My mother the famous author – part 1
My mother ran away from home at seventeen to start living together with a man. She quickly became pregnant by him and when that happened the man left her. Therefore, I have never known my father and my mother adamantly refuses to talk about him. With her actions my mother had ‘shamed’ my old-fashioned family and consequently they didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. She had to live off welfare.
The first years of my life my mother started to write children’s stories, simply as a hobby. When I was three she half-jokingly sent a few to a publisher, who, to her own surprise, immediately wanted to publish the stories. Her first book, Goppy the green giraffe, became a massive success and before I went to elementary school it had already been translated into some thirty languages. By then my mother had also made so much money from her books that we had moved from the small apartment where I had been born, to a large mansion in an uptown suburb.
I hardly remember anything from the first years of my life. My earliest memories are from the mansion and the nanny my mother hired to take care of me. I saw very little of my mother herself. She was away from home to promote her books in various countries and when she was home she usually locked herself in her study to write. To compensate for her absence, she regularly bestowed me with expensive gifts. As far as I’m aware this way of growing up wasn’t a traumatic experience: I didn’t know better than that all children were raised by nannies and I certainly liked all those gifts.
Therefore, the fact I saw my mother more often on television than in real life (being a cute, good looking children’s author she was a welcome guests on all kinds of game shows and talk shows) didn’t disturb me at all. Quite the contrary, I was rather proud of my mother.
At a given point in time, I was in my puberty by then, I discovered a side of my mother’s life that she had always been able to conceal from me until then. I awoke at about three in the morning and didn’t feel very well. I was getting the flu and felt incredibly thirsty. I could have used the mansion’s intercom system to ask Anna, the housekeeper who had replaced the nanny by then, to bring me something to drink, but I liked her – she was always very nice and caring – and decided not to wake her in the middle of the night. I got out of bed and walked from my room in the west wing to the stairs to get something to drink myself in the kitchen downstairs. I was just about to take my first steps down the stairs when I heard stifled noises coming from my mother’s bedroom. I couldn’t hear the sounds very well – my mother’s room was situated in the east wing, quite far from the stairs – but they did pique my curiosity. I looked at the bedroom door and saw light coming through the keyhole and the cracks. Slowly I made my way in the direction of the room, taking care to make as little sound as possible. While I came closer, I could hear the sounds a little better: laughter, giggling, moaning and groaning, all simultaneously. As soon as got really close, I could hear that all these sounds came from two different voices! Was my mother . . . I found that hard to imagine. I know that all children rather not picture their parents doing ‘it’, but I had no reason to assume my mother was having sex. As far as I know, she had abandoned men after my father had left us and had been doing nothing but furthering her career as a children’s author ever since. I didn’t know better than that she had never had a relationship since.
To my own amazement I noticed that the thought that perhaps my mother was having sex right at this moment only a few feet away from me, greatly excited me and I developed a serious boner. I was at an age that I was busy discovering sex, but I hadn’t had any experiences beyond jacking off to pictures in Penthouse. Some girls in school had shown interest in me every now and then, but I had always avoided them. I told myself that I kept them at a distance because they only wanted me because my mother was rich and famous, but deep down inside I knew that I avoided them because I was terribly insecure and was afraid that I wouldn’t be any good at ‘it’.
I edged toward the room and knelt in front of the door, so I could look through the keyhole. What I saw I could hardly believe. My mother was only thirty-three and looked really good, but the way I saw her now I had never seen her before. Normally she wore her long blonde hairs in a pony tail, hardly wore make-up and dressed conservatively. Now her hairs were loose, her face was heavily made up and she wore a see-through black top that almost fully exposed her not too large, but beautifully shaped breasts. Her voluptuous ass was covered only by an incredibly short denim skirt that couldn’t be described as anything but ‘slutty’.
There was indeed a man with her, a man I had never seen before. He was tall, muscular, long-haired, bearded and almost fully covered with tattoos – sort of a biker. The man had by now pulled my mother’s top over her had and was enthusiastically licking her tits and nipples. The sight of all this excited me so much that I automatically, without thinking, put my hand in my pyjama trousers and started stroking my hard cock.
My mother and the man took each other’s clothes off, after which she knelt in front of him and took his stiff prick in her mouth. She started to suck fiercely and apparently did this very good, since the man was moaning with pleasure. I couldn’t take anymore at this sight and shot a load of sperm in my pyjama trousers. I had to take care not to make any sound, though I doubt whether my mother and the man would’ve heard me, so much noise they were making together.
Even though I’d come, I couldn’t stop myself from continuing to watch. By now the man was lying on his back on the bed and my mother was sitting on top of him, riding his hard dick like a woman possessed. After a while they switched positions: my mother lay down on her back, her legs pulled up and the man put himself on top of her and stuck his boner in her soaking wet cunt. While he started thrusting furiously en he and my mother were both screaming loudly, I noticed that my cock was beginning to grow and my hand slid back in my now gluey pyjama trousers. While I was beating off intensely again, the man couldn’t take anymore and was clearly about to come. He took his dick out of my mother and sprayed thick squirts of sticky semen over her face and breasts.
My mother snapped at the squirts of sperm and tried to catch as much of the sperm with her mouth as possible. The sight of my mother snapping at the semen that was being sprayed over her by a big cock made me mad with horniness and almost instantly I shot another load in my pyjama trousers. Well, they had been dirtied already anyway.
With a shrinking dick I stealthily made my way back to my room, completely shaken by what I had just seen. The next morning when I showed up for breakfast, there was no trace of either my mother or the unknown man. While fixing my breakfast, the housekeeper told me that my mother had already taken a cab to the airport in order to fly to London, where she would be signing books at several stores for the next three days. There wasn’t a word about the unknown man, though I couldn’t imagine that the housekeeper didn’t know about him. But apparently my mother didn’t want me to know about him.
When my mother was home for the night again after her trip to London, I stayed awake and at about two ‘o clock I sneaked out of my room and walked silently and carefully in the direction of her bedroom again. And yes, again I heard all kinds of excited sounds. Again I knelt in front of the keyhole and again I was in for a shock: she was going at it with two guys this time! Though both also looked like bikers, the man I had seen last time wasn’t one of them. I watched her blow one while jacking off the other, after which the bikers took turns fucking her before showering her in sperm together. Obviously I couldn’t restrain myself this time either and I wanked frantically while peeping at this wild fuckfest.
This repeated itself countless times over the following months: when my mother was home at night, I would watch the wild sex action that took place in her bedroom through the keyhole. Every time the man or men (once there were even three) that were screwing my mother were different, but they were all bikers. Much later I would hear that she picked them up at the hangout of a biker gang, because she liked men like that.
The few times that she was home at night and hadn’t picked up a man or men, she busied herself with dildos and vibrators, which I also found extremely exciting to watch. She did things with these toys that I wouldn’t have imagined possible. Once she put a vibrator in her cunt and another in her ass. Subsequently she made both pulsate faster and faster, until she came almost screaming.
Sometimes the sex action in my mother’s bedroom went on for so long, that I jacked off so many times after each other that the next day my dick was sore. The few times that I saw my mother during this time, usually only every now and then during breakfast or dinner, I tried to act as normal as possible. That was difficult with the images of her sordid exploits prominently present in my mind, but I absolutely didn’t want her to know, that I was aware of her nightly adventures. I had the impression that she had no idea, since she acted perfectly normal towards me too. Maybe she wouldn’t notice it anyway if I were behaving differently, since we still had very little contact. Her latest book, Fluppy the red penguin, was an even bigger success in countless countries than her previous one had been and she was away from home more than ever before to promote it. Sometimes she stayed away five or six days in a row and during those periods that she absent for so long, I almost went insane from the fact that I couldn’t peep at her at night and had to content myself with my ragged collection of girlie magazines. Once I got so desperate that I snuck to the room of the housekeeper, who was well in her fifties and far from attractive, to check if maybe there was something to be seen there. But as I’d expected, through that keyhole all I saw was the housekeeper snoring under her blankets – far from exciting.
That I began to get so addicted to peeping at my mother while she was having sex with herself or one or more men, started to unnerve a little at a certain point. I slowly began to realize that certain girls in school, who had been giving me regular hard-ons several months ago, really didn’t do anything for me anymore. One night, when my mother was home again after having been away for a week en I was peeping at her while she was being fucked hard in the ass by one of those bikers, I realised that I had the hots for my own mother. I wished that it were me in her bedroom instead of that biker. I wished that it were my cock instead of his cock that was moving back and forth slurping in her delicious tight ass. At first it scared me that I had such lustful feelings towards my mother, but that fear disappeared as soon as I realized that exactly because such thoughts were so taboo, they aroused me even more and I had an incredibly good orgasm.
The next morning I walked from my room towards the stairs, wearing only a robe, to grab a quick breakfast before getting dressed and going to school. When I walked past the bathroom, I heard the shower was in use. Since the housekeeper was downstairs preparing breakfast at the moment, it could only be my mother in the shower. I couldn’t restrain myself en in spite of knowing that if I wouldn’t be downstairs soon, the housekeeper would come up to call me and would catch me, I knelt down in front of the keyhole in the bathroom door. At first I didn’t see anything but the steamy windows of the shower cabin, that I couldn’t see through. I was just about to stand up again, when I heard the shower being turned off. I knew it was stupid to stay and watch, but I couldn’t help myself.
Shortly after the water had stopped streaming, the cabin door opened en my mother stepped out of it, naked and wet. The sight of her almost perfect body in all its naked glory, dripping wet en glistening, her wet hairs sticking to her shoulders and back en the remains of shower foam still on various parts of her horny body, drove me mad and as if by itself my hand disappeared inside my robe. My mother grabbed a towel and started to dry herself, while I started jacking off. I was quickly ready to come, when suddenly I heard the voice of the housekeeper at the bottom of the stairs. “Peter! Hurry up, breakfast has been ready for a while already! You’re going to be late for school if you don’t hurry!”
Startled I stood up. I let go of my cock, adjusted my robe and took a deep breath. I had escaped from discovery because the housekeeper hadn’t felt like going upstairs and decided to try yelling first.
Because of the scare of almost being caught, it thankfully didn’t take long for my dick to shrink and I hurried downstairs to have breakfast. While I quickly gobbled down my food in order not to be late for school, I wondered where the situation that had arisen would lead to next . . .