Analingus With Mum

Note to reader: This is my first story. I welcome all constructive feedback. Please read the tags and don't continue if it doesn't sound like your thing.

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I had just finished clicking through one entertainment streaming service trying to find something to watch and had moved onto the next one. It had been a long Friday at work and I was looking forward to a relaxing night without having to worry about work in the morning.

It was coming up to the end of January, and my mother and I had been abstaining from alcohol for Dry January. Neither of us were heavy drinkers. Mostly we would just enjoy a drink at the weekend to relax, but sometimes on those occasions we'd tend to have more than what would be classed as "a couple". When Mum mentioned she was going to stop her weekend drinking for the duration of the month, I was happy to join in in solidarity.

Alcohol was also the reason I found myself back at my mum's place so abstaining for a while seemed like a sensible idea. My wife and I were 2 months into a trial separation, but it was her overuse of alcohol that had become problematic.

Arguments had become commonplace over the past year as her drinking became more frequent, and she'd regularly become verbally abusive when drunk. Even when trying to stay off alcohol, she was often mean. She'd apologise and things would be fine for a day or so before the next argument would blow up. I had persuaded her to enter AA and we agreed that some time apart would give her the space to get better.

We stayed in touch and tried to meet up for coffee every now and then, but giving up drinking was a long road. One step at a time. She'd been sober for the last three months, or at least that was what she told me. I hadn't noticed much of an improvement in her demeanor, but time would tell.

"Find anything good to watch tonight?" asked mum, as she sat down on the plush sofa next to me in her pink silk pyjamas, settling in for the night. She was 70 and the very picture of elegance. Before she retired she had worked as a professor of psychology, and then in the latter half of her career pivoted into sex therapy, earning more than she did in academia and allowing her to retire at the age of 62.

Her makeup was always perfectly done, and after having removed the day's makeup for the evening she had reapplied the bare minimum to maintain her look. She was objectively beautiful, something that my friends had ribbed me about for years, still to this day.

She had long Auburn hair which she had dyed regularly at the salon, and dark brown eyes with only a faint hint of laughter lines at the sides. She could easily pass for a woman 10 or 15 years younger. She made full use of her free time in her retirement, regularly attending Pilates classes, and swimming kept her looking trim while still retaining her curves in all the right places. My dad had left her when I was 12 and I always thought he was insane for doing so.

One day last week when I was putting my clothes in the washing basket, after tidying the spare room that was my temporary digs, I saw one of her bras lying on top of the pile of clothes. Curiosity got the better of me and I peeked at the label. 36DD. "Not bad mum, " I thought to myself.

When I was about to put it back in the basket I hesitated, feeling the lacy material between my fingers. I brought it to my nose and inhaled deeply, catching the fading scent of her perfume.

I had always had a bit of a thing for my mum when I was younger, but after I started meeting girls my own age I kind of grew out of it. Occasionally if we hugged and I felt her breasts crushed against my chest my heart would beat faster, occasionally I would have to break off the hug to turn around so she wouldn't notice my stiffening member.

The familiar feelings from back when I was a horny teenager were bubbling up from the surface again. I chalked it up to being frustrated thanks to my marital issues. I hadn't had sex in over four months, and it's only natural that I would start to feel this way, or so I told myself.

"Hello? Any luck finding anything decent to watch?" Mum asked again, shaking me from my reverie.

"I think we've completed Netflix mum. We've got this action flick, or this period drama which I heard is decent. Everything else looks crap, or we've seen already," I told her, giving up the search. "It's your call," I told her. "I've seen the action film in the cinema and it was ok. I'd watch it again if you wanted to. I haven't watched a lot of period dramas, but I reckon we'd probably enjoy this one."

I looked over at mum and she chewed her lip thoughtfully. After a few seconds a wicked smile slowly crept onto her face. She turned her head towards me. "I've got something that might make a dull period drama more fun," she whispered conspiratorially.

She unfurled her long legs from under her and jumped up, making a beeline to her handbag on the dining room table. "I went out for coffee with Janet after Pilates today, and I was telling her about us not drinking and she said it sounded 'Frightfully DULL'," she rolled her eyes theatrically, mimicking her friend's pompous and nasally voice, "and then handed me some of her medicinal weed."

"Weed?" I chuckled. "Have you ever even smoked weed before?" I knew she was pretty Bohemian, but I had just assumed that she had never touched drugs before. We'd never discussed drugs apart from the "it's your life, but just make good choices" type discussions.

"Oh sure," she replied, shrugging. "in my younger days before I had you. We used to smoke it all the time before going out to clubs." Still rummaging around in her bag, she added "And anyway, it's not weed for smoking. It's edibles!"

I wasn't a stranger to marijuana myself, but it had been years since I'd been high. I had to admit, it might be fun getting high with my mum.

"Got it!" She cheered triumphantly, holding the little pill bottle high above her head in celebration. As she did so, I couldn't help but notice her large breasts jiggling under her pyjama top. Unsurprisingly she wasn't wearing a bra since she was in her PJs, but I could see how pert they seemed. Not saggy at all as one may expect from a woman of her age. I realised I was staring, and at the same time I realised she was looking directly at me so she definitely would have noticed. I felt my face flush.

"Well?" She asked, an adorable, hopeful expression on her face. "How about it?"

How could I possibly say no to her?

"Let's do it," I smiled. Her face beaming with joy. "but did Janet say how strong they were?" I was worried that my mum might not be able to handle something too potent at her age.

"Well they were for pain killers for her sciatica, so probably quite strong, but she just said 'one should do each of you' and I trust her judgement."

She sat down next to me on the sofa, opening the small bottle and shaking out a handful of little green and white capsules. She picked up one for me, dropping it in the palm of my outstretched hand. She picked another for herself and manoeuvred the rest back in the bottle, fastening the lid again.

"Down the hatch!" She said, holding up her capsule between her finger and thumb. I smiled and tapped my pill against hers, but instead of just putting the pill in my mouth I extended my arm forward and then wrapped it around hers, as a couple might do when toasting with a glass of champagne.

"Ooh, very fancy," her eyes crinkled as she smiled warmly, her faint laughter lines becoming more pronounced at the corners of her eyes. We simultaneously popped the pills into our mouths.

The capsules were flavourless, and while they looked small in our hands, trying to swallow them dry wasn't the best of ideas. We both grimaced as we struggled to force them down our gullets. "Should've grabbed some glasses of water" she said, coughing with the effort.

"Allow me," I croaked, standing to go through and pour us a couple of glasses. "and while I'm doing that you can get the film ready."

I ran the tap for a few seconds so the water ran cold and then poured us two large glasses. I figured we'd need them if we got dry mouths later when the weed kicked in.

I carefully walked back through to the living room holding the glasses as level as I could, not wanting to spill water on the plush carpet, and sat back down on the sofa next to mum. I handed her one of the glasses. We both took a much needed gulp to wash down the edibles and then placed the cool glasses onto coasters on the coffee table, then made ourselves comfy, getting ready to watch the film.

Mum shifted over and snuggled in to me, linking her arm in with mine. This was much closer than she would usually sit. I could detect a hint of nervousness from her. As she squeezed my left arm I could feel the pressure of her breast against it. It felt nice, given my lack of any kind of intimacy in the past few months.

"I'm quite excited," she said, rubbing her hand briskly up and down my arm.

"I don't think the film's supposed to be that good," I quipped, a wry smile on my face.

"Ha ha. You know what I mean," She retorted, slapping my chest playfully. It's been decades since I've been stoned. I wonder if it will be the same.

I'd never had edibles before, but I had read that they can take up to an hour for the high to come on. "I've heard edibles can take longer to hit you, so let's watch the film and see what happens."

We sat like that while we watched the film, snuggled together cosily. I had my legs extended with my bare feet on the coffee table, my ankles crossed. I was wearing the cotton pyjamas my wife had bought me for my last birthday and an old gig merch T-shirt. Mum, still nestled into my side and cuddling my arm, had her legs curled up under her. She was wearing some expensive slipper socks she'd treated herself to when it had started to turn even colder earlier that month.

After about half an hour Mum turned to me and said "I think I feel something now." I turned to look at her. Her eyes were red, what I could see of them since her eyelids were dropping. She was most definitely stoned. I burst out laughing, which set her off laughing.

After about half a minute, with tears streaming from my eyes, I managed to say "... me too." Which set us off again in fits of uncontrollable laughter.

We managed to get ourselves under control, and I was feeling great. Mum seemed really relaxed, handling the high pretty well. It was a stronger high than I was expecting, and it came on a lot sooner than I expected, but I wasn't complaining.

We chatted back and forth, the film having been forgotten about since the edibles kicked in. We talked about this and that, what was going on at my work, and her activities she'd been doing to keep herself occupied. Slowly the discussion started to turn more personal. The weed was making us talk openly about things we'd never have talked about before. We got onto the subject of why my dad had left.

"Sexual incompatibility," she stated, matter of factly.

"What do you mean?" I asked. My mother and I had always discussed the topic of sex candidly, her being a former sex therapist. She felt it was healthy to be honest and open but the subject of Dad leaving has never came up before, and I hadn't pressed her on it. Because she raised me, I shared the same ethos and tried to be as open as possible, and sex positive. With an earnest look, hoping she would feel comfortable enough to share, I gave her arm a small encouraging rub.

"You know I've always been frank and honest about matters of sex, but I've always felt that because he was your dad, perhaps it would be best not to talk with you about this."

"I'd like you to share," I reassured her. "You may even find it cathartic".

"He wasn't very fulfilling, sexually," she started, then paused, trying to find the words to explain a very hard time in her life. "I have always been quite adventurous in bed, kinky, if you will, and he was very vanilla. I could handle his boring ways, but I think he felt that I was perverted for some of the things I enjoyed. He made me feel awful for who I was, and I simply couldn't be with someone who looked at me the way he did sometimes."

I was facing her, nodding sympathetically, looking her in the eyes, wanting her to continue. I noticed the vivid shades of brown and specks of green in her irises, surrounded by the pinkness caused by her current intoxication. I knew she was beautiful but I had never took the time to just drink in her perfectly put together features. I watched her full lips moving as she talked, noticing just a few few lines around her mouth. When she smiled, the lines deepened, showing that the cause of the wrinkles were due to her laughing and smiling so much. The thought of how happy my mother's life was filled me with my own sense of happiness.

When she didn't speak for a while, I decided to share "I know what you mean. Stef is pretty much a missionary and nothing else kind of woman."

Nonchalantly, she asked "What kind of stuff do you want to do to her?" Under any other circumstances, and coming from someone else, the question may have come across as probing, but right now I was enjoying our closeness, and I knew I could trust my mum not to judge me. This was a safe space.

"I've always wanted to try anal. I don't press her too hard for it, but any time I suggest it she shuts me down instantly," I told her. After a moment, I added "She did let me lick her arsehole once, which I absolutely loved, but afterwards she said it was depraved and that she'd never do it again." Sharing this with Mum brought up the same feeling of shame and embarrassment I felt that night. I sniffed, tears welling up in my eyes. I grabbed a drink of water to qwell the lump forming in my throat.

"Ooh my sweet prince, come here," She said, opening her arms to me. Facing her, I leaned forward, my arms dejectedly by my sides and I fell into her outstretched arms. She hugged me tight with one arm around my back, the other holding my head towards her generous bosom. The side of my face was being pressed into her tits, like she wanted to squeeze the sadness out of me.

"She's wrong, sweetheart. Very wrong," She cooed, rocking me slightly from side to side. "Lots of people like lots of different things, and just because one person doesn't share someone else's fetish, that doesn't make the fetish wrong or perverted."

She asked, "What was it that you enjoyed about licking Stef's anus?" I felt like I was being analysed by my mum, but I trusted her and knew she was just trying to help.

"I think it was because it was so naughty," I confessed, "but the taste. Oh my god. I didn't expect to enjoy it so much!"

"Yes, that's what most people like about it," she said. "And please trust me when I say, analingus is not deviant behaviour. People have enjoyed it throughout the ages."

She went on, "Sure, it might be primarily an exit, but as long as you practice good hygiene, it can be one of the most arousing things a partner can do for you." She rubbed my back softly and casually added "I absolutely love having my bottom licked. There are a lot of nerve endings down there and it can be as pleasurable as stimulating the clitoris"

My face being squashed into her soft pillowy tits, coupled with her revelation that we shared one of the same kinks soon elevated my mood and my cock was soon hardening in my PJs. The feeling of my own mum's nipples poking my face through the silky material and her talking about how much she enjoyed having her salad tossed made it impossible for me not to be hard.

I shifted, still cuddled into her perfect breasts, but trying to hide the tenting in my trousers. "What else do you like, Mum? As long as you don't mind me asking, that is?"

"Oh sweetheart, I don't mind you asking. Being open about one's sexuality is healthy, and I love that we're getting the chance to connect on this level."

I shifted again so that my head was propped against her curled up thighs, settling in. In my new position, one of her heavy breasts was pressing down onto my shoulder if she leaned forward slightly, the other would nudge the back of my head. My heart was beating faster, and I was becoming incredibly aroused.

I could feel my mother's nipples stiffening as they brushed against me through the soft silk. Was she feeling as turned on as I was? It can't have just been the topic of conversation because in her former line of work she had probably become desensitised to these subjects, but coupled with the fact she was high and she was talking to her own son about some really personal sexual stuff really seemed to be doing something to her.

"Have you ever heard of somnophilia?" She asked, shifting so that she was sitting upright with my head in her lap.

"No," I said, shaking my head slightly. "But I assume from the name it's being attracted to people who are sleeping?"

She leaned forward slightly and began stroking my hair with her left hand, her right resting gently on my chest. I could feel her stiff teats pressing against me. She must have been able to tell that her nipples were stiff and that they were making contact with my head and shoulder. "Yes, that can be an aspect of it," she said, "but it can also mean becoming sexually aroused by the idea of someone having sex with you as you sleep."

She must have felt my heart beating through the thin t-shirt but at this point I couldn't even have cared if she saw my raging hard-on. This was the closest I had felt to her in years, and the open nature of our conversation (and the weed) was loosening our inhibitions.

"That sounds really hot, mum." I said, my head still resting on her warm thighs. The feeling of the silky material of her pyjamas against the side of my face feeling extremely sensual.

"Of course in practice it's difficult. Whenever a partner has agreed to it, I'm either too excited to sleep, or if I have managed to fall asleep, I wake up as soon as they start touching me, and I just have to pretend to be asleep. It never quite scratched that itch for me."

Mum continued, "I've always wanted to take one of my sleeping pills and be properly unconscious for it, but I've never had a partner who I trusted completely enough to feel comfortable with ensuring my safety."

I thought about it for a second and then asked "But how would you get anything from that? I mean, if you're not awake for it then you don't even know what's happened! Seems like it defeats the purpose."

"Ahh, but that's the thing. It's not the act itself, rather the anticipation of what's about to happen and the taboo feeling of someone taking advantage of you. With consent of course."

I nodded, having never thought of sex having been anything other than a means to get off, and occasionally produce offspring. I felt like I was in an advanced sex education class at school and my mum was the patient and knowledgeable teacher.

"Also, because I wouldn't remember anything about it, I would ask my partner to film it or take pictures while they were doing whatever they wanted to my body, so that I would have a souvenir I could use while pleasuring myself afterwards."

I imagined what it would be like, my mum lying there unconscious, and me having her permission to use her magnificent body as I pleased. My erection could have cut diamond. I could feel it pulsing with every heartbeat.

"I guess it's my turn to share." I offered, feeling like it was only fair, and keen to keep the discussion going. I was surprised at how at ease I felt talking to her.

"Only if you feel comfortable sweetheart. Remember this is a safe space" She said, leaning over and giving me a kiss on the forehead, her breasts crushing into my ear and the side of my face as she did so, her erect nipples pressing against me. On the left side of my face, resting on her lap, I could feel her crotch was sending off waves of heat directly below me. "Can't blame her" I thought, it is a pretty steamy topic, and the thought of sleep sex must really get her going.