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This story is fictional. All the characters are 18+. The story does include themes of Incest, BDSM, D/s, and bisexuality. I’ve tried to write this so that it’s a stand-alone story. But to get the full rundown on the characters, please check out the previous chapters in “The Blue Life” series. I’m working without an editor, so all the clumsy plotting, phrasing and grammar mistakes are mine alone. I would LOVE help cleaning up future chapters. So if you’re a Lit Editor looking for someone to work with, I would appreciate your input, feel free to contact me. Any reader’s feedback is welcome too. I would also appreciate you taking the time to rate the story. But if a D/s erotic fantasy about Mother/Son/Father love and sex turns you off, just skip this and move on. For those of you who have been following and favoriting the story so far, thank you. I hope you find the twists in this chapter are an intriguing development to Bobby, Red, and Blue’s story.

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Life had taken some interesting turns recently. I had just started my Senior Year of undergrad studies. I was due to graduate with a Bachelor of Science in Mathematics next year. Over the Spring I had begun an affair with a married woman. And I had taken her as my sexual submissive. Complicating matters is that she is incredibly beautiful, amazingly sexy, so eager and able to fulfill so many of my deepest, darkest sexual fantasies. Oh yeah, and she is my mother.

Yes. Incest. I’ve been fucking my mother. I’ve been guiding her and training her, as best I can, in all sorts of areas of sex and life that she had never explored. She had masturbated, but she had never seen or used a sex toy before she became my submissive! Now she has a growing collection. She had never given or received oral sex. She was amazed when she found out she loved anal sex and all kinds of ass play. Butt plugs. Rim jobs. She loves games of Dominance and submission. She loves spankings, bondage, and has a fetish for leather. For a woman who spent the first 43 years of her life living a straight, narrow, ultra-vanilla, conservative lifestyle, she’s discovered she craves more flavors, and more experiences. Mom’s really very kinky. She felt like she had spent decades as too sexually naive and repressed. She felt bottled up. So when we discovered each other, when I claimed my mother as my submissive (and that I am her Master), she had this powerful sexual awakening and transformation. She calls it her Sexual Epiphany. Hell, I’ve had many sexual revelations as well. But Mom has lost weight, and her body has gotten toned and strong. We’ve slowly bought her a new wardrobe of more flattering and more overtly sexy clothes.

Anyway, I had this wild plan, that if I could train my mother to be this wild, sexy, eager submissive, then all it would take for my mother and father to spice up their relationship would be to show my Dad what a gorgeous, eager to please, randy, hot wife he has! He would just have to step up to the plate and take charge. He could learn to be dominant.

I was wrong. I was way off. My father couldn’t be Dominant. My Dad was less naive sexually than my mother, but he’s far more sexually submissive. He has trouble seeking sexual pleasure for himself at all, because he had gotten it into his head that sex was too degrading and dirty to do with someone you love. My Dad had been in a pretty abusive, secret sexual relationship with his older brother, my Uncle Nick for more than twenty years. I didn’t really know all that had gone on between them. But Nick had really messed with my Dad’s head.

So, on the day when I revealed my sexual relationship with my mother, Dad didn’t react in any of the ways I thought he would. First, he wasn’t angry. He was grateful that Mom had found happiness. And he enjoys watching her please me. He thinks it’s beautiful. Maybe he’s a voyeur. Dad also couldn’t take over and be Mom’s Dominant. Because Dad doesn’t know how. It’s just not in his nature. Dad is possibly the most submissive and sometimes annoyingly sexually passive man I can imagine. It can be very irritating at times.

But, I discovered that I enjoyed Dominating my father almost as much as Mom. I can’t say that I am as sexually attracted to Dad as Mom. But, I guess I must be a little bisexual. Because I’m not scared about kissing or touching my father sexually. And it does give me a bizarre thrill to sexually dominate him. It’s different than the way I feel about having sex with Mom. But it’s still uniquely thrilling. And I have to admit, my Dad really knows how to suck cock!

The one area that Dad especially excels at is fantasy role play. He really enjoys becoming a character, and taking on other personas. I think his brother instilled such a deep, sexual self-hatred and repression in my Dad, he just prefers to be almost anybody except himself when it comes to sex. By adopting a character, Dad is able to set aside the staid, uptight, repressed accountant, Andrew McMillan. It opens him up too. It frees çankaya escort him to be sexual without fear or shame. I had seen Dad become “Baby Boy,” a submissive, eager to please, naive innocent, child-like persona. Then there was the fantasy character, Foxxy Redd, a half-man half-fox beast. Dad had created Foxxy Redd for a Role Play session that involved my Mom and me. But I’ve come home from school to find the Beast-Man ravaging my bound mother. I’ve also seen my mother do Obedience Training with Foxxy, with my Dad in a collar and leash. My mother sometimes treats Foxxy like her pet dog, a pet dog she encourages to fuck her. Seriously, it’s not a kink I understand or want to analyze too deeply. If Mom and Dad are happy, and they’re getting good sex out of the game, I’m all for it!

But all of Dad’s fantasies and play acting had not really prepared me for meeting Jillian.

I discovered Jillian by accident, when I was having my mother practice walking in her “Fuck Me Heels.” They are these outrageous strappy, sandal/shoes with four inch spiked heels and a one inch rise at the toe. They are totally slutty. They make mother over six feet tall. Almost as tall as me. I have this fantasy of taking my mother standing, fucking her from behind without crouching, maybe even in a public place, like a concert or at the Library. But before I can do that, my mother has to get comfortable wearing the shoes. And she was tottering around like a baby deer, all wobbly legs.

My Dad told my Mom to put more weight on her toes, like walking tip-toe. My Mother tried that and started to fall forward. My Dad steadied her, and said she had to lift her knees higher. “Like a prancing pony,” he said.

My mother laughed and said, “I will never be able to prance in these stilts.” That was something I loved about my mother. Even when she felt awkward or uncomfortable, she always had a good natured attitude. And I found that an incredible turn on! Not her awkwardness, but the fact that even though she felt awkward and silly and out of control, she was doing her best to please her Master, me. That’s a genuine gift.

My father said, “Let me show you.” My Dad knelt and took off my Mom’s shoes and put them on. He has the same size feet as my mother. Size 9 in Women’s, a 7.5 in Men’s shoes. They’re about the same height too. My Dad is maybe a quarter-inch taller. Anyway, he proceeded to walk, saunter really, around the house. He was graceful.

My mother’s jaw was open, she was stunned. She stood with her arms crossed, annoyed with herself. “Well, now I really feel like a klutz. Why can’t I walk like that?”

My father sighed deeply. He walked over to my mother and hugged her. He kissed her forehead, and said, “Don’t worry, Marjorie. You’ll get the hang of these. I’ve just had a lot more practice than you is all.”

“More practice?” I asked. “What do you mean, Dad?”

My Dad kicked off one of the shoes and stepped down. He took off the other one. He had a sad look on his face. “Maybe I need to show you. It will make the explanations easier later. Bobby, go into the garage and get my tackle-box. It’s on the top shelf, next to my tool box.”

“Dad, you don’t-“

“Just get the tackle-box, Bobby. Marjorie, I would like some help picking out an outfit. Maybe one of the more glamorous ones you use to out out dancing and clubbing with Bobby. Do you have one that doesn’t show too much cleavage?”

I shook my head. I didn’t know what Dad had planned for Mom, or why he wanted her to get dressed up. But I went out to our three car garage. I walked past my Dad’s big, gas guzzling vintage Cadillac, my mother’s hybrid electric, and my sub compact to the utility shelf. From the top shelf, I pulled down the over-sized green tackle-box with a yellow lid. It had a small combination lock on it. That annoyed me. Dad had never taken me fishing as a kid. He had also never showed me his collection of lures or fishing gear. The box just sat on the shelf in the garage, until he went on his twice a year fishing trips with Uncle Nick.

I took the box back inside and sat on the couch, waiting. I turned on the TV. About five minutes later my Mom and Dad came out of the Master Bedroom. “Oh good. Hand me the tackle-box, Bobby. Marjorie, please go make dinner. Robert, you can help your mother. I will need about a half-hour.” Dad scrunched up his face, considering. “Better make that 45 minutes.” He looked at me seriously, like this was really important. “Sir? Is that alright with you?”

I shrugged. “Sure, Dad. Whatever.”

My Dad kissed my Mom, just a quick peck, like he was leaving on a business trip. “Marjorie, please don’t be upset. I love you more than anything. I really do.”

My Mom’s green eyes went wide with surprise. She began, “Upset? Why would I be–“

And my father cut her off. “Forty-five minutes. I need to hurry.” And he went in their bedroom, closed the door and locked it.

“What’s he doing?” I asked.

My escort çankaya mother shook her head and started heading for the kitchen. “Don’t ask me. He had me lay out some of my clothes on the bed. My silver sparkly dress with the fringe, a white lace bra, garter belt and stockings. Maybe he wants to go with us this time, and go out clubbing after dinner.”

“We can’t do that. I’ve got paper I’m working on and should go over my notes,” I said.

“He’s never gone clubbing with us before. But we usually go out on Date Night, when your father stays later at work.” Every Wednesday, and every other Friday, my father stays late at the office. When Mom and I were having our affair behind Dad’s back, I had often used those nights as “Date Nights,” an opportunity to take Mom out on the town, show her off a bit, and well, romance her. She is a beautiful, loving woman, and she deserves every pleasure.

My mom kissed me, lightly at first, then she lingered, opening her mouth. “I love our Date Nights Master. It always makes me feel so young, and beautiful…and horny.”

“You are young and beautiful, Blue.” I called her by her pet name, her submissive name. She hugged me close, cupping my ass cheeks through my jeans. I smacked her ass in her tight yoga pants. “And you’re constantly horny.”

My mother laughed. “I know! I’m incorrigible! You and I have some kind of sex nearly every day, sometimes more than that. Your father has joined us several times. So, I’m getting doubled teamed by the two men I love most every so often. And Sir, I’ve been having sex with your father at least three or four times a week as well, now. I’m not sure we had made love four times in all of last year. Now, I’m getting all this glorious sex! And I’m still randy and masturbating regularly too. Is there something wrong with me?”

“If there is, Blue, we are certainly NOT getting that fixed.” My mother laughed again and her eyes sparkled.I hugged my mother from behind. She pressed her ass back against me. She could feel my excitement. She wiggled.

“Is that all for me?” She asked innocently. She eased her yoga pants down, exposing her bare ass. “Your father said forty-five minutes?”

I thought for a second, and let myself be tempted, but then I slapped her bare ass. “Dinner, Blue! I think whatever is going on is important to Dad.”

My mother gave me an exaggerated pout and a disappointed sigh. “Yes, Master.”

We made a simple meal: fried chicken breasts, rice and broccoli. I helped some. I put the rice in the cooker. I put some salad mix in bowls. And I set the table.

My mother timed it so everything came to the table hot at the same time. “You had better get your father. Dinner’s ready.”

I went and knocked on the bedroom door. “Are you done yet?”

I heard a muffled, “Just a sec,” through the door.

“Mom says dinner’s ready.”

The door opened. And there stood a lovely woman with bright red lipstick, and green eye-shadow. She had on my mother’s silver sparkly dress. Like my Mom, the hem of the dress came down to mid-thigh. Below that were sheer white silk-stockings, and my mother’s white, patent leather go-go boots. The boots have a solid, chunky, two-inch heel, a squared off toe, and come up to mid-calf. My mother calls them her “Nancy Sinatra Boots.” She had long auburn hair that came down past her shoulders. A shy, hesitant look was on her face. But she stretched out her long right hand. She had bright, long, red fingernails that matched her lipstick. She took my hand, and I shook hers. Her fingers were cool and delicate.

She forced a smile onto her face. “You must be Robert McMillan. I’m Jillian St. Claire. I’m so glad we’ve finally gotten a chance to meet.”

I did a double take. I noticed the auburn hair was a pretty cheap wig. “Dad?” I whispered.

Jillian put a finger to my lips. “Call me, Jillian, please? Oh, my hair must be a fright. I just didn’t have enough time.”

“No, uh…Jillian. You look lovely.” I wasn’t lying either. Jillian has great legs, capped by a high, tight ass. And her eyes are large and grey-green, with long, black eyelashes.

My father…I mean, Jillian took me by the arm. She has a slight Southern accent. Her voice isn’t pitched much higher than my father’s. But it’s softer, gentler, and more feminine. She said, “Will you escort me to the table and introduce me to your mother?”

I smiled and patted her hand on my arm. “Of course,” I said. And we walked toward the dining room.

My mother’s back was to us. She was slicing a French loaf. “I hope you boys are hungry!”

“Mom,” I coughed, “This is Jillian St. John.”

“St. Claire,” she corrected.

My mother turned and saw my father in full drag for the first time. “Oh my God!” My mother’s eyes went wide with surprise. Jillian bit her lip and looked apprehensive. Her grip tensed on my arm. My mother came over and took both of Jillian’s hands in hers. “Jillian, you çankaya escort bayan say? Girlfriend, you are gorgeous!”

Jillian sighed and a bright smile came to her face. “Thank you, Mrs. McClain.”

“Oh pish-posh! Call me, Marjorie. Or Margie. My good friends call me, Margie. And I think we’ll be very good friends, Jillian.” My mother leaned in and gave Jillian an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

“All right then, Margie it is.” Jillian lightly touched her cheek where she had been kissed, and she visibly relaxed.

“You must forgive me, I was expecting Bobby and my husband for dinner,” my mother said, “but I don’t think Andrew will be joining us. Can you stay for dinner, Jillian?”

“I…I would like that very much, Margie,” Jillian said. I pulled out a chair for her and she sat down. My mother sat next to Jillian, and I took the spot at the head of the table.

We ate dinner together, making small talk about the food. It was pleasant but strange. Jillian asked me about my college and my classes, as if she had no idea where I went to school. At one point, my mother’s bare foot came up under my pants leg and brushed the back of my thigh. It’s usually a sign that she’s horny. But at the same moment she had turned toward Jillian, and was complimenting her on her subtle make-up, the contouring and blush.

My mother was right. Jillian’s make-up was subtle, nearly flawless. It made my father’s face look thinner, her lips fuller, her eyes bigger. Jillian is lovely, feminine and quite…well, sexy. Did I say I’m not as sexually attracted to Dad? Well, that was not true for Jillian. I thought she was lovely, mysterious, funny and fascinating. I was intrigued, and more than a bit attracted.

After dinner my mother asked Jillian if she had time to relax in the living room,

“That would be nice, Margie. Do you have any white wine?” My Dad drinks scotch. I’d never seen him with a glass of wine.

“My mother looked at me. “Bobby, can you pour Jillian and me each a glass of Riesling? It’s in the fridge. And grab whatever you like. We can all get comfy on the couch.”

I went in the kitchen, poured two glasses of wine and grabbed a bottle of pale ale for myself. When I came into the living room, I saw Mom and Jillian sitting on our dark brown, leather couch. Jillian was at one end. My mother sat in the middle. Their knees were touching, and their arms rested on the back of the couch, with their fingers interlaced. My mother seemed so relaxed and casual with my Dad in drag. Frankly, my Dad seemed so comfortable wearing a dress and wig, it didn’t seem like he was in “drag” at all. There wasn’t anything silly about Jillian. She wasn’t an exaggeration of femininity, like some drag queens you see. She just seemed so classy, confident, feminine and yeah, sexy! It really didn’t feel like my mother was chatting with my father, but like she was with one of her girlfriends. My mother was asking, “Jillian, you’re so lovely! It’s a shame we haven’t met before this. Where has my husband, Andrew, been keeping you?”

Jillian lips turned up at the corners, and her lips thinned in a mirthless, pained smile. “Mostly in a tackle-box in the garage, I think.” It was a joke, but said without humor or irony, completely deadpan.

“Well, I’m enjoying your company now, Jillian. I hope you feel comfortable visiting as often as you like.”

I thought my Mom was telling Dad that she wasn’t freaked out by him wearing a dress. That if he is a cross-dresser, that would be OK. Mom is pretty amazing like that.

I handed Jillian her glass. “Here you are, Ms. St. Clair.”

“It’s Miss. And please, do call me, Jillian.”

“Sorry. Jillian.” I handed my mother her wine. “Here you go, Blue.” I leaned down and casually and affectionately kissed her lips. My mother’s other hand came and held my head there. She quickly, but passionately returned my kiss, opening her mouth and drawing her tongue across my lips. I thought maybe being near my beautiful father in drag was exciting my mother. Mom wasn’t wearing a bra, and her hard nipples were clearly visible through her light green, knit tank top. My mother broke our kiss and patted the couch behind her, indicating where she hoped I would sit. “Thank you, Sir,” she said. I sat down and put my back into the corner of the couch. I took a sip of my beer.

Jillian looked caught off guard. “He called you, Blue?”

My mother scooted back into the crook of my arm. She leaned back and kissed my cheek. “Blue is my sexual submissive name.” She tucked her feet back under herself on the couch and wrapped my arm around her, my palm ended up flat on her belly. “Bobby is my Master, my Dom. He gave me that name the night that he claimed me. The first time he took full pleasure in me.”

My hand casually caressed up my mother’s belly. I nonchalantly slid my hand up and cupped her right breast. I toyed and tweaked her nipple through her shirt. “You mean the night we first fucked,” I said.

“Hush, Bobby. We have a guest.” My mother blushed. “And it was so much more than that, Sir,” my mother purred and squeezed her legs together, becoming even more aroused. It was something my father had seen many times before. But Jillian seemed surprised. She blinked twice. “But he’s your son!”

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