depend on what happens next.”

“What does happen?”

“Seeing the love and desire in his eyes she kisses him again. This time their mouths open and…”

“And they go mad fighting to get their tongues…”

“Terence,” mother said ominously. I shut up.

“She gently inserts her tongue into his mouth and slowly explores. He responds with his tongue in her mouth as his hand touches one of her breasts.”

Mother suited action to word and kissed me. Her tongue seemed to reach to the back of my throat and she took my hand and laid it on her breast.

I didn’t get as far as pushing my tongue into her mouth because she broke from the kiss and said, “She made no resistance as his hand went up to the thin bands of cloth that ran over her shoulders to hold up her diaphanous nightdress. Well don’t just sit there, do it.”

Mother’s nightdress wasn’t diaphanous but it did have the narrow bands of cloth over her shoulders. I hesitated so she took my hand and placed it on one of the cloth strips.

“He moves the cloth from her lovely shoulders and the nightdress falls to her waist, exposing her beautiful breasts. Look you can see it in the picture…actually her breasts aren’t all that good are they…what are you waiting for?”

Taking her prompt I slipped the cloth from mother’s shoulders and right on cue her nightdress slipped down her body, coming to rest just below her waist.

“Do you think my breasts are as nice as hers?” mother asked.

“I…I…yes….nicer…beautiful…but I can’t…”

Mother ignored me and went on, “He places his hand on her breast and feels its yielding warmth. She tells him to stand, and when he does she pulls down his shorts, and there, right in front of her eyes, she sees his beautiful manhood. Do stand up Terry.

I stood obediently and mother pulled down my shorts.

“For a moment she feels very shy, and looks away, but his hand is on her breast. It’s a wonderful moment of mutual passion, so she looks again at his penis. It’s hard and long, and she can see clear sticky fluid oozing out from the little slit in its head. She holds his penis with her hand and takes its head into her mouth, gently sucking it and…”

We were acting out every step as mother outlined it. I couldn’t take much more and I complained, “Mum…mother…I can’t…I shall come…please…”

Totally ignoring my plight she went on, “He wants to taste her…to smell her sweet womanhood. She parts her legs, raising them so that her genitals are exposed to him. She reaches down with her hands and her fingers open her plump, engorged lips. He sees her soft, pink inner lips and her clitoris.”

“With a groan he drops to his knees and for a moment stares in adoration at her sacred place, then he starts to lick her… that’s lovely darling, don’t stop…ah…ah…oha…”

I didn’t need mother’s prompts now; I was so worked up I simply went with the flow. I was lapping up her sweet female juice and smelling her woman fragrance.

I don’t think either of us needed any more of mother’s scenario, but having a taste for drama she went on.

In a strangled voice she said, “They are almost free, there is only the final act to consummate their love. She knows what the consequences might be, but she doesn’t care…she even embraces it. He picks her up in his arms and carries her tenderly to the divan and lays her on it. He…”

“There isn’t a divan in here,” I protest.

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