It was my mother's birthday recently, and I went down to have Sunday lunch with her, and stay the night. It's over ten years now since I left home. We still stay in regular touch - I get down there every now and then and occasionally she comes to London. We're not super-close, but we do enjoy a good natter together. I've never told her what I do - well, you can't really tell your mother you're a pro-domme and occasional shit-slave, can you? I'm pretty uninhibited but I could never work out how to tell her that, even if I wanted to.
She has lived on her own ever since I was tiny. I don't remember anything at all about my father. Apparently he left when I was small, never to be seen again, and he never sent any money. So she had a pretty hard life. She worked for various local companies, clerical work and that kind of thing, but to make ends meet she always seemed to have part-time jobs in the evenings and weekends as well. That was why I spent so much time on my own and had a chance to develop all my messy habits. I was playing with shit and messy food on my lonely evenings from when I was maybe ten or eleven. Later on I used to go whoring in the local hotels with some friends - dressing up in tarty clothes and taking loads of money (or it seemed so then anyway) from lonely businessmen to give them blowjobs and a quick fuck. Maybe that's why we're still quite good friends - we didn't exactly have an oppressive relationship.
She's still quite young for a "mum", I was born when she was not quite twenty. And she's pretty good looking too, slim (no idea where my shape comes from, my disappeared dad I suppose), nice figure. Even though I suppose she doesn't have much money, she always dresses nicely, smart and even a bit sexy for someone her age. For instance she never goes out except in high heels, even to work and to do boring things like shopping, even now. I never had any "uncles" and I had no idea about her sex life, whether she even had one or not. I always supposed she must, or why would she make the effort to look nice all the time? But it was always a secret from me, even when I lived with her.
So, there we were over Sunday lunch, chatting about what we're up to. Or in my case, not really. I never told her I left the hospital. Luckily I see Anna and other people from those days enough that I can make up fairly convincing stories about my life at work, enough to keep mum happy anyway. We'd had a couple of bottles of wine and were wondering about opening a third, and I'd just finished telling her some funny story about one of the doctors. It was a true story, except it had happened to someone else, not me.
Suddenly, completely unexpectedly, she stood up and slapped me in the face. Not playfully, really hard, so it hurt my neck as well as my cheek. And again, on the other side.
"You fucking lying bitch, Pauline, you fucking lying whore. What do you think I am, completely fucking stupid? I know what you're up to. You haven't worked in that fucking hospital for fucking years. Why do you keep fucking lying to me?"
Well, I was gobsmacked - literally! How on earth could she know? And how much did she know? Everything? Surely not, she would have said something, sometime - wouldn't she? I didn't know what to say. Anyway, she sat down again, and looked at me with a very serious look, one I'd only seen a handful of times.
"I'm sorry Pauline, I shouldn't have done that. But it's been getting on my nerves, all these stories about Doctor this and Sister that when I know you haven't worked there for years. Why don't you just tell me the truth?"
Well, sure, but how much of it?
"Well mum, yes, it's true I left the hospital a few years ago. You know, the work was awful, and the pay was lousy. I've been doing something else since then... but I didn't really know how to tell you..." I was still wondering first, how much she knew, and second, how did she know? I'd pretty much lost touch with everyone from my home town, except her.
"Pauline, I know everything. I've read everything you've written." Oh, shit. Now that was just something that never occurred to me. My mum, a literate of the Internet age. But... I've always changed enough details to make it hard to figure out who I really am, where I really live, that kind of thing. And anyway, what was going to happen now? Surely she wouldn't have fed me a nice Sunday lunch and sat there chatting about this and that, knowing that there's nothing I love better than wolfing down piles of half-rotten anonymous shit? But she had...?
"Pauline, look, I came across your web page, never mind how. It didn't occur to me it could be you, I just found it fascinating in a disgusting kind of way. And it's really well written, it's really a pleasure to read, even when the subject makes me feel sick." Thanks, mum! "And then, well, I've been to your place, it is kind of unusual you know, and the way you describe your childhood in that interview, it just had to be you."
"But mum, when...? I mean, how long have you known?"
"Oh, I don't know, a year or so."
"And you've never said anything, you've fed me nice lunches and listened to me prattling on about the hospital and never even asked me once...?"
"Well, it wasn't easy you know, suddenly to tell your only daughter that you know all those things. I didn't really intend to today either, but it just got too much for me. Sorry I hit you, hope it doesn't hurt too much. Although it seems like you're pretty used to that sort of thing. Look, I'd love to know more, but if you don't want to tell me anything, well, you know, I understand, I mean I suppose it's not easy to talk to your mum about eating shit, and being fucked in six places at once, and being whipped, and all that kind of stuff. But, well, I'm still your mum, you know."
This was, to say the least, a strange moment in my life. I just really didn't know what to say. The next hour was pretty surreal. Gradually, with a lot of questions, and a lot of hesitating on my part, I kind of filled in what she already knew. I thought she'd just be shocked completely to pieces, a conventional middle-aged lady with, let's face it, a pretty dull life, from a little provincial town where nothing ever happens. But nothing seemed to shock her, and if anything she shocked me, asking pretty detailed questions. I mean, what do you say when your mum asks you what shit tastes like? Or asks you to describe what a tit beating feels like? But it got more shocking than that.
"Pauline, take your clothes off." Huh? "Look, I'm your mum, I've already seen you naked, get 'em off and let me see you."
I was reluctant, but she can be persuasive. A couple of minutes and there I was, stark naked, standing at my mum's dining table in her little flat, with her looking me over, feeling my skin, tugging at all my various rings, gently caressing my bruises (plenty, as always) with her fingertips, tracing the brand on my bottom. The thing that fascinated her most was my clit ring. She'd read my story about it, but still, she asked me whether it hurt, and did it make things more sensitive (yes!) and was I glad I'd had it done (yes! yes! yes!), and didn't it get in the way sometimes (well, yes, but it's worth it). And then... things got even more strange. While she was asking me all these questions, she licked her finger and started rubbing my clit.
"Mum!!!" I was shocked - well, anyone would be.
"Don't be silly, Pauline. It sounds like there isn't a single person in the whole of London who hasn't fucked you and sucked you and shat in your pretty little mouth and whipped your tits and fuck knows what. Relax. Actually there are a couple of things I've been meaning to tell you, too."
But before I could ask what they were, she knelt down and put her tongue to my clit. Now this was really weird, and I really didn't agree with it, but, well, you know what a little traitor my clit is, and it felt good, it obviously wasn't the first time she'd given tongue. Hmm, maybe that explains the lack of uncles? Although there were no aunties either.
So when I'd come, and I was slouched in an armchair and feeling seriously weird, she started to tell me a very surprising story.
"Didn't you ever wonder what all my part-time jobs were, while you were enjoying yourself in the evenings and weekends?"
Well, not very much, I'd always supposed she worked in pubs and so on. It's true that I'd never asked. By the time I was old enough to be curious, there were lots of things I wanted to hide myself, so I suppose I just kept quiet in case I got some questions in return. I'd never confided anything in my mum, nor she with me.
"Well, think about it. What's the perfect part-time job for a woman, flexible hours, good money, and enjoyable too?"
I didn't understand what she meant. But she didn't give me any more help, and slowly I got an idea. "You don't mean... you weren't on the game, were you?"
She just nodded. I was shocked - again. Not at the idea itself, I could hardly be shocked by that, but at the thought of my dear old mum doing it. I started to ask her questions, how she started, when she started, that kind of thing.
"Well, I didn't really set out to be a call-girl. I mean, it wasn't what I thought I'd end up doing. But remember, when I was a teenager, it was the swinging sixties, free love and the pill and no nasty diseases. I had a wonderful time, all the men I wanted. And - well, a bit like you really - some of the older ones, they'd give me presents, and from there it was only a tiny step to making it a bit more of a business arrangement."
"So where did I fit in? You didn't keep working while my Dad was still around, did you?"
"Oh yes, your Dad. That's another thing I've been meaning to tell you. Actually I never knew for sure who he was."
"But you said he left when I was - what, four I think?"
"Sorry about that. The truth is, I was having a wild time, and well, I had a few too many, and I was sick, and, well, my pill... there were probably a dozen guys it could have been."
I'd always thought it was a bit odd that I had no memories at all of my Dad. Well, that was something else explained.. But there is a name on my birth certificate...?
"Well, it could have been him. Or any of the others. I just thought it looked bad having no father on the certificate."
"So when did you stop? You have stopped, I suppose...?"
"Now why would you think that? You think your poor old mum's too old for it now? Business is better than ever!"
So she's still at it... and I never even started to guess. I don't think she's too old for it, I know plenty of people older than her who are into all sorts of things, but somehow it just never occurred to me that my staid old mum... well, it just shows how good she's been at hiding it, I suppose.
"But mum, this is a little place, surely everyone must have know about it?"
"I'm very discreet. I don't think anyone knows even now, except my clients and a few people in the trade. Not that I really give a shit any more, to be honest, but it seemed important back then. Since your gran died there hasn't really been any reason to keep it secret, but I don't feel like telling the world about it either."
There was another thing I had to ask. "Did you know... well, what I was getting up to back when I was a teenager?"
"Of course. A group of girls, tarted up to the nines, working the hotel bars, how could anyone not know? You weren't exactly careful about it. It wasn't hard to put two and two together." Oh. So much for keeping secrets from my mum.
"Well, how come you didn't say anything? And, well, did you know about the other stuff, too?"
"I didn't exactly know about the other stuff, not exactly what you were up to. But I knew something was going on, there were often odd little things that didn't really make much sense, smells, things left lying around, odd stains and things. And as for why I didn't say anything... well, it would've been a bit hypocritical, wouldn't it? And to be truthful, I kind of admired you, after all I was on the game when I was that age too." Wow. So my mum turns out to be just completely, totally a different person from what I thought. And I never even had the slightest inkling. The questions went back and forth like this all afternoon, her asking about my life and me about hers. We did open that third bottle of wine.
"How come I never had any uncles? Or even aunties? Has your sex life been just strictly professional?"
"Of course not, you silly girl. But I never fancied the idea of a permanent partner, it wouldn't really go with the job, would it? Just like you. You have your Anna, don't you, and your Bianca? Well, I have good friends too. Some of them started as clients, and some, well, they kind of skipped the client stage. Especially the girls."
"Girls?" Oh mum, so you're bi too. This is just all a bit too much.
"What was it you wrote? 'Men are good for fucking, but girls for serious stuff'? Something like that, I remember. You think it's just you? Where do you think I learned to give tongue like that? Not from the punters, that's for sure. Oh, by the way, how about letting me meet Anna some time? She sounds like a really nice girl."
So I suppose I'll have to bring my girlfriend home for tea...
"Do you... I mean, kinky stuff, you know...?"
"Well, not like you, you filthy slut." (But she smiled at me as she said that). "A bit of pee play from time to time, some light bondage, bit of spanking. Never been a toilet slave though, can't imagine why not, but everyone has gaps in their experience." I blushed. How can you sit there in a cosy armchair with your mum and talk about being a toilet slave? "Never fed one either, but then maybe I should get round to it." Oh, mum, this is just too surreal.
We talked about money a bit, too. She wanted to know what I charge. She was a bit shocked by that. And I wondered what she'd done with all the money she must have made over what, thirty years? How come she still lives in this tiny flat in a nowhere town? And drives an ancient car?
"Well, if I'd bought a Mercedes and a huge house in the country, don't you think people would have talked? It mattered to me once, and now, well, I'm settled here, what would I do with a bigger place anyway? I don't need a dungeon, not like you. Anyway, you're a fine one to talk, with your 'post industrial' dump in the middle of a derelict industrial estate!" She had a point. "It's all invested, invested well, property, shares... if and when I have to give it up, I won't be queuing up for my old age pension on a Thursday, I can tell you".
Eventually, that third bottle of wine made us both doze off. It was after six when we started to wake up.
"You know, I've got an idea," she said. "There's nothing to do this evening anyway. And I've got a client who loves the occasional threesome. I'm sure he'd find a mother-and-daughter team right up his street. Why don't I call him and see if he's doing anything?" By now I was past being shocked or surprised by anything my staid old mum did or said. And anyway, it sounded like fun. It only took her a couple of minutes to confirm that he was free, he was up for it, and that he could expect a big surprise. Then it was my turn for another surprise.
"We can't go and do a threesome if you don't know who you're working with, can we?" she said, and right there in her living room she stripped, not erotically, just pulled all her clothes off like she was going to jump in the shower. I'd never seen her naked before. And, wow, she has the most amazing body, my nearly-fifty-year-old mum. It's nothing like mine. She's slim, quite small hips, perfect pert little B-cup tits, not a hint of sagging anywhere or cellulite or any of the other things most women seem to be lumbered with by their 35th birthday. Her pussy is shaved, no surprise there, and I can see just one small ring peeping out from her labia. That is a surprise.
"Mum, you're gorgeous. You've got the body of a 25-year old. Fantastic tits. Fabulous bum. Pretty little pussy. What's with the ring?"
"You know, I got it done when I read about your clit ring," she said, blushing a bit. "I didn't have the nerve for that, but I wanted to try something. Take a closer look. Like, really close." And she sat down on a dining chair with her legs spread wide. Well, it felt odd, but she'd done it to me earlier after all, so I went to work on her with my tongue, caressing her, teasing her, working on her inner lips and her clit hood and just tantalising her pretty clit until she was going wild, tonguing her cunt, lapping at her. Then I couldn't resist rimming her, running my tongue round the ripples of her anus, pushing it into her. To my delight she wasn't especially clean. I forgot this was my mother, it was just another sexy woman who I was determined to drive crazy with sex. When she was literally begging me for it, I went back to her clit and quickly she came. She made me stop then.
"You seem to be able to come continuously all day long, if I can believe your stories." I assured her that she could believe them. I'm incredibly lucky, I know. "But I can't, and if you wear me out now then there won't be anything left for Tim tonight. But I've never been rimmed like that, in fact I don't think anyone's ever given me tongue like that. You dirty little slut. To think you're my daughter. I never thought I'd be this proud of you." And we kissed, not a little peck, properly, like lovers.
"Mum, look, there's one thing. I can't do a threesome with you and keep calling you 'mum', I just can't." So she told me to call by her first name, Linda. I do when I remember, which isn't always - when we're doing a scene together, she's Linda, but the rest of the time, I find it hard to forget that she's really my mum.
Later on, we set off to visit her client, Tim. We'd sobered up a bit by then. Her outfit was perfect, not at all tarty but incredibly sexy - short black dress, black open-crotch tights, black stiletto sandals. Mine was a bit of a problem - her clothes wouldn't fit me, and when I left my flat, less than twelve hours ago, it was to see my respectable middle-aged mum, not for a threesome with a high-class escort. Mum to the rescue again - it turned out that she'd kept some of my tart clothes that I'd never bothered to collect. So I was a complete contrast to her, dressed like the teenage whore I'd once been, in a short denim skirt, tight skimpy white blouse, and a pair of stilettos that I'd loved back then but somehow forgotten about.
We gave Tim a pretty good time. I won't go into all the details, but he got to fuck us both (of course). He liked it a lot when we licked his cum out of each other then shared it in a big sloppy kiss. Then we gave each other plenty of tongue and had lots of fun, and that got him excited so we both managed to suck him off, though it took a while, and then he was completely exhausted but I persuaded him to piss in my mouth, and then Linda pissed in my mouth too, and that was just so kinky that I came almost spontaneously. He was really turned on by the idea of fucking mother and daughter at the same time, and loved it when we did things together. It was certainly a lot more fun than the last time I spent an evening with my mum, watching some stupid old film on the TV! We were completely, totally exhausted afterwards. By unspoken agreement we didn't sleep together, although it might have been nice.
The next day had some pretty big surprises, too, and if what you like about my writing is extreme messiness, you'll certainly enjoy this. Read on here.