Unspoken Pleasure (erotica)

Introduction: Son masquerades in Dad's costume to fuck unsuspecting Mother. Read abd enjoy..

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Until I began reading stories on Literotica I had no idea how many sons had fantasies... or sometimes even realities... of having sex with their Mother. I mean it isn't really a conversation one has with his buddies. Imagine this: "Dude, you know who I would really like to fuck?"

"Anyone who moves, I imagine."

"True. But do you know who is the most constant late-night focus of my daily stroke-fest sessions?"

"Beth, the head cheerleader?"

"She's in the top five, no doubt."

"Well, who would be number one then?"

"Promise you won't judge?"

"No, you do some crazy shit; so do I."

"Seriously, this is really embarrassing."

"Fine, I promise not to ridicule you too badly."

"My Mom."

"That's not so bad. I was expecting Big Bertha or Old Woman Burgess. First, your Mom is ridiculously hot and second, I've stroked about my Mom lots of times." "You have?"

"Of course, and my Mom is nowhere as hot as your Mom."

"So it doesn't make me a freak?"

"Oh, it makes you a freak all right. It even makes you a perverted little freak. But hey, at our age every guy is a perverted little freak. Christ, even Hamlet was supposed to have a thing for his Mother. Remember the Ophelia song? 'Ah, ah, when I was young, I, I should've known better.' He's got to be singing about his Mom!"

...

Anyway the point is simple. The older I got the more obsessed I became with the thought of sleeping with my Mother. My fantasies shifted from cheerleaders and hot blondes to my forty-three-year-old, blue-eyed, chestnut-brown-haired Mother with the big tits.

As far as calming me down she wasn't any help, either. She was a real estate agent and always dressed in skirts, hose and heels. All three of which had become fetishes of mine, probably because I'd grown up seeing them worn on the hottest woman I knew. I was sixteen when I started giving my Mom foot massages after a hard day at work. She always kept her stockings on and my cock always rose whenever her stocking-clad legs were resting on my lap. She had to know what it was doing to me, but she never let on and it never progressed any further than a son giving his Mother a respectful foot massage, at least not outside my own fevered brain.

Mom knew she was still hot. She flirted with my friends and loved the compliments they threw back at her. She was a MILF and she knew it, she even revelled in it. That said, I never thought I'd ever have the chance to do more than just her feet... but then that Halloween happened.

Every Halloween my parents would get dressed up as a sexy matching couple and go to some big party. (Mom was sexy anyway, speaking as a hetero guy I don't think there's anything a man can do to look sexy.) Every year I could see their excitement growing for the big day; Mom's creative juices always came alive for Halloween. She always designed and made the two costumes, often starting months in advance. I can't recall all the outfits but do remember a few recent ones: Bonnie and Clyde with Mom dressed as a hot flapper (Mom looked stunning in fishnets and the cute bob haircut with her toy tommy gun and an evil grin ready to shoot someone's balls off), Fred and Wilma Flintstone, which had my dick thinking Bam Bam all night (Mom as Wilma with her tattered neck- and hemlines with almost a nipple and almost her naughty bits showing was memorialised in a photo still hidden under my bed for stroke sessions), her fifties icons Marilyn Monroe and James Dean (which I also have a picture of hidden for play time), and last year she was Princess Leia while Dad was Luke Skywalker (her diaphanous, almost transparent white dress with no underwear that year kept my light sabre erect for months). This year they were going as Beauty and the Beast. As always, Mom refused to reveal her costume to anyone until Halloween Eve, if that phrase isn't redundant.

I have always been a believer in whichever you like to call it... destiny or fate. And it could only have been through destiny that the dominos could have tumbled the way they did... giving me the perfect opportunity to fuck my Mother and live to tell the tale (to you, I don't kiss and go around shooting my mouth off). First off, my Dad phoned at five o'clock to tell Mom that due to some late bargaining (Dad is a high-powered mediator... the guy you hire to negotiate the ends of long- standing feuds), he wasn't going to make it home in time, although he might get in early enough to join her at the party later. Mom was furious, because this was the night she always looked forward to, and had put hours upon hours into making the costumes perfect for. Although she was mad at Dad, she still planned to stomp out the door and attend the party and make the best of things she could.

A couple hours later, seven o'clock, Mom came downstairs in her Belle costume, making my cock want to be her guest (id you know that song)

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I've always secretly thought Belle was the hottest cartoon character, in the same way I think Betty is easily the hottest Archie girl. But seeing my Mom dressed as Belle, in an off-shoulder blue peasant dress displaying a generous expanse of her flawless upper chest, although nothing quite illegal if she remained upright, her hair exactly the same shade as Belle's, plus wearing the darkest brown pantyhose I've ever seen other than on Hooters waitresses, was the sexiest moment of my young life.

I did what I always did when talking to my Mom. I complimented her. "Wow Mom, you could be the real-life Belle. This is your best costume yet!"

"You think so?" she asked, smiling and posing seductively.

"I know so. Dad would have loved it."

My Mom's smile faded. "I can't believe he ditched me for a transportation union of all things."

"I'm sure he'll make it back soon."

She shrugged and snorted, "He'd better!' but then relented and told me, "But it's not your fault honey, it was sweet of you to say that." She gave me a kiss on the cheek and let me kiss hers like she always did and was off, leaving me standing there in a cloud of testosterone.

All the stars were lined up perfectly, even though I didn't know that. Even the fact I was home in the first place was because of a string of fateful moments. Usually after seeing my parents off (not ever wanting to miss how my Mom would look that year) I would usually leave for a Halloween party as well, but this year I just didn't feel like it. I'd been dumped a couple weeks before by my girlfriend of eight months Pamela and didn't really want to see her there. So I was watching Halloween for the umpteenth time when the phone rang again.

"Is your Mom still home?" Dad asked nervously.

"She left an hour ago," I replied.

"Shit," he swore, "was she mad?"

"Think PMS cubed and you may be close," I warned.

"Double shit," he cursed, "I tried her cell and she didn't answer."

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I walked into the kitchen and saw it sitting in the charger. "She couldn't. It's right here being charged."

"Triple shit," he swore, knowing he was indeed wading in deep shit. After a pause, "Well, can you leave her a note? This is going to be an all-nighter."

"Shit," I parroted, which got me a nervous chuckle from Dad.

Mom was sexy and caring, but you never wanted to get on her bad side.

"I'd better get her some flowers," he rationalized. I noticed an address on a pad of paper in my Mom's handwriting and assumed that was to tell Dad where she was.

"Better get her a whole garden. This year's costume was her best yet!"

We said our goodbyes and I returned to watching TV. About ten minutes later, a light bulb flickered on in my head. A few seconds after that and the bulb was shining bright as the sun!

I dashed upstairs and into my parents' room. Laid out on the bed was Dad's Beast costume.

I stripped to my undershorts and put it on and was pleased at how comfortable it was. My Mom had thought of everything as it even had two battery-powered mini-fans in it to keep the beast inside the Beast cool. I also noticed she'd created a Velcro opening at the privates so Dad... no, so I... could take a piss without removing the costume. I looked in the mirror through a mask that was covering my entire head (with cut-outs for my eyes and ears, the ear holes covered by long Beast-hair). No one would have a clue it was me. I was the same height as my father; I had the same blue eyes as my father; I even had the same voice as my father. I went downstairs, grabbed the address, jumped into Dad's Mercedes (the first thing a good negotiator negotiates is his fee) and sped off to the party.

I arrived at the party a few minutes after nine-thirty and was met at the door by the hostess of the party Gloria, dressed in a Snow White costume improved by a deep scoop neckline. Her face brightened when she saw me. In her usual giddy voice she said, "If Alexis is Belle, you must be Ted. Thank God you're here, Alexis is really mad at you!"

"I know," I acknowledged, "That's why I hightailed it over here as soon as I got home."

"She's had a few glasses of wine and you know how she gets when she's into her wine," she warned me with a wink.

Thinking about the few times I've seen my Mom intoxicated, usually on New Year's Eve, I recalled my Mom being extra touchy feely and very flirty, even with me. The sexual innuendo wasn't remotely subtle. I responded vaguely, "Tell me about

it."