Analingus With Mum

Dear reader, thank you for your kind comments on parts one and two of this series. Part three is likely to be the final part. This was the main story I wanted to write but I wanted to get a couple of others under my belt before I attempted it.

Shout out to RF-FAST for proofreading.

I have another mother/son story in progress which will be less of an age gap, and won't be anally focussed, but if what has featured heavily in this series is for you then keep your eyes open for future works because I'm sure they will feature heavily in further works.

Again, I will state in advance, the mother in this story is 70. If that isn't for you, then godspeed on your own journey.

If that is for you, then I sincerely hope you enjoy this.

Trigger warning: This story centres around the mother's somnophilia fantasy.

My watch was vibrating, telling me that it was time to get up. I pressed the button to stop it, careful not to wake Mum, who slept soundly beside me. I sat up, making as little noise as possible, and swung my legs out of our bed. I stood, stretched to ease the knots in my back, then grabbed my pyjama bottoms from the floor.

More often than not, we slept nude, usually having sex the night before. Mum enjoyed waking to me slipping my lubed-up dick into her pussy and fucking her slowly as she woke, which was much easier when we were both naked.

Today was Mother's Day, and I wanted to show my appreciation in a more traditional way. A month and a half ago, when I had decided to begin divorce proceedings, Mum had been nothing but supportive and empathetic. She knew when to give me space to grieve the loss of my marriage, and when to use her body to pull me out of it.

I was through the worst of my grief now, only suffering the occasional sour mood when dealing with my ex. I had Mum to thank for keeping me sane. I wanted to do something special to show how much she meant to me.

I walked into the bathroom at the top of the stairs and closed the door. I took a quick piss, washed my hands and face, then brushed my teeth. I left the bathroom and went into the spare room. I kept a few things in there so that if a guest was to come in, it would appear as though I still slept there, but ever since that first night we made love, I had moved into her room. Our room.

I grabbed the card and the flowers I had sneaked upstairs the night before, she loved white lillies, and headed downstairs.

I found her good crystal vase and got to work arranging the flowers. When I was finished, I stood back to observe my handiwork. The arrangement wasn't nearly as good as what Mum would've managed, but I was certain she would love them anyway. I placed the vase on the living room dining table where she couldn't miss them and went to the kitchen, whistling tunelessly to myself.

I opened the fridge and took out the eggs, ham, and butter. Firing up the gas hob, I got to work on a Hollandaise Sauce. Mum loved Eggs Benedict, and what better way to show how good a son I was than breakfast in bed?

When everything was ready, I made my way upstairs with a steaming plate on a tray with fold-out legs, along with hot coffee and the envelope containing her Mother's Day card.

Balancing the tray carefully on one hand, I opened the door with the other and walked in. Mum was awake, looking at her phone. She sat up and faced me when I walked in, the duvet slipping to her waist. Seeing her breasts always made my cock stiffen. I had to push thoughts of sex out of my mind, or at least attempt to do so. If I wasn't careful, one thing could lead to another and her food would end up cold.

Mum was 70, but she had the youthful exuberance of a woman many years younger. She'd always been fun, but something had changed since we'd become lovers. She now seemed able to be her best self, like our coupling had given her a new lust for life.

While I had lusted after her in my teens, the usual panty sniffing escapades of a hormonal young lady, I never imagined we'd end up living together as a couple, fucking each other every day, usually more than once.

"Pour vous, Madame!" I exclaimed in my best French accent, flipping the tray legs down and placing it across her lap. "Happy Mother's Day!" I added, bending to kiss her.

Her face lit up and she clapped her hands together. "Awwww, Sweetheart! That's so kind of you," she said, looking down at the hot toasted muffin, topped with ham, a (hopefully) perfectly poached egg, and lashings of the pastel yellow sauce that I had just googled how to make. "You didn't have to go through all this effort just for me."

"Nonsense," I replied, sitting beside her as she picked up her knife and fork. She cut into the egg, yolk spilling out as she sliced through it. I allowed myself a small, private satisfaction. "You have been amazing these last few months. That's not to mention the years of raising me, providing for me," then adding "most of it on your own."

Mum had divorced Dad when I was young. She said he constantly made her feel ashamed of her sexual fetishes. Well, his loss was my gain.

I lay back on the bed as she ate. "You're the best," I told her. "Today, you get spoiled!"

As she finished her breakfast and sipped her coffee, I said "Why not open your card?"

She picked it up, slid her thumb under the flap, and pulled out the card. As she opened it, two thick, embossed tickets slid out into her lap. She picked them up, her eyes widening. "The Vivaldi concert! I thought these had sold out?"

"Oh they had," I shrugged, "but I guess your son must be pretty well connected."

In truth, my boss had gotten them for his wife, but they ended up going away for Mother's Day. I'd mentioned how much Mum enjoyed Vivaldi, and probably out of sympathy for my divorce, he slipped them to me as he passed my desk during the week, telling me he hoped Mum enjoys it.

"Here's the plan," I said, sitting upright. "We have a lazy day, get ourselves dressed up, go for an early dinner at Guigino's, where I've made a reservation for us, and then we can enjoy an evening listening to your favourite concerto."

"I don't deserve a son as good as you," she said, tears filling her eyes.

I leaned over and hugged her. Feeling her breasts pressing against me, I again had to force myself into a state of unarousal. "Nonsense. If anything, you deserve better. If I could, I'd whisk you away to New York for the weekend, but we'll have to settle for tiramisu and violins."

"Well, I can think of a way to say 'thank you'," she murmured, pressing her hand against my chest and pushing me back until I was lying down. Ironically, after all my effort providing Mum with a traditional Mother's Day breakfast, trying to steer things away from sex, she ends up giving me one of her special thank-yous.

She reached into my pyjama bottoms and pulled out my quickly hardening member. Kneeling beside me, she looked up at me with a sultriness and whispered "Thank you," before lowering her head and wrapping her lips tightly around the tip of my cock. She then proceeded to suck the ever-loving soul out of my body.

I lay back, enjoying the sensation of Mum expertly working my dick, bobbing her head steadily. This wasn't slow or sensual like during our love making sessions. She meant business and was not fucking around. I wasn't going to last long.

As I approached my climax, I gave her a light tap on the head, our agreed signal during a blowjob that I was about to cum, so that she wouldn't be caught off guard and accidentally choke on my load. A lesson we'd learned the hard way.

I began to move my hips in rhythm with her head as it bobbed, meeting her halfway. My balls tightened, and I threw my head back as a stream of hot semen shot into her mouth, followed by several more spurts. She kept her lips sealed around me until I'd finished, holding every drop in her mouth. I looked forward to one of our sloppy, cum swapping kisses.

Straightening up, I heard her swallow with a gulp, then let out a satisfied sigh. "Aaahhhh... Lovely!"

I opened my eyes and looked at her accusingly. "Hey! What the fuck? Where's my share?"

"Mother's Day, Mother's prerogative!" she shot back with a grin.

"Right, that's it!" I yelled, clambering up and pushing her onto her side, straddling her and tickling her relentlessly as she shrieked with laughter. My hands flew up and down her ribs and across her bare stomach as she struggled.

"Eeeek! I'm sorry! I'M SORRY!"

"Okay," I said finally, relenting. "I forgive you. Apology accepted." I leaned down and kissed her, her mouth still tasting of my cum. Sitting back up, I asked "Shall we get up and shower?"

"I can think of better ways to spend my Mother's Day morning," she purred.

After we took turns in the shower, washing the sex from our bodies, we spent the morning together. It was fairly mundane, but time with Mum, regardless of what we were doing, was always enjoyable.

We sat on the sofa in our dressing gowns, watching a documentary about Jeffrey Dahmer. Mum had a degree in psychology (and another in art history) and loved anything to do with serial killers. I loved listening to her talk about subjects she was passionate about. Sometimes she would tell me stories from her academic career before she became a sex therapist. She'd served as an expert witness in several court cases against people who had done extremely disturbing things. Some of the things she'd recounted from these cases had chilled my blood.

Part of the documentary explained how Dahmer had drugged his victims before murdering them. Mum went quiet and still. She started to say something then stopped.

"You okay?" I asked.

She drew a breath as if to speak, then hesitated again.

"Mum, what is it?" I asked, trying to coax out whatever was on her mind. "If these last couple of months have taught us anything, it's that we can share anything. No judgement."

She nodded while keeping her eyes fixed on the TV. "No judgement," she repeated.

I reached up and cupped her chin, turning her head gently towards me. She resisted for a moment before finally meeting my gaze.

"Come on," I said softly, "You can trust me."

She nodded again. "Yes. Yes, Icantrust you, can't I?"

She took my hand and held it tightly. I paused the TV and turned to face her fully.

"Sweetheart, do you remember our first night together, when we got stoned?"

I grinned. "How could I forget?"

"You remember we talked about our fantasies? What we enjoyed, and what turns us on?"

"Of course. Every detail of that night is etched into my brain."

"Do you remember I mentioned that I was turned on by a partner having their way with me while I slept?"

"Oh yeah," I said with a small laugh. "That was really hot."

She began speaking quickly, as though she had to get the words out. "... and that it was difficult in practice, because I'd always wake up, and I had wanted to try taking one of my sleeping pills, but trusting someone enough has always stopped me?"

I gave her hands a small squeeze, stopping her. "Mum, are you saying you would you like to take a sleeping pill and then have me fuck you while you're unconscious?".

"I know I can trust you," she said. "I love you, and I know you love me. I can't imagine anyone I'd rather do this with than my son. It would be the perfect Mother's day present."

"If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do," I said. "How would you like this to happen? It's your fantasy so I want it to be perfect."

Her face lit up as she placed the palm of her hand flat on her chest. "Thank you, Sweetheart!"

She shifted into planning mode immediately, clearly having thought this through for whenever it might happen for her.

"Okay. We'll still have the wonderful evening that you've thoughtfully planned. After the concert, we'll come home."

I nodded, relieved to hear dinner was still on. I was already hungry.

"Once we're home, I'll take two of my sleeping tablets. I usually only take one to help me sleep, but I've checked and it's safe to take two. I want to be fully unconscious."

"As long as you're sure...".

"Yes, I'm sure," she cut in. "The instructions say that if you do take two, to make sure someone else is present." She'd clearly done her research.

"Okay."

"I'll go to bed, and you give me an hour. No interruptions."

I nodded.

"Then, you will come upstairs, and you will do whatever you want to me. My body will be your plaything."

"What are the ground rules?" I asked.

"First, you can never roll me onto my stomach. I know you love to eat my arsehole, but this is non-negotiable! If you want to do that, find another position."

Mum never used to say "arsehole" but since we started rutting like teenagers, her already extensive vocabulary had become even wider (and filthy).

"That makes sense. We wouldn't want you accidentally suffocating."

She nodded. "Second, you have to take photos and videos. I want to see it afterwards. This is the only way I really get to experience it."

"I can do that."

"And lastly, anything we normally do is fine. If you want to get creative, then you may, as long as it doesn't leave a lasting mark."

I nodded. "It's a date."

Her entire demeanour shifted. She became excited, almost giddy as she threw her arms around me.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she squealed, then jumped up. "Okay, I'm going to go and pick out my outfit for the evening. You should wear something nice. Everyone at the concert will be dressed smartly."

She clasped her hands together, "Tonight is going to be so much fun!"

I checked the time. We had hours, but not wanting to dampen her mood, I followed her upstairs.

Mum was in our room getting ready. I shaved, got dressed, then went downstairs. The TV was on, but my mind was mapping out a plan for how to capture Mum's somnophilia experience for posterity.

All I had was my mobile phone, and that didn't feel like it would do the moment justice. She deserved lights, cameras, action. If it wouldn't have gotten us arrested I would've hired a film crew.

Then I remembered the digital camera she'd bought. A pretty expensive one she used on outings with her friends. I opened the cupboard and found the black nylon case hanging on a hook at the back. Next to it was a tripod.

"That'll do," I muttered.

I reached for the case and opened it. A cable was neatly wrapped inside a compartment. I pulled it out and checked the ends. It was a standard USB-C connection that would work with my laptop. Taking everything with me, I headed upstairs.

I sat on the bed in the spare room. It didn't take long to install the drivers. The camera came with a trial for some decent editing software, so I installed that too. When I entered the licence key, It worked.

Satisfied that I could give Mum a higher quality "memory" of something that meant so much to her, I slid the camera under the bed and left the room, pulling the door shut behind me.

I walked to our bedroom and knocked. Despite the lewd acts that we'd both performed on each other's bodies behind this door, I still preferred to maintain a modicum of respect towards her.

"Come in," she called.

I opened the door and stopped.

Mum stood there, transformed.

Her long brown hair was gathered up, with soft curls framing her face, which was carefully made up to enhance her natural beauty without looking overdone. Her deep red lipstick was flawless.

She wore the pearl necklace I'd given her not long after we'd become intimate. Her dress was a sleeveless black cotton piece, modest across the chest and shoulders, hugging her body and ending just above the knee. It flattered her perfectly.

Her legs were adorned in black stockings which she knew had quite an effect on me. On her feet were with the same high heels she'd worn the first night my tongue had explored her. Shoes which I had requested she water several times since. I was glad to see my cum hadn't left a stain after the last time.

"Mum," I began, but the words caught in my throat.

She looked at me, suddenly self-conscious. "Do I look okay?"

I'd never seen her look more beautiful. "You look incredible," I said.

She smiled, then picked up a pair of long black satin gloves which I had never seen before. She slowly slipped them on, one after the other, pulling them past her elbows. The effect was striking. Elegant, refined, and somehow making her look years younger.

"Thank you, Sweetheart," she said. "I was worried it might be too much."

"Not at all. You're going to turn heads tonight. I'll wager a few people will require chiropractic care tomorrow."

She smiled again, then packed a few small items into a black clutch. "Sorry for getting us ready so early," she said. "Shall we go for a walk before dinner?"

"Let's do it."

I couldn't wait to be seen with her.

We walked around town for a while, doing some window shopping. I made a mental note of a necklace she pointed out in a jewellery store, deciding to come back tomorrow and purchase it before someone else nabbed it.

Eventually we made our way to our reservation at Guigino's. The meal was excellent. Throughout dinner, Mum's foot brushed up and down my calf. Normally she was more restrained in public but tonight was different. She was clearly turned on by what lay ahead.

When we'd discussed our wants and desires that first fateful night, when she shared that she had a somnophilia kink, she'd explained that the anticipation of what was to come was what got her excited. She hadn't lied.

We ate light, not wanting to feel too full for our activities later, though we did end up sharing a tiramisu. We also passed on the wine menu. Alcohol and sleeping tablets were an ill-informed combination.

After dinner, we headed to the concert hall, ready for an evening of classical music. Mum was enthralled by the musicians, and while I was not an avid fan, Vivaldi's Four Seasons was one I genuinely enjoyed. Any performance by talented people always impressed me, and the ensemble on the stage, all dressed smartly in black, were phenomenal.

She leaned forward in her seat for the duration of the concert. Eyes fixed on the stage. When it ended to thunderous applause, she turned to me, eyes glistening, and squeezed my hand.

"Thank you for a perfect evening," she said, brushing away a tear.

Outside, we hailed a taxi, and gave the driver our address. During the short journey back, Mum's hand rubbed up and down my leg which caused my erection to press uncomfortably against my trousers. I had my eyes fixed on the driver in the rear view mirror. "Careful, Mum," I thought. She was close to breaking our "only in these four walls" rule, which was in place for good reason.

The taxi dropped us off. I paid in cash, leaving a generous tip, and linking arms with Mum, walked up the path to our house, trying to hide my erection as best I could.

Inside, I hung up her coat, her perfume filling the air as she removed it. I took her to the sofa and told her to sit.

She did.

I went into the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and placed it on a coaster in front of her. "Wait here," I said, before walking upstairs.

In the bathroom, I opened the mirrored cabinet and scanned the labels of the various prescriptions until I found what I was looking for: Zopiclone, 3.75mg. I popped two tablets from the blister pack, returned the box to the cabinet, and went back downstairs.

She was still sitting on the sofa, her glossy heels now off, resting on the floor beside her. She looked nervous.

I sat beside her and held out my hand. She opened hers, I placed the small white tablets in her palm. She stared at them, chewing her lip.

I placed my hand on her knee. "Talk to me."

"I've wanted this for so long," she said quietly. "And now... I'm not sure."

I rubbed her knee gently, feeling the smooth fabric of her stocking under my palm. "You certainly don't have to do anything you don't want to. We can stop. Or wait," I told her. "But you know you can trust me to keep you safe. Nothing bad will happen."