Hunter’s sexy snippets

Over the next three weeks, Ariadne's life shifted yet again.

A few days after her encounter with Emily, Emily had arranged for Ariadne's Sybian machine to be delivered . . . along with a few other gifts, free as charge. To Ariadne's surprise, however, Emily came by to oversee the delivery and installation personally. Ariadne was surprised to see the young girl at her doorstep, but let her in along with the muscular moving crew. The two mostly sat around and drank some tea while the men set things up. All the while, Emily and Ariadne exchanged meaningful subtext and shot sly looks from opposite of the dining table. Once or twice, both women even played footsies with one another under the table.

Finally, when the moving crew announced they were done, Ariadne tipped them and saw them to the door. The van hadn't even disappeared down the block when she felt Emily's lips nibbling at her ear and the woman's hands under her blouse.

Emily helped Ariadne "break in" her new toy, and both women took turns riding it, occasionally while the other straddled her face. Eventually, the two wound up in the bedroom, where Emily spent the whole night and called in sick the next morning.

"Hey, asshole. If I could mind the store for a whole week for your measly ass, you can certainly handle just one day."

Emily did her best to control her breathing, to not give the indication that there was a woman pressed behind her, rubbing her clit and cupping her tits.

"Yeah, I know you've got class later. Just close the shop early if you gotta. I think we'll be good just this once. Alright. Yeah. I love you, too, shithead."

"You call your brother such mean things," Ariadne whispered into her lover's ear.

"Yeah, well, if I didn't he'd think something was up. I had to be my usual bitter self. Couldn't let on that I actually feel really, really damn good at the moment."

"Oh yeah?" Ariadne said, licking her neck. "Show me how good you feel."

The young woman smirked. "Oh, I intend to, sweetie . . ."

Ariadne and Emily's "lesbian" escapades continued throughout December, usually with Emily coming by Ariadne's place and into her bed, but occasionally with Ariadne taking new trips into Emily's workshop and trying out new things. Ariadne soon discovered her first fetish—fucking machines. Especially ones which worked best with her on all fours. There was just something kinky about being bent over and allowing a hydraulic shaft to drill into her ass and pussy that drove her crazy—craz-ier than usual.

And she learned Emily's fetishes, too. Despite her rough-and-tumble look, Emily loved when Ariadne took charge and teased or punished her. Emily was a "stimulation" girl that enjoyed feeling pressure and vibration against her clit rather than actual penetration. Each session with Ariadne caused her to understand why most women thought men were inferior in bed—Ariadne didn't mind taking her time, and she could pick up on the signals of another woman easier than men could.

"Fuck, if I'd known what being with a woman was like all this time . . ." she cried out one night in Ariadne's bed.

"Why didn't you ever try it before?" Ariadne asked, lifting her mouth from Emily's pussy.

"Same reason as you, I guess. Never thought I'd like it. I mean, don't get me wrong . . . all evidence to the contrary, I love men."

"So do I," Ariadne said, punctuating on the irony by nibbling on Emily's clit.

"Unnnngh . . .! Yeah, but most guys can't make me cum, and so few like to eat pussy or can't eat it properly. You're lucky—you get off just on being penetrated, so you can get the most out of a good dick."

That was more true than she imagined, Ariadne thought wistfully.

"Well, I tell you what," she said, gently licking Emily's thighs, "when I find a guy who can do both equally, I'll let you know. And we can both share."

"Oooh!" the very thought brought Emily close to cumming. "Damn, I forgot how dirty your mind can be. But, that idea makes me so wet. You got a deal, sister. Now please, hurry and make me cum . . . I'm so close!"

Ariadne grinned and played with her friend's pussy a little longer, doing just enough to keep her teetering on the edge of orgasm. Emily cursed and pleaded, but she loved the teasing. It only made the real orgasm that much more intense when it finally came.

The times when Emily wasn't around, Ariadne once again found herself thinking about her son—who hadn't written or called since he left. She had taken to drinking some nights, when cold realization struck. Part of her tried to remain optimistic—after all, he hadn't called to ask for her to send all of his things to Cali. . . and she didn't have anyone knocking at her door asking questions about an indecent relationship with her son. Right now, the only thing she had to worry about was the awkward, incessant silence.

And, actually, that was the harshest thing of all.

Soon, Christmastime rolled around and Ariadne couldn't stand it any more. She picked up the phone and called her son's dorm. She made certain to call in the late evening, so she could catch him out of class, but before he went to bed. Shaky fingers punched in the numbers on the touch-tone and she sucked through her teeth as she nervously listened to the ringing line.

A male voice she didn't recognized answered, chuckling on the other end. "Haha—quit that! . . . Dammit, I got the phone, you buttwipe!"

"Er . . . hello?"

"Heeeeey," the voice said, half-drunk. "Who's this?!"

"Um, is Barry there?"

"Barry?" He grumbled loudly. "Oh yeah, hang on a sec. Yo, Barry! There's a hot bitch on the phone for you. Doesn't sound like Suzanna, though. She know you cheating on her?"

Despite herself, Ariadne's cheeks reddened. But. . . what had that other boy said?

Barry . . . had a girlfriend!?

She supposed that she should have been surprised. Barry was a handsome young man, and remarkably fit. She wouldn't have been surprised to know that he had many conquests—even before leaving for Fresno, he was always staying late at parties and bringing girls home with him. She'd never known him to be serious about any of them, but he was only a boy. Now, it only made sense for him to want something more serious.

Oh Lord . . . had she made her son cheat on some poor girl?

"Yo?"

"Barry? Oh thank God you're there, sweetie."

Ariadne heard something cover the receiver and then, muffled, she heard: "Hey! This is my mom, you ass!"

The other voice responded, "Yeah? Well my bad . . . but she sounds like a MILF."

Barry's voice returned to the line. "Hey, what's up?"

Thank goodness he sounded normal, she thought. Or, at the least, he was doing a good job of putting up appearances with his roommates. Either way, she didn't want to keep him too long or make him feel awkward, so she got right to the point.

"Are you coming home for Christmas, honey?"

There was a moment of pained silence on the other end. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I . . . I don't know," Ariadne answered, her lips jittering. "It's just . . . I've never spent Christmas without you, and—"

Barry seemed to pick up that she was starting to cry. His voice lowered to a more tender tone. "Actually, Ma . . . if it's cool with you, I've, uh . . . I've got an internship going on up here in Fresno, and they wanna keep me on through the holidays. I wanna keep on that, if it's okay with you."

Ariadne's heart was positively crushed by her son's response, but she gathered it in and did her best to feign a positive attitude. "That—That's wonderful news, honey! What are you going to be doing?"

"Um . . . actually, I'm not supposed to talk about that right now."

"Oh," she said as the dagger wrenched deeper in her heart. Her vision blurred, left unfocused by the tears pouring forth. He was obviously lying, she knew . . . saying whatever it took to try to avoid breaking her heart. Even after what had happened, and how uncomfortable it had made him, he still thought of her first. He was asking her permission to do something he really wanted to do.

He had grown into such a thoughtful young man.

"Yes, of course, honey. But I just wanted you to know . . . you can come home whenever you like. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah . . . I know. Sorry, Ma," he said dejectedly. "I guess . . . uh . . . I'll see you whenever then, huh?"

"Of course, baby. Sooner than later, I hope."

"Of course, Ma. Bye-Bye."

He hung up abruptly, and Ariadne was left feeling worse than she had before she dialed. Things were still different—he didn't sound like the enthusiastic, assertive Barry who'd called home months before. He was so withdrawn, so distant, and he responded with no eagerness to the idea of returning home. Sure, he said he wanted to, and even protected her honor when his 'friend' made lewd comments, but it felt arbitrary . . . like he was going through the motions of being a good son.

Not for the first time, Ariadne's guilt led her to realize she had made a terrible mistake. She had thought she had the "slut" under control . . . that it wasn't interfering with her life . . . but this was the proof she had been trying to ignore. This was the first sign.

******

Early the next day, Ariadne made a phone call. After a few rings, she heard Emily's voice on the other line.

"Mmmmm . . . hey you," Emily said in a sultry voice, obviously recognizing the Caller ID.

"Hey, Emily. I'm sorry to wake you, but we have to talk."

The young woman's voice seemed to straighten out immediately. It was easy tell by her tone that she was preparing for some kind of bad news. "What about?"

Ariadne bit her lip before speaking her next sentence. "I don't think we can do this anymore."

". . . Why?" Emily asked after a brief pause.

Strange as it was, Ariadne hadn't prepared for that. It was the most obvious word, and the simplest question, but she simply hadn't anticipated that Emily would ask it. Perhaps because she had assumed, since Emily said she didn't want anything serious with another woman, that she wouldn't question the need for a 'break-up' when it happened. Suddenly, Ariadne didn't know exactly what to tell her. She tried to think of something she could say that wouldn't arouse the girl's suspicions or break her heart.

"My son is coming home tomorrow," she lied. "He's coming for Christmas and New Year's."

". . . So?" Emily stated coldly. "What's that got to do with me?"

"Well, I . . .ah . . . I'll probably need to spend time with him during the holidays, and I don't, um, want him suspicious of what his mom's been up to all this time."

"The fuck does that mean?" Emily snapped. "You suddenly ashamed of it, or something?"

"N-No," Ariadne said, "but . . . it's not decent for a boy to know these sorts of things about his mother . . ."

Emily burst into laughter. "Oh, please, honey. You and I were way past 'decent' from giddy-up. Your boy's a grown man, and if he can't handle that Mommy Dearest likes to get her pussy rocked every now and again, that's his problem. Not yours."

This was exactly the reaction that Ariadne didn't want. In part, she could understand the argument that Emily was making, but she really didn't like having to batter logic against her back and forth.

"Please, Emily. I don't want to make this awkward. Can we just agree to be friends from now on?"

"You know what? No." Emily snapped. "Something's up with you, and if you can't even be straight up with me, then hell no we can't be friends. You can come to my store and you can spend your money, but that's it. We're done. I'd tell you to go fuck yourself and all, but you do that well enough already."

"Emily, wait—" But, it was no use. The line went dead, and Ariadne counted yet another person in her life that she had driven away.

She crawled into bed long before the usual hour—she simply didn't feel very much energy or enthusiasm, so she didn't see much point to trying to stay awake. Hopefully, she could just sleep through her misery, and when she woke up, she could figure out how to put this whole nightmare behind her. Beyond her own, she'd ruined so many other lives . . . Barry's . . . Emily's . . . she cared for them both, and it was her own foolhardiness and lewdness which had gotten her into this.

There was only one thing to do: she had to go back into that secret place inside herself, and she had to shut the door she had left open. She had to lock the slut back inside, deep inside, and never let her out again.

Ariadne took a repeat trip to the drug store and purchased some sleeping pills. When she returned home, she took the recommended dosage and laid in bed, clothed in a blouse, bra and panties. She intended to wear them to bed every night from now on, just to make sure that she exorcised her slut side for good.

It wasn't long after her head touched the pillow that she slipped quickly back into her dreams.

She appeared where she wanted to be—she saw the door right in front of her, wider than it had been when she'd left it the last time, standing half agape, large enough for a thinly-built person to slip through.

She stood firm in her resolve, and she remembered her purpose: the door had to be closed, and locked permanently. She reached out for it, her fingers lightly brushing the knob.

What the hell do you think you're doing?

Ariadne spun, finding herself face-to-face with her alter ego: the nude, disheveled slut she had seen in the glass.

"I'm getting rid of you once and for all," she told her. "You've caused me nothing but trouble!"

Have I? the slut said with a smirk. You've seemed quite happy every time you've let me have control. I gave you everything you wanted . . . everything you needed. Your darling son's cock felt so good when he pounded your pussy, didn't it? And without me, you never would have gotten to taste it.

Ariadne swallowed, knowing the harlot told the truth. But, she remained focused. She kept her willpower. "You might have cost me my only son! You made me hurt poor Emily!"

Please. You did that on your own. If you really wanted Barry to know everything was alright between you, you should have fucked him one more time the day after . . . or sucked him off in the airport parking lot, just for good measure. And Emily only got mad when you chose to stop nibbling her sweet little pussy. She certainly had no quarrel sharing your bed before that.

"I'm not listening to anything you have to say," Ariadne said defiantly. "You just want to take away everything I love!"

Wake up, you imbecilic bitch, the slut said, attempting to tug Ariadne away from the door. Don't you get it? I don't want to hurt you. I AM you. I love Barry the same as you. I care for Emily same as you. Why would I want to hurt them?! You're the one doing that with this ridiculous, prudish façade! I know what they want . . . what we ALL want. This body is a wealthy resource. You have a natural treasure between your legs, and the way you want to hog it all to yourself should be considered a crime! I gave Barry something most mothers could only DREAM of giving their sons. I gave Emily something she never even knew she wanted . . . something she THANKED you for. I know what this body . . . OUR body is worth, and I share it like any responsible woman should. Don't DARE get high-and-mighty with me. I've PROVEN my affection time and again. And if you really loved them, you'd understand that. But you don't, do you? And that's why I'm a better mother than you'll EVER be.

At those words, Ariadne's brow furrowed, and her hand gripped on the knob of the door. She yanked her grip away from her doppelganger. She knew that it had no real power over her—only the power she let it have. "I told you, I don't have anything more to say to you. My son hates me now, and I WILL NOT lose him because of YOU!"

With every ounce of passion she could muster, Ariadne slammed the door, causing the entire empty dreamspace to quake violently. She fell onto her back, unharmed, but panting excitedly. Her doppelganger stared daggers into her, incensed, her body slowly beginning to fade into the aether.

So that's how you want it, then? A wicked grin formed on her lips. But you still don't get it: you can't keep me out. Not now. Now that I've been freed, I'll NEVER truly go away. You'll see. Before you know it, I'll be back even stronger. And this time, it'll be for keeps.

As the last of her faded, the slut's voice rang inside Ariadne's ears. You need me, Aria, dear. And you don't even KNOW it yet. Sweet dreams, honey.

******

Five more months passed. Barry missed coming home for Spring Break as well, but that was halfway expected—what boy wanted to spend Spring Break with his mother? Hell, with her birthday a week or so back, she'd officially hit four-zero. Why would he hang with an old woman, when he was probably cozying up with that 'Suzanna' or whoever she was. At least, she hoped he could be—she hoped she hadn't ruined that relationship, too. Ironically, she had told him to forget about partying in college and focus on his studies, but since when did he listen to her? Heck, as a teenager, he would surely elect to do the opposite merely out of obligation. For the first time in her life, she found herself hoping that her son had disobeyed her.

It wasn't like she had proven herself as the best mother in the past year.

The five-minute phone calls they shared three times a week gradually dwindled to about once a month, with one or two minutes to talk, if she was lucky. He claimed that he was busy with his internship, but still wouldn't tell her what it was about. She still doubted that it even existed. She had never known Barry to lie to her before, but who knew how else things had changed after . . . after she had ruined him?

But then, she finally returned from the store one day in May and found that Barry had left her a message. It was brief, but her heart lit up when Barry explained that both the spring semester and his internship had ended, and he was sure to be coming home for the summer. He'd be leaving for the airport at 6:00 tomorrow, and his flight would arrive in Chicago at around noon. Ariadne bounced on her heels at the news and yelped with joy.

Finally, her baby was coming home, and she could work on mending this unbearable rift between them.

The next day, Ariadne tried to think of what to say to Barry. She had screwed up horribly with Emily, and she was not willing to let her ineptitude make things worse for her and her son. She would apologize to him . . . beg his forgiveness, and promise to get help and counseling if he thought she needed it. She would tell him everything . . . about the daydreams she had after he left, the toys, Emily, and of course . . . "the slut" inside of her. Even if he thought she was absolutely crazy, she would do anything to win him back. He was still all she had left, and she wasn't going to let him escape from her life.

After spending all morning preparing the house for his return, she left for the airport at 10:00. She arrived well before his flight, and eagerly waited at the arrival lobby. The hour and thirty minutes she waited for his plane to arrive was the most uncomfortable wait she'd had since her trip to the drug store and . . .

. . . No, she didn't even want to think about that. Not now.

Finally, the speakers announced the arrival of Flight 43 out of Fresno, and Ariadne eagerly marched to the gate to await the passengers. Her palms sweaty, her heart pounding, she rapidly went over everything that she had practiced—how she would greet him, what she would say, how she would say it, and what posture to hold while she said it.

In a way, it was rather funny—only months ago, she was standing nervously as her son departed, but her apprehension at that time was about the fear of flying itself. Now, she really didn't feel anything about air travel anymore . . . she had far more pressing worries on her mind. Worries that only became compounded when she finally spotted her tall, handsome boy emerging from the gate and walking in her direction.

She waved to get his attention, but since he never looked up, she didn't know whether or not he had seen her. She kept it up, but he never looked up at her once. Already, she felt her heart leap into her throat. Once again, she went over just what she wanted to say. She was ready to beg him, to plead with him to forgive her and to help her put it all in the past. What they did was a mistake, and she would do anything to erase it and bring things back to the way they were.

At last, when he stepped within a few feet of her, his eyes finally rose to meet hers. She greeted him with a soft smile, holding her hands outward in apology.

"Barry, darling . . . I'm so sorry for everything. Could you ever for—"

All of a sudden, her voice was muffled, gagged by the force of her own son's mouth being pressed fiercely against her own. Ariadne froze, her eyes widened in panic—this outcome was the absolute last she had ever expected. Before she could form a single coherent thought, she felt her son's tongue moving through her mouth, seeking any moistness that it could find.

She enjoyed being in his clutches, being pulled so close by his strong, forceful hands. With her open eyes, she watched as others turned and glanced in their direction, noting the unusual sight of such a young man kissing such an older woman so passionately in the middle of an airport terminal. She was hardly the only woman even being kissed, but the stark contrast was worth at least a passing look.

It unbearably naughty . . . and none of these people could know who the two of them really were. Or, even if they did, what proof did they have? Who would dare to speak out what appeared to be a perfectly consensual May-December romance, without knowing that they were in fact, mother and son?

It would be so easy to lose herself now. To let herself disappear into that dark place.

But no, she had locked that side away . . . and Barry . . . well, he was just confused. So she pulled away from his kiss and then delivered a firm slap to the face.

"Stop that, Barry. It isn't right, and you know it!"

The look Barry shot at her almost broke her heart. Confusion, frustration, sadness . . . the poor boy was messed up worse than she thought.

And suddenly, she had forgotten everything she had practiced for up to that moment. All of the apologies, all of the begging and the explanation. It had all been right at the tip of her tongue . . . right up until the point when he sucked that tongue into his own mouth.

And now, she had nothing.

"Um . . . If you don't have any luggage, let's head to the car, okay?" she told him, turning on her heels and walking toward the exit.

His confused expression unerring, Barry slowly followed behind.

It was another awkward car ride at first, with Barry barely speaking—just staring at her with the same semi-confused, semi-frustrated glare. Ariadne's eyes darted from the road to her right once or twice, becoming more and more uncomfortable as the drive continued. Soon, it became utterly impossible for her to concentrate solely on driving.

"Do you hate me, Barry?"

"Right now, I'm just trying to understand you," he said with a sigh. "We never got to talk about it last time, but now I really need to know . . . what the hell was that? What we did?"

Ariadne bit her lip. "It was a mistake, Barry. That's all."

His eyes narrowed for a moment. "A mistake." He leaned his head back. "Well. That's good to know."

"I'm sorry," she told him remorsefully, "I never meant to hurt you."

"Hurt me!?" He exclaimed with a snort. "You made me feel better than I ever had in my life!"

Ariadne gasped—and not just from disbelief. Hearing those words coming from her son, after what they did together, instantly triggered a flood inside her womanhood.

Barry continued. "I come back home after a miserable three months in college, worried that with my luck, was on the fast track to ending freshman year as a total virgin . . . and then, BAM! My mom comes along and rescues me from that little dilemma."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. That one simple statement had dropped so many bombs on her that it was hard to even know where to begin. First, Barry was a virgin? She had never known. He always talked about the girls he dated and he was always staying late at "parties", so she thought he'd lost his cherry a long time ago. And second, his time at school was miserable?

Just what the heck was going on?!

"H-How come you never told me you were miserable at school?" she asked, ignoring the more poignant question.

He rubbed his fingers through his thick, sandy brown hair. "Because . . . you were expecting such big things from me. I don't have any grants or scholarships, so there you were paying this huge tuition for me, expecting me to make something of myself. But when I got to Fresno, I was derping hard. I didn't even know what major I wanted, so I just took random classes, and they absolutely sucked. I was getting below-average test scores, I tried out for football but only made the damn practice squad, I had a bunch of asshole roommates who liked to pull pranks all night and cover my mattress in dog urine, and I couldn't even meet a girl without her getting gang-banged by said asshole roommates."

He looked over at her again. "Yeah, mom. I'd say those first few months sucked."

Ariadne looked back at her son, her face etched with sympathy. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. But don't worry, you can leave if you want—"

Barry shook his head. "Didn't you hear the past tense, Ma? Those problems are done with now. I had a blast when I came back from Thanksgiving, and it's all thanks to you."

Again, she was flabbergasted. "M-Me?!"

"After we—made love—I was stunned, ya know? I couldn't believe that I did that . . . and with my own mom. I went back in my room and I sat thinking. And thinking. And thinking. I did a whoooole lot of thinking.

"Eventually, I came to one conclusion: that what we did had been incredible. I loved seeing you that way. And touching every inch of your gorgeous body, and . . . my orgasm was just unbelievable. But, I didn't know how you felt about it. I hadn't even stopped to see if you were drunk or high or delirious when it happened. I was worried that I'd taken advantage of you or something. And then, when you didn't want to talk about it, I felt even worse. So, I sat and thought about how I could make it up to you.

"I thought about it all the way back to Fresno, and by the time my plane landed, I had a plan. For the first time, I knew what I wanted to do. So, I went to the Student Employment office and asked if they had any internships for psychology."

"Psychology?" she repeated, surprised.

"Yes, I had decided that I wanted to go into a certain field of psychology—specifically, sexology."

Her mouth fell open.

"But, they didn't really have any internships open at the school. Psychology is actually a pretty popular field of study at Fresno, and all of the early birds had snatched up the relevant internships. I was completely screwed."

Now, Ariadne was growing only more confused. "So how did you—?"

"Luckily, I spoke to the work study working at the desk and told her what I was looking for and what I wanted to study. She was intrigued that I was so forthcoming about it, and after a little digging, she told me something shocking. It turned out, her name was Suzanna, and she was an up-and-coming porn star. There was a studio in Los Angeles where she did all her shooting and they were looking to hire some extra help. You know, fetching coffee for the actors, cleaning laundry, stuff like that."

"You cleaned porn stars' laundry?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah, but it wasn't as bad as you think. I wore gloves, and we always handled it with plastic bags. But anyway, the reason why I couldn't tell you what we were doing was because the studio wanted to avoid leaks. The porn industry is as competitive as any other media, and studios like to protect their bread and butter. On top of that, I didn't want any of my nosy roommates knowing. They were already giving me dirty looks when Suzanna came by to pick me up for our triweeklies to L.A., so I sure as hell didn't want them to know that I was involved in the porn industry."

She glanced at him nervously. "Did you ever . . . ah . . . act?"

"No. Although, Suzanna tried to, um, 'coax' me into it every now and again."

"'Coax' you?"

"Yeah. Suzanna and me . . . we . . . uh . . . we fucked quite a bit. Just not on camera."

Ariadne's brow clenched and her hand tightened around the steering wheel. Suzanna wasn't his girlfriend. She was just some porn harlot that had seduced her son. Ariadne seethed inside; the mental image fueling her rage. Some bitch had stuffed his dick in the same dirty spot where who-knew-how-many other unworthy cocks had been? Ariadne would've bet the farm that her pussy was looser than the ball pit at Fun Land.

Barry glanced at her and a smirk appeared. "Are you jealous, Mom?"

"No. So. Tell me how this 'internship' of yours helped you in school." In truth, she was burning inside, but he couldn't know that.

"Well, most of the people there were real helpful, believe it or not. I think I actually learned more from them than I would have from a psychology or sexology class. They didn't just tell me stuff—they showed me firsthand how it worked. They explained why the set up certain angles, why they chose certain guys for certain roles, and how costuming was important. They explained to me about certain fetishes, and how people got turned on from lots of different things. And I got to see it all in action, firsthand, rather than just learning about it in a class.

"Overall, I felt more excited about being there. My classes seemed less boring, my test scores improved, and my roommates didn't get to me as much as before. I think my relationship with Suzanna did the trick—it earned their respect. Working with porn improved my dorm life in every possible way, really. Who'da thought?

"And the actresses were nice, too—No, don't worry, Mom . . . I didn't sleep with anyone other than Suzanna . . . you can turn the glare off now—and they told me how to dress and how to act around women to turn them on. They taught me how to please a woman . . . and that's what ultimately led me to sex with Suzanna. But, there wasn't anything deep between us. To her, I was a convenient cock. For me, she was practice."

"Practice?" Ariadne inquired. "Practice for what?"

Barry paused, licking his teeth nervously. A nervous hand inched closer and touched his mother's thigh.

"Mom, what we did . . . I never forgot it. And . . . I want to do it again."

Her entire body shook. The combination of his words and his touch caused her to nearly swerve off-road. She could feel her heart beating faster in her chest, her mouth salivating, and wetness forming between her legs.

She could feel the door opening.

"Barry, sweetheart, like I said . . . what we did was a mistake . . ."

"Maybe, but mistakes don't have to be bad," he said, rubbing her thigh gently.

She almost moaned right then, but collected herself. "Not this time, honey. Do you know how nervous I've been since you left? How worried I was that I'd ruined your life? I don't think I could go through that again . . ."

"But now you know that you didn't, Mom. If anything, you made my life better than I'd ever hoped."

"I turned you into a . . . a porn errand boy!"

"So? The porn industry is just a healthy business, like any other. Sure, it's smut, but it's more honest smut than what they make in Hollywood." His hand moved from her thigh and gripped her hand. "Can't you see that this is what I want? I love you, Mom. And I know you've been lonely ever since Dad died. So, let me do this. Let me make up for the twelve years I've been a pain your ass. I loved our first time, and I know you enjoyed it, too, Mom. I can see the excitement in your eyes from just talking about it."

She swallowed agitatedly. It was happening again . . . she could feel the "slut" peeking through, struggling to get a foothold. She couldn't let it happen. Barry was just a boy. He didn't know what he really wanted. He was just thinking with his hormones.

"Barry, what we did that night . . . that wasn't me, honey."

"Huh? Were you drunk or something, Ma?"

"No, baby . . . but, I wasn't in my right mind nonetheless. What you should understand is that, sometimes, this other side of me comes out. This 'other woman'. She's me, but she's not. She's—"

"Your 'slut side'?"

Yet again, her son dropped another bomb. "How . . . how did you . . .!?"

Barry chuckled. "Oh please, Mom. I've worked in porn for the past half-year. Did you really think that I hadn't heard about a woman's 'slut' side? Or, did you just think you were the only one? I met all kinds of women on the set at that studio—mothers, teachers, nurses, lawyers—both in front of and behind the camera. Plenty of them told me about how there was this other side of themselves they just 'let loose' every now and again. When they were on camera, sucking a dick or getting double-fucked, they let the slut take control so they could just sit back and enjoy the ride. And when it was over, they went back home to their boyfriends, their husbands, their kids, and they lived normal lives."

He squeezed her thigh. "But you need to understand that that slut is still you. It's unhealthy to try and keep it caged, because it only comes out stronger later. If I was the first guy who got to see yours in action, then I feel very lucky. I saw a side to my mother that no one had ever seen before. And . . . I want to see it again."

She couldn't believe it. She was losing this argument. After she'd worked so hard for the past five months to keep that side of herself excised and hidden away, her son was able to undo it all in just a few minutes. As she pulled into their driveway, Ariadne leapt out of the car as quickly as she could, rushing toward the front door.

"Barry . . .stay away from me. I . . . I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this praise from you. Don't try to treat me like I - I'm normal."

He got out of the car and chased her. "But you are, Mom. You're a completely normal, healthy woman, and I love you. Let me share this with you. Please."

She fumbled with the key in the lock and he walked behind her, pressing his body against her back.

Memories of Stewie, and the night they conceived their son, flashed into her mind. He had been close just like this . . .

"No, Barry," she said, struggling with the key again. "What would your father say? How would he feel knowing that the two of us—?"

"I think Dad would have wanted you to move on," Barry told her, "and I'm almost certain that he would want me to get laid. This way, we can do both."

"That's . . . that's just wrong," she protested.

He leaned closer and kissed the back of her neck, sliding his hands onto her hips. It was just like Stewie had done, 18 years earlier. "But you love it. You pretend to hate the slut in you, but deep down, you want her to win, don't you?"

Her legs were quivering. She had long since stopped working on the key, and now, her front was mashed against the door as her son gently nibbled her ear. She could feel her willpower crumbling, the forbidden door opening wider.

Breathless, she turned to face him, staring into his eyes with an aura of love, of need, and of defeat. "Barry, honey . . . if I do this . . . if I let her out again, I'll never be able to put her back in. I can feel her. She's too strong. I'll be a complete and total slut, unable to know right from wrong." Her tears began flowing. "How would I be able to control myself again?"

He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, gently, lovingly. He held her in his arms—not just as a man holding a conquest . . . but as a lover holding a woman he deeply cared for.

"Oh, I think I can handle her," he assured her. "I told you, Ma. Your boy has learned some new tricks."

He turned the key and hammered the door open with the flat of his fist. Reaching down, he scooped his mothers legs and held her entire body in his arms, carrying her across the threshold like a bride. After kicking the door closed with his foot, he kissed her again. She didn't fight anymore; she merely held onto his neck, surrendering as their lips locked and tongues wrestled.

Barry took her to the bedroom, where upon he tossed her face-first onto the edge of her bed. He reached under her skirt and found her fragile pair of panties, gripping them with both hands and literary ripping them from her pelvis.

"I'll show you," he said, undoing his buckle. "The way I tame a slut."

She gaped over her shoulder, breathlessly, watching him pull his pants to the floor. She kept her hands flat on the mattress, her ass risen in anxious anticipation. She licked her lips as he stepped toward her, and yelped excitedly when his hands grasped her hips.

She felt 'the slut' bursting free, kicking the door clear off its hinges.

"Yes! Fuck me! Hurry!!" she exclaimed lustfully.

Barry hardly needed any instruction. He placed his cock swiftly at her entrance and took one more step until it sank in deep. He didn't go slow, and he wasn't shy. He just thrust his cock all the way into his mother's pussy and began to pound away mercilessly.

"God yes, Barry," Ariadne gasped as he felt his hips slam against her ass with every thrust. "Jesus, what was I thinking?! Why did I want to fight this!?"

Barry's hands gripped the meat of her ass tightly, pinching her flesh. "Don't turn around. Just face forward and enjoy it. And keep your hands gripped on those sheets. You aren't really my Mom right now. You're just a slut inside her body."

A shiver went through as he called her that. Never before had that word sounded so good. "Yes, I'm a slut. I'm your slut, honey. Treat me like one!"

"I don't need to be told that . . . slut," he said, striking her left cheek with a mighty smack. She yelled in both pain and pleasure, overjoyed to be treated so forcefully by her own son.

Already, she could tell that something was different. The slut inside of her was free, but she couldn't take control. Ariadne felt no inhibitions, no reservations about being fucked, but her lust was still being held in check. Controlled, somehow.

"Oh, Barry," she gasped, rubbing her foot gingerly against his naked leg. "What are you doing to me, baby?"

"I'm turning you into a slut, Mom," he told her, thrusting deep at that last word. "But, I'm turning you into my slut."

"Oh, yeeeesssss," she moaned, daring to glance over her shoulder. "Whatever you want, whenever you want it, it's yours. Do to me whatever you want."

"I told you to look straight and keep your hands on the sheets, slut," Barry demanded, slipping his arms under her pits and reaching around to squeeze her breasts through her blouse. He then tore it open from the front, just like the way he ripped her panties off, shredding a huge hole that enabled her huge breasts to burst free. He gripped her tits hard, mauled them, before placing his hand her back and spiking her head face-first into the mattress again.

The unexpected jolt of being controlled—of being outright conquered—sparked an orgasm which brought tears to Ariadne's eyes. It was the single most intense climax she'd had in her life. And when she looked forward and saw the image of her son thrusting his cock into his mother's pussy from behind, rocking her entire body forward and back again, the excitement was only prolonged. 

"So how does it feel, Mom? How does it feel to be you own son's slut?"

"Wonderful, baby. Like I'm free!"

"How does my cock feel inside you?"

"G-Good, honey," she stammered. "Really good."

"Whose slut are you? Who is this body for?"

"Yours, my darling. Only for you. Please, FUCK me."

Barry gripped her hips tightly and picked up his pace. He growled, and she could feel his entire body tense.

"I'm about to cum, slut," he told her. "And I'm going to do it inside your pussy."

"Oh yes, Barry," she moaned. "Please, fill me up! Pour all of your cum inside me!"

Again, he didn't need instruction. Only a moment after she begged, Barry exploded inside of her pussy, drenching the walls of her cunt with his sticky juices. The streams bursting inside her caused Ariadne herself to go over the top, and she came with her son, mixing their juices together inside her belly.

She collapsed on the bed, happier than she'd been in years. She couldn't believe what she had been missing all this time, and it was pure heaven to know that this was what Barry wanted as well. How had heaven smiled on her, blessed her, for it turned out this way?

Her son was tall, confident, muscular, and handsome. She couldn't understand what he loved so much about her soft, middle-aged body—what it was about her nakedness that made his monster grow so long and hard was unknown to her, nor did she care anymore. Nothing mattered as long as he desired her and kept fucking her—as long as he craved his dick inside her. From here on, she knew she'd die without it. Her son's amazing cock.

The slut she'd tried so hard to lock away had been right all along.

Barry's manhood stayed inside her, plugging her hole with his spunk inside. After a few minutes, she could feel him grow hard inside her again. To her utter astonishment, he didn't waste a second of it, and began to fuck her again immediately.

Her strong, healthy boy. She had made this body . . . this physique with so much stamina, so much power.

And now she'd enjoy the fruits of it.

******Epilogue 1******

Three weeks passed. Ariadne and her son never went a day without fucking, and usually, they squeezed in at least three to four sessions within 24 hours. Barry was insatiable for his mother's pussy, and she was more than eager to spread her legs whenever her boy wanted it. For the second time in her life, she stopped bothering with clothing. In fact, one of the hottest experiences she shared with her son was the occasion they fed all of her bras, panties, skirts and blouses into the garbage disposal, one at a time, while he slowly ground her pussy from behind. When the last shred went inside, and they watched the pieces spray like confetti, he rewarded her by emptying every ounce of his spunk into her.

From then on, she couldn't have worn clothes, even if she had wanted to—and she did not. When the mailman arrived, when city workers came to do roadwork, she'd walk around her property with everything on display and never think twice about it. She received a few letters of complaint, so she and Barry had some signs put up, warning visitors that their property was 'clothes free'.

They say that the difference between a nudist and an exhibitionist is that a nudist sees nothing special about their nakedness, while the exhibitionist gets a thrill out of it. If that is true, then she was an exhibitionist for her son, and a nudist for the rest of the world. She didn't give a damn what strangers thought—as long as her naked body kept bringing her son's cock to rock-hardness, that was good enough for her.

One day, Barry was making tender love to his mother, gently screwing her missionary . . . each long and deep thrust pushing her head against back of the sofa.

Suddenly, he said: "Ma, does it bother you when I come inside you?"

"No honey," she answered breathlessly. "Why do you ask?"

He completed a few more slow thrusts before adding, "So then, you're not worried about getting pregnant?"

"No, baby. I'm not."

"Why?" he asked. "Are you on the pill?"

"No, sweetie," she told him. "Sometimes, that messes with a woman's hormones. Makes her less interested in sex. I don't want that for you, darling. I want to always want you. All day, every day."

That earned her a few harder strokes. Her body shivered, and she came immediately.

"I might get you pregnant, Ma," he told her, fondling her healthy tits and staring lustfully into her eyes. "Are you okay with that?"

"Yes, sweetheart. You know that this pussy belongs to you, now. You can do what you want with it, and the rest of this slut body. Use me as you see fit. Pour your babies into me. I'll make them as long as you want them."

He leaned closer and gripped the back of the couch for support. "Oh Ma, I want that. But I want you to know . . . I want you to be more than my baby factory. I want to love you and keep making love to you. I want to watch my love grow inside you. But more than that, I want whatever we do to make you happy."

"You make me happy, my love," she said as she clenched the back of his head, drawing his lips nearer. "Being your slut makes me happy. I would be your slave if you asked me to."

Suddenly, Barry's mouth clasped to hers and he screamed inside, filling her lungs with his sweet breath. Their mouths consumed each other, tongues swimming together as Barry cried in ecstasy. She had spoken the magic words, the words which flooded her pussy with his potent, baby-making fluid, splashing her insides in search of her delicate eggs.

******Epilogue 2******

FIVE MONTHS LATER

A fur-clad Ariadne smiled when she saw him appear through the crowd ahead. He saw her and smiled back, that warm twinkle in his eye that got her wet every time she noticed it. He pushed hurriedly through the crowd of people and made a beeline for her. The two lovers quickened their pace, closing the gap until she threw herself into his arms and he lifted her up, kissing her face all over as her long heels kicked a few inches from the ground.

It was déjà vu: an ironic echo of both the first and second times she had welcomed him back at this airport, with each version combined in one, more perfect moment.

Then, he gently set her down and gazed into her loving eyes.

"Are you wearing it?" he asked.

"Of course, Master," she told him, slightly unbuttoning the fur coat and giving him a peek inside. Inside, he only thing covering her skin were latex straps, sparsely positioned over her body, only leaving exposed her bulbous breasts and the teardrop belly she displayed so proudly.

"Good girl," he said, placing a delicate hand on her swollen stomach. "You're growing even bigger than I hoped."

"Naturally, Master," she beamed, her face shading beet red. "I'm taking excellent care of her. She is the Master's, after all."

She never, ever called him 'Barry' anymore, except around people who were aware their old relationship. The rest of the time, he was "Master", "Lover", or "Husband". As they both wanted; as the contract decreed.

But, she had made one stipulation of her own: there was one occasion where she could still call him 'Son', and he could call her 'Mom' . . .

But that occasion was only when his cock was buried in her pussy.

Smiling, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a fiber tether, hooking one end of it to the ring on her collar. "Let's go then, Slut," he said, calling the only name she enjoyed answering to.

He led her by leash out of the airport. "Let's hurry home . . . so we can be mother and son."

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