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NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This is a cuckold-themed fantasy story about a mother having supernatural sex in front of her son (and some other people). WARNING! Submissive cuckold stuff. There is NO INCEST. There is NO RECLAMATION. The mother is a cool, beautiful witch; the sex is dubcon written to be not too realistic; the son is a wimp and a cuck to the end, which is the point! Enjoy!
All characters are older than 18 years old. No underage characters exist in this story at all.
Back when mom was still learning her magic, she, like any meophyte sorceress, however brilliant, occasionally made mistakes that haunted her for a while, sometimes literally.
Since mom’s learning and experiments were mostly private, when something went wrong it always came unexpectedly, especially for me.
One such incident that I still can’t get out of my head, imagination, and dreams.
There was an informal visit by a few dignified neighbors with whom mother, as a baroness, had business dealings: a full family of aristocrats complete with a pretty daughter and a lawyer. After mom had talked to the head of their family privately, dinner was served in the hall, a long table, roast and delicacies, and candles, and everything. As the baroness’ son, I was, of course, at the table as well. (At the time I was aroudn twenty.) The head of the table was reserved for the absentee head of family. In truth, I knew as well as everyone in the house that father had perished a long time ago, but tradition prevented mom formally taking over, so she hadn’t yet.
For this reason mom, wearing a beautiful silk dress fit for a baroness as well as a student sorceress, and her thick, long hair done prettily and adorned with jewelry as much as any other part of her, sat to the right of the empty head of the table, and I to the left, therefore, opposite her.
After a bit of conversation (the aristocrat’s adult daughter was apparently going to marry, although her dad kept it vague for whatever reason while the girl blushed), the main course was served, and everyone, starving after hours of negotiations, pounced on the food. Mom, too, cut off a little slice of beef and raked up a few pieces of vegetables and a salad into her plate. I reached to pour her a glass of wine, as was proper, but mom suddenly closed her eyes shut, as if sending me a signal.
Deciding that this was her way of quietly refusing the drink (which was not one of her normal gestures though), I left her glass empty and offered wine to the aristocrat’s wife. Her response was interrupted by mom’s sudden gasp followed by a whimper.
Now, whatever the hell that was I had no more clue than the others. Mom took a few deep, long breaths which were so obvious to everyone at the table that the aristocrat’s wife said, “Feeling unwell, dear?”
Mom took another deep breath as if preparing to give a response, but instead of speaking she let out a long sensual moan, and her whole body trembled.
The guests looked, appropriately to gender and station, confused, puzzled, curious, and amused.
I said, “Mother, are you ill?”
Mom threw me a glance and her eyelashes fluttered, and then she sat up straight bursa escort bayan in her chair, as if a jolt of electricity has passed through her body, eyes wide, mouth open, and let out a shuddering, quivering moan.
Then she seemed to jump up off her chair all unladylike, and she didn’t stand up either but kept going up in a strangely languid, unnatural motion until, lingering mid-air some foot above the floor briefly, mom abruptly put both hands behind her back, groaned as if struggling, and then the front of her dress burst open, silk ripping loudly – and mom’s chest, breasts, and stomach were suddenly dazzlingly out in the open.
Pearls, buttons, gems, and bits of jewelry from mom’s ruined dress showered onto the table, into the dishes, and mom’s empty vine glass, and rained in my face.
The visitor’s wife jumped out of her chair as if ready to run away and grabbed her seated daughter’s elbow. The rest of us sat gawping in sheer disbelief.
Finally, mom gasped and, not looking at any of us, spoke. But it was just one loud, resounding, “No!”
But, as the sorceress’ son, I knew the first rule: whatever happens, never interfere with her magic.
So I sat back helplessly, a first row audience member in a mad theater. My mom’s left breast was squeezed, then the right one, then both moved independently of each other as if come alive while still squeezed and pushed around. The silk dress ripped further, down to her belly button. The whole dress moved all over mother, almost as if come to life, or as if an invisible force was pressing, squeezing, caressing her body.
It all continued for a handful of seconds, still in the slow lingering, floaty jump off the chair mom made, and then gravity seemed to prevail, and mom was slammed onto the table face-first, making the cutlery fly, roll, and clatter everywhere, spilling the exquisite food.
Now mom’s face was pressed roughly to the top of the table, clearly helpless, her left cheek squeezed unceremoniously against tablecloth and her so beautiful, so shapely breasts crushed against the table. Her dress, torn on the front but still intact from the waist down, was lifted behind her.
This was enough! Whimpering in terror, I leapt out of my chair and sprinted around the table to help her somehow. At twenty, I’m of a very slight build and my magical talents are similarly insignificant, but I had to do something.
But even bent over a table like this in front of her guests, and her dress torn and already lifted behind her, mom was a stickler. In fact, she was always a stickler especially in a crisis, so in hindsight I shouldn’t have been surprised. Clenching her teeth, she wrenched free her right hand and blasted me with her magic, powerful however amateurish at the time, pushing me back and paralyzing me where I stood. In the way her eyes widened I read the unspoken, “Don’t you dare interfere with this, you fool!”
I knew the look. Years ago I woke up at night and had to visit the lavatory, and as I walked along the dark corridors of our old manor, I stumbled upon mom, in her nightgown, and an utter stranger dressed as if he had just bursa escort sitesi come from the outside. Mom looked beautiful and sensual in her semi-sheer gown and her luscious hair down all over her shoulders and back, but the man looked fierce and wicked. Worse, he was holding mom by the wrist with his left hand, and neck with the other.
“Wh-who are you? Let go of mom; you are strangling her!” I remember myself yapping.
The man glanced at me, calm but alert. And mom, discerning me in the dark, gave me that look. She said, “Do you have a death wish?”
“No, mother,” I whimpered.
“Return to your bed.”
Her voice was hoarse, because the man was holding her neck so tight. But it was so firm, that I immediately ran back and held my pee until morning. Mom stayed in bed sick for a day and never explained the incident, but I remembered the look.
So now I read in her eyes the same question, and even as her spell enveloped and held me, I didn’t fight back.
Then mom, groaning as if from great strain, slowly returned the shaking hand behind her back, where she held them awkwardly, wrists pressed together, crossed. Bent over and with the dress lifted, mom had her bottom up and out for the guests to see.
Even in this awkward pose, mom was so shapely and elegant. She truly was a masterwork of nature, as an artist put it some years ago; artists came to paint her, because she was so pretty, and her behind was often their favorite.
With the dress lifted and rolled up over her waist, the only thing that covered mom was a pair of silk underwear. It was made of elegant foreign lace, almost sheer but not quite, and ornate beyond measure. Truly underpants fit for a baroness. Just like the dress, these panties lifted up from the skin and slid over, around, and off mom’s bottom, then pulled themselves further down, and stopped around her knees.
Quietly, almost as if patiently explaining, my mom said again, “No.”
Immobilized by her spell, I stared helplessly as her butt cheeks spread apart on their own. Mom gasped, was completely still for a moment, then breathed quickly.
“No!” she said breathlessly. Whomever she was addressing, it was none of the guest and certainly not me.
Then mom seemed to throw herself against the table. The entire set of cutlery rattled all at once. As if bouncing off it, she immediately pressed back, and again, and again, and again. With every full-body assault at the table, mother moaned out, followed by a loud gasp, and this noise, too kept repeating. The whole table was rattling, the guests generally aghast, but – and I could tell from my vantage – the daughter was curious and the men (the aristocrat and his trusty lawyer) titillated despite the alarm.
This went on and on and on: mom threw herself against the table, crushing her breasts against the board, moaned out in an almost sing-son voice, bounced back, gasping. She was holding her hands behind her back, oddly twisted and wrists crossed. Soon after this started, her meticulously done up hair went undone and, as if coming alive, twisted itself into a sort of thick, fluffy rope, and then pulled mom’s head back. Soon mom’s mouth opened up weirdly, as if air was blowing into it. It looked as if someone’s fingers were pushed into her mouth and grabbed onto her jaw, forcing the mouth open, though there was no hand.
Then all of a sudden mom’s spell over me came undone. At the same moment her whole body started shaking. She whimpered incomprehensibly, her eyes rolled up, and the tension in her body (it looked like her every muscle was struggling up to this moment) left her. That said, she still kept slamming against the table and soon started moaning again.
“We’re not sorcerers, but you are!” screamed the visitor’s wife all of a sudden. “Can’t you help her somehow?!”
I wished I could explain that I am not just terrified of whatever was happening to mother, but strictly forbidden from interfering with her magic, a very very strict penalty promised for disobedience. But the explanation I mumbled was drowned in mother’s renewed screams, gasps, and moans. She was being pressed against the table with increased ferocity and moaning ever loudly. Now that she seemed to have stopped resisting completely, her voice changed from strained to increasingly lusty. Her face was up in the air as the hair twisted into a knot and pulled itself back; breasts flailed and crushed against the board; her beautiful dress was lifted up to her back, which was arched elegantly; the firm buttocks were up in the air and brilliantly illuminated by candlelight (I was so ashamed to see it); her shapely legs formed a perfect upside-down V, planted steadily against the floor.
Again mother whimpered, gasped, and moaned, and again her whole body shook for a good quarter of a minute. Suddenly, she was slammed at the table but didn’t bounce back, her hair stopped flying and pulling, her arms dropped from behind her back and lay on the table beside her (the right hand fell into the already messed-up saucepan), and there, gasping heavily, mom lay, still bent over the edge of the table and barely covered by the dress that slid back a bit, but not enough to cover the beautiful panties stretched between her knees.
“Get away before this happens to Hedwig,” said the lawyer. “Or even lady Marguerite,” he added quickly.
Both ladies leapt away from the table and kept their distance from mom. Their father and husband called for calm, but soon they all left the dining room and, before long, departed from our house. The rumors spread far and wide. But the business deal did not fall through.
Mom remained on the table, exhausted and possibly unconscious, with her bare bottom covered in sweat and bruises, until the house maids removed her, like so much tableware. Her personal maids, Fina and Ambra, took mom to her bedroom, and I didn’t see mom for a day, before she returned, good as new.
***
It took me a while to gather the courage, but eventually I caught mom in a good mood and felt brave enough to ask about the happening.
Terrified of angering her, I was ready to drop the subject, when mom looked at me, pursed her lips thoughtfully, and sat me down, sitting right by me. Rather than being angry or even punishing me for the nosiness (not unheard of for this fiery neophyte sorceress!), she carefully took my hand in hers, looked at me, then down down almost bashfully, and then looked me straight in the eyes.
“What happened,” she said, “is that you will be getting a sibling.”
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