LOCKED DOWN WITH LAVINIA

Lovely Lavinia Laker, writer of racy romances, at home in her farmhouse conversion. Here Lavinia enjoys an afternoon cocktail in her luxuriously appointed drawing room..."

I threw the gossip magazine down disconsolately, and looked over the coffee table at the same drawing room depicted in its glossy pages, when in walked the lovely Lavinia Laker herself, holding two cocktails.

"Glamorous Lavinia, her youthful curves and enviable pins belying her age of forty-five, her blonde hair coiffed into a sexy bob, likes to dress to impress..." the article had said. In fairness, they weren't wrong. She could have been dressed for an evening at a party in that red mini-dress and matching heels, rather than having a mid-afternoon drink with her son. With me.

"Thanks, Lavinia" I said as I took the offered drink. I had always called her by her name rather than "Mum" or "Mummy" or "Mommy" or any such. "I'm that sort of mother" she would joke. She had always been rather Bohemian in her approach to marriage and motherhood. A strange contrast with my late father, the earnest and sensible banker. When he died, in a car crash with his young secretary, and the scandal of their affair had broken, no one had been more surprised than me. Except perhaps Lavinia. For all her flirtatiousness, her joie-de-vivre, she had been a dutiful, faithful wife. And all that time, her husband, the sensible, stolid one, had been cheating on her with women half her age.

"Well, now it's my turn, isn't it?" I had heard her say once. And she made good on that vow. A string of affairs with young men in their twenties, and even the odd nineteen-year old university student. A shamelessly outspoken anonymous sex blog, then the first of a series of bestselling raunchy "romance" novels, as smutty as could legally be sold in WH Smith's. When a tabloid journalist managed to work out her real identity, Lavinia had pre-empted it by outing herself, becoming a television chat show favourite and media celebrity. An unstoppable, man-eating force of nature.

I don't see that much of her. Since university I have lived in the city and only visit occasionally. Too many awkward conversations with her one-night stands or toyboys over for a booty-call. What do you say to a guy your age who's been fucking your mum and wants to talk football with you? But still, she is my mother and I do love her. And it was her I turned to when my girlfriend dumped me.

Katy and I had got together in our final year of university. She was the daughter of an Earl, but never gave herself airs about it. I had gone on to work in, and then manage, a little independent cinema. She had studied law and became a lawyer for a big firm. I thought everything was OK between us, but one day unexpectedly she had announced she wanted to break up. I was devastated, but I believed her when she said she just wasn't ready for commitment. Then a few days later, I saw the announcement in Tatler of the engagement of the Honourable Katy Stresser-Price to Lord Angus Bridgington QC. It seems her affair with her boss, a man twenty years older than her and now officially her fiancé, had been common knowledge to everyone but me.

Lavinia had seen it too and called to suggest I some and stay for a few days. So I did, and she was, it must be said, as supportive as any broken-hearted son could have hoped. She listened to my sob stories, she fed me and kept me plied with expensive wines, and after a while I began to feel a little more myself.

And in a day or two I would probably have gone back to my little place in the city and got on with my life. But then came the virus. It was March 2020 and the world was changing.

"Darling," whispered Lavinia, in that low, husky voice which had made her such a hit reading the audiobooks of her own bonkbuster novels, "I think you ought to stay."

"Stay? But I need to go back to work!" I replied.

"Why? You know it's only a matter of days before the government has to close everything down to save us all. Your cinema will be shut by the end of the week. And you'll be stuck in your poky little flat out of work and bored out of your skull. We have a huge house here, and each other for company. I'll find lots to keep you busy. We'll have fun together. Why not say you'll stay? It makes sense, surely?"

And so I agreed. She was right -- that same afternoon my employers texted me to say they were closing up and I needn't return for the foreseeable future. Already, people were avoiding public transport. As Lavinia had said, it made sense to stay in her big house.

The first few days saw me setting up a home office in one of the spare rooms, and trying to adjust to the thought that I might be there for some time. Then came the announcement of total lockdown from the government. Next morning, Lavinia found me rummaging through the kitchen cupboards.

"Whatever are you up to, dear?" She asked.

"I'm checking what supplies we have. There's only one small shop in reach and I bet they'll have sold out of all the staples already. I'm seeing how we are off for rice and tins..."

"Darling! There's really no need to worry. You're not on your own now. You're locked down with Lavinia!"

And indeed, that afternoon a large van arrived and the driver unloaded a series of crates full of food and drink at our gate.

"I took the liberty of phoning that nice man at the supermarket in town. We'll be getting a delivery every week from now on. No go and bring those crates in would you, dear?"

I struggled in with the mountainous loads of food and crates of alcohol she had ordered. My efforts were rewarded with a glass of champagne and a smug smile.

"I'm a celebrity, remember? And I'm very rich. Supplies won't be a problem. When you're locked down with Lavinia, you're locked down in luxury!"

And so it proved. Fresh foods, fine wines, anything we needed, was just a phone call away.

Of course, with such fine dining, standards had to be maintained. The very next evening, I was called to dinner only to be met by Lavinia with a face like thunder.

"Thomas! What do you think you're wearing?"

"The clothes I've been wearing all day."

"Well they won't do. In this house, young man, we dress for dinner. We do not turn up in jeans and a T shirt. Go and get changed. Now!"

Her tone brooked no disagreement. I fled to my room, showered quickly and came back down in smartish trousers and shirt.

"That's better. When you're locked down with Lavinia, you dress for dinner!"

And just like that, it became a catch phrase, a private joke. She would jokingly admonish me with it, and the list of lockdown rules grew longer and longer as time went on.

When you're locked down with Lavinia, you load the dishwasher.

When you're locked down with Lavinia, you take cocktails on the terrace.

When you're locked down with Lavinia, you let her win at Scrabble...

And so on.

After a week or two of work from home, I was furloughed. Leaving me with nothing to do - or so I thought. Lavinia had noticed that I didn't have many clothes with me and ordered some more. When I opened the parcels of new clothes from the tailor in the nearest town, she led me through them all.

"Those are everyday lounging clothes. Those are casual weekend wear. Those are evening wear for formal dinners. That suit is for special occasions. And those are for gardening in!"

"Gardening? And how come there are three sets of them?"

"well, you'll be working in the garden every day now. You don't have your old job, and I can't get the gardeners in, and there's a lot of work with grounds this size. So from now on, from eight in the morning to five in the afternoon every Monday to Friday, you're going to be hard at work in my garden. When you're locked down with Lavinia, young man, you work for your living!"

And work I did. Lavinia was not joking. From eight till five, she expected me to obey her orders and work hard in her gardens. I mowed lawns, dug earth, weeded, planted, pruned, chopped trees and firewood, non-stop except for a long lunch break to enjoy a feast of country cooking she would prepare each day.

Meanwhile, Lavinia herself worked on her latest bonkbuster and when she wasn't writing or cooking would work out in the house's gym and yoga studio or would sun herself in the garden. Most afternoons when the weather was hot, as it was so often in those weeks of lockdown, she would stretch out in her sun lounger with a book and a cold drink (which it was always my duty to keep replenished; "when you're locked down with Lavinia, you don't make her wait for her drink!"). She liked to bark orders at me from her recliner, referring to me during my "work" hours only as "Gardener". Occasionally, she would give me strict orders as to which part of the garden to work on, so that she could have privacy to sunbathe "au naturelle"" as she put it. It is rather strange, toiling in the garden knowing that one's mother is sunbathing in the nude just around those trees...

I could have used the gym myself in my free time, but to be honest the constant gardening was all the exercise I needed. I could feel my muscles developing, my condition improving. I realised this was part of the reason Lavinia was doing this to me one afternoon when I attentively brought her a long cold drink. I was stripped to the waist and soaked in sweat.

"Oh, yes! You're coming along nicely! Country living's agreeing with you!" She purred. Unexpectedly, she took an ice cube out of her glass and ran it slowly down from my throat, over my chest, teasing a nipple with it, then down my stomach. I twitched as it came down to the waistband of my trousers. She slid it back up over my body, then fed it into my mouth. I tasted the salt of my own sweat and the chill of the ice. It was a strange, unexpected intimacy.

"Off you go, Gardener! Back to work!" She commanded. "Oh, and formal dress tonight!"

That night, I wore one of the more formal jackets and ties she had provided. She looked me over carefully before pronouncing that I would do, and we then enjoyed a delicious meal.

"I do think you're looking very well for all the outdoors work and everything!" She told me; "Much better than moping around a tiny little flat, don't you think?"

I had to agree. I was tired by the work, but my stamina was improving daily. I was rather enjoying it. And our evenings were fun too.

Lavinia took to reading bits of the day's writing work to me. Her latest novel, just like the previous two, was a sexually-charged erotic romance between a handsome young man and a glamorous, seductive older woman.

"Come to Mommy!" Cooed the wicked, irresistible Lady Lawley. Slowly, tantalisingly, she unbuttoned her dress. Beneath it, she wore a red velvet corset and black stockings. Unbidden, he sank to his knees, in awe of her sexual charisma. She strode forward, took his head between her hands and guided it to her most intimate place. He was lost. "Mommy!" He cried..."

"What do you think?" Lavinia asked.

"It's a bit near the knuckle, isn't it? "Mommy"?"

"All part of the thrill, darling. For the toyboy and for the MILF! Trust me, I've said that to enough young men and my God does it make them hard! Their ultimate fantasy's about to come true. That's what the older woman fantasy's all about, of course; she's the mother and the lover all rolled into one!"

I didn't want to think of that. Of Lavinia's many virile young lovers calling her "Mommy" in the throes of passion. I had never even called her that.

"Don't look so disapproving, darling! It's just a fantasy!" She paused, then said casually; "Just because a young man calls me "Mommy", it doesn't mean I'm really his mother. Just like when I wear my SS uniform in the bedroom -- that doesn't make me a real Nazi, does it?"

This was just too much information.

"Do I really have to be your test audience?" I pleaded.

"Yes, dear. When you're locked down with Lavinia, you will listen to her read!"

And so she did. Every evening, I would have to endure my mother reciting lascivious seductions and sex scenes from her lurid novels. She seemed to enjoy my discomfort, if I am honest. If I am also honest, her writing was seriously arousing. I did admit this once. She seemed genuinely thrilled.

"That's lovely, darling! But then, my books are mostly popular with women over forty and men under twenty-five!"

"You have young men fans?"

"Oh, yes. You should read some of the fan mail I get. It would make your toes curl, some of it!" She chuckled at the memory. "Some of the things those boys want to do to me! Can you imagine it?"

I was trying hard not to imagine it. But it wasn't easy. The predatory, wanton cougars and MILFs and Mrs Robinsons in her books were beginning to blur into her. Lingerie and uniforms and graphic descriptions of all-night sex sessions and "call me Mommy" and -- well, it was all a bit much.

I was starting to feel the effects of lockdown. It had been months since my last time with Katy, and being locked away with only my over-sexed mother and her erotic story-telling was starting to affect me. Later that evening, I made my way to the spare home office where my laptop was still set up. I needed some outlet for my pent-up frustration. I tried looking surreptitiously for some porn, but somehow it didn't appeal. Then I opened the last image I had of Katy. The one I had not been able to bring myself to delete. It had been after a party. She had emerged from the bathroom having stripped off her dress and wearing only a black lace bra, panty and suspender belt set with sheer stockings also in black, and high heels. It was the only time a woman had ever dressed up like that for me, and the sex session following that quickly snapped picture had been mind-blowing. A week later, she had left me. I had wondered many times if I had been the first to see her in that lingerie or if it had been a present from her secret lover. Her sultry smile, the memory of that luscious body, mingled with my resentment of her, my jealousy of the man she'd left me for. I felt myself stiffening in arousal. I slid my hand down to reach inside my trousers...

"Ooops! Don't mind me!" Came Lavinia's voice from behind me. I turned to look t her. She was in a long black satin nightgown. She had a glass of wine in her hand, and she was more than a little tipsy.

I blushed as I hastily tried to close the computer.

"It's alright!" She said; "I understand. You've been alone with just your aged parent all these weeks, you're bound to need to 'let off steam', aren't you? Oh, is that Katy? My my. Naughty girl! Stockings and suspenders! I know she broke your little heart, but I do see what you saw in her. All that dark hair, that sexy little smirk. Who knew she had such a fantastic body? Must be all that judo you two used to do together. Oh, those legs! And those are some porn star tits! Bet you loved getting your cock between those beauties, eh?"

"Lavinia! This is a bit weird!"

"Nonsense! You're a young man, and I know a young man's needs. IF that girl was locked down with us, hate her or not, she'd be getting it. Hard! Wouldn't she?"

I had been caught about to wank over Katy's picture, so there wasn't much I could say except a rueful; "Yeah!"

"Oh, yes. Well said, young man, She would. Be. Getting. It. Hard! From both of us!"

"Both?"

"Oh yes. You're not the only one locked down in enforced celibacy here. That young madam would be a very nice bedmate, once I teach her who's the boss! What? You know I like to include a sapphic scene in every book. You must know I write what I like to do? I mean yes, ultimately I crave hard young cock, but after my first drunken threesome with a young couple I met at a gig I've enjoyed more than a few special moments with pretty girls! And your ex is just my type -- athletic, but busty, with legs to die for. Oh, yes! I definitely would, Katy!"

As she spoke, she was not looking at me but hungrily at the image of Katy on screen. In a fit of devilment, I clicked a couple of keys and said; "Fine!"

"What?"

"I've just sent you a copy of this. Now leave me in peace to er, think about Katy, and you can go and do the same!"

She shot me a surprised look, an eyebrow raised. She nodded to herself, as if I had passed some secret test.

"Very good, darling! When you're locked down with Lavinia, she always gets the girl! I'll go to and take Katy to bed with me!" And she swanned out.

I settled down to start to think of Katy, fantasising about what she and I did together, but somehow in my fantasies I was not the one with her. In my head, Katy performed in the lesbian scenes from Lavinia's novels. Not just that. She performed -- with Lavinia! As I played with myself, as I neared my climax, the image of Lavinia in lingerie standing over a submissive, kneeling Katy, forcing the younger woman to eat her out, came unbidden into my head and would not go away. I came thinking of Lavinia -- of my own mother -- for the first time.

The next morning, I was feeling guilty and awkward. Lavinia wasn't.

"Morning, darling! Hope you slept well! I certainly did after imagining -- well, you don't want to know what Katy did in my imagination last night! Hope she performed to your satisfaction too!"

And she winked saucily, as though what had happened last night -- a mother and son masturbating (separately, but still) over the same photograph -- had been some kind of normal, fun thing, rather than deeply weird.

There was no more mention of Katy after that. But that evening did mark a change for me. For the first time, I was forced to realise what an intensely sexual creature Lavinia was. My lockdown frustration began to become even more intense as I became more and more aware that I was in an enforced state of celibacy while in close proximity to a beautiful, flirtatious, highly-sexed, predatory vixen with a body as good as my stunning ex-girlfriend and a taste for men my age. And she was untouchable, off-limits. She was my mother.

And the more I began to think of Lavinia sexually, the more I noticed how much, as that magazine article said, she really did "flaunt" her sensational body. Her garden dress was usually just a swimsuit, or often a bikini, cut high on the hips and revealing a lot of tanned, toned, golden flesh. A combination of good genetics and rigorous exercise had tamed her naturally full and curvaceous figure into a sculpted hourglass, and her legs were long and athletic. In the evenings, she wore one of her many figure-hugging cocktail dresses with heels and jewellery. Her make-up emphasised her strong profile, her high, pronounced cheekbones, her vivid blue eyes and her wide full lips. Late at night, she would slip into a silk or satin nightgown or peignoir. I was acutely aware of how good she looked at all times. And also of the warmth of her luscious body when she stood close to me, of the scent of her perfume, or of her freshly-shampooed hair, or her body after hours tanning in the sun. The only effect of lockdown on her looks was that her hair had grown out of the neat blonde bob into a shaggy, ever-longer mane, and a few strands of silver were beginning to appear among the blonde hairs. It didn't detract from her appearance, though. If anyone could style it out, it was Lavinia.

And then there was the tease of those stories she read to me -- describing the outrageous erotic adventures of a series of desirable older women, all clearly based on Lavinia's own shameless sex life. She seemed to revel in making me listen to tales of seductions, of kinky romps, of sexual excess. Imagine having seen your mother flirting outrageously with the blushing lead singer of a famous boy band on a television chat show and then months later sitting next to her on the sofa with her wearing the exact same dress she did on TV while she reads out a seduction scene starting with the most thinly-veiled version of it, even down to some of the dialogue being word-for-word what she said to him. And then that seduction continuing to a graphic extended description of sex between "Kelly" the fictional MILF erotic writer and "Baz" the fictional young pop star, including such tidbits as her using her black stockings to tie his hands to the bed. And at that point imagine your mother crossing her legs so that her skirt hitches up just enough for you to see the tops of black stockings on her long legs while she smiles happily to herself at the memory.That was one of the first times her behaviour gave me an erection. I was unable to help myself as I imagined what it would be like to be bound and dominated by Lavinia, imagined those stockings still warm from her body being lashed around my wrists as she tied me naked to the bed ready to have her wicked way with me.

It was not the only time. Her flirting and teasing was wearing down my resistance. Strutting around half-naked by day, dressing to kill by night. Playing out some strange Lady Chatterley fantasy with her "Gardener" in the day, reading the most erotic of her work to me every night. Did she even know what she was doing to her son? All I knew was that I both hated and yearned for her naughty stories, the proximity of her glorious body. My sexual fantasies every night were of the encounters in her books but not with the fictionalised heroines -- I dreamed of doing all those things in the books with Lavinia herself.

And then she ramped thing up with "date nights". She had been regaling me one evening reading a chapter of her latest novel about a cocaine-fuelled lesbian encounter in a nightclub toilet, when she flung her manuscript aside and declared; "God, I'm bored! I haven't been clubbing in weeks, let alone got off with anyone! You know what, Thomas, we should go out!"

"We can't -- the lockdown!"

"When you're locked down with Lavinia, she always finds a way!"

And so a day or two later a sound system, disco lights, a flat-pack bar and stools, yet more drinks and glassware, and a large load of decorating supplies arrived.

"Project for you!" Lavinia announced; "Get the third spare guest room looking like a nightclub by Saturday!"

"I'm off gardening duty then?" I asked hopefully.

"Oh no, dear, you'll be working on the nightclub in your spare time in the evenings, before dinner. Can't have you slacking off in the garden now, can we?"

So I spent every waking hour when not dancing attendance on Lavinia moving furniture out, painting and decorating, installing a bar, and setting up a disco and dance floor. I have to admit, it was a fun project, and I was quite proud of the end results. We had an upstairs lounge which really did look and feel like our little private bar and night club.

That Saturday, Lavinia and I had the first of our "dates". I was cocktail barman, DJ, and her escort for the evening, all rolled into one. My orders were to keep her glass full and the music playing, and to; "Dance me all round that floor!"

I was ready, dressed in a designer shirt and black trousers. Lavinia was, as they say, fashionably late. It had taken her a longer time than even was usual for her to get ready. But it proved worth it. She swept into the "nightclub" dressed to kill. The tiniest miniskirt I had ever seen her in, a glittery boob tube top moulded to her impressive breasts, metallic tights and knee-high stiletto boots -- all in silver. Which looked amazing with her golden tan, and even more so with what she had done with her hair. She had trimmed her hair into a longish shoulder-length chopped cut, and had died it from greying blonde to a deep vivid hot pink! She saw me admiring her figure in the slinky, skimpy outfit, and staring at her radical new look.

"Well? What do you think? Do I look dateable to you?"

Wow! You look like something out of a science-fiction film! You look like a movie star! You look -- " I was unable to deny it; " -- you look hot!"

She sashayed over, rolling her hips and emphasising every slow undulating movement of her body. She slithered onto one of the high bar stools, crossing those amazing legs as she did so. Without looking at me. She extended a hand; "Mojito, baby!" I made us both mojitos, handed her one. She drained it, still not deigning to look at me and ordered; "Again!" I handed her mine, then started on the next two. With a third drink in her hand, she started to chat and flirt with me as if I was another of the lucky young men who end up as notches on her bedpost. I responded awkwardly, not knowing how to react -- I'd have been terrified at the blatant come-on in real life, and of course I knew this was not a real seduction but just a game, a bit of fun. She did manage to coax me onto the dance floor, and we spent the rest of the evening dancing to a mixture of club anthems, golden oldies and cheesy favourites.

When we finally stopped for a rest and a drink, we were both quite exhausted.

"That was fun, love! And you know, you're a really good dancer!"

"You too, Lavinia. You can really move!"

For a moment, we looked into each other's eyes.

"Time for bed!" she whispered.

"Of course -- er, goodnight!" I replied.

"No goodnight kiss for your date? Just 'goodnight'?"

I reached in, embraced her stiffly and kissed her cheek. She shrugged, smiled and said; "You need to practice your technique, young man!"

Then she slipped off her bar stool and walked out to her bedroom, leaving me as usual to tidy up after her.

I had not completely disappointed her it seemed, as the next day she announced that we would be having "date night" every Saturday from now on.

"It will be a chance to imagine we're out of lockdown, and for you to practice your dating moves for afterwards."

So next Saturday we had another "date". This time, Lavinia told me to play 50s crooners and dress as if I was a member of the Rat Pack. We drank Martinis, and enjoyed an old-school night out. When we danced this time, Lavinia insisted we do it the old-fashioned way, in each other's arms. She looked stunning in a black vintage cocktail dress with seamed hose and high heels, her new futuristic pink hairdo somehow working with the retro look.

At the end of the night, she again had to tell me to kiss her. This time, intoxicated by her scent, her warmth in my arms, I kissed her -- very briefly -- on the lips. She looked up at me, lips wet and parted, as if waiting for another. This was dangerous ground. I was aware of exactly how turned on I was becoming, and stepped away from her with an awkward; "Goodnight Lavinia!"

She shook her head as if in disbelief, and left the room without a word.

Over the next week, she worked me even harder than usual in my role as her gardener. Back-breaking digging in the hot sun, and clearing out the old duck pond of its mud and slime. And she stopped reading her work to me. I felt she was punishing me for something I had done -- or not done? Had she wanted me to kiss her again? I had wanted to. Wanted to kiss her on the mouth long and hard, in ways I know I should never have even thought about.

That Saturday afternoon, Lavinia asked me to take in the washing from the clothesline. I went out with a big plastic basket to do so. As I reached the end of the line, I noticed the dress she had been wearing for the previous week's date. And hanging next to it were a pair of seamed silk stockings -- the ones she had worn with it. And next to that, I found a transparent black lace lingerie set. A bra, a flimsy pair of panties, and a suspender belt, all in fine, delicate lace. As I took them from the line, I could feel the material beneath my hands. This must have been what she had on under her retro costume. It reminded me of what Katy had worn for me that night, though this was more sheer, more expensive. Had she been thinking of that picture of Katy we had both fantasised about? Had she worn these for me? And why had she insisted I take the washing in? Did she want me to know about this outfit?

I returned to her in the kitchen. I had, as if casually, put the lingerie on the top of the basket.

She looked quickly at it. She made no mention of the sexy underwear.

"Be a dear and put it all away. You can just leave my clothes on my bed."

I did as she told me and put away everything except her clothing. I neatly sorted her clothes, putting the various underwear together, and putting the black lace set tidily on top. But first, I examined it more closely. It was beautifully made and very light, and delightful to the touch. Holding it against the skin of my arm I realised how transparent it would be on Lavinia's firm, golden body. Made by La Perla. The bra was 36DD.

A little later, after she had gone up to her room and tidied her things away, she mentioned casually; "Don't forget it's date night. I'm in a mood for hard liquor and heavy metal!"

This rather dashed my hopes that she would be wearing anything with the retro lace lingerie again that night. But it was also intriguing. So I prepared playlists and after a shower I dressed up in ripped jeans, an old black T shirt with a skull on it and an improvised bandana.

I was playing some AC/DC when in walked Lavinia. She was in high-heeled sandals, her legs in skin-tight black leather jeans which clung to every curve of her thighs and her pert arse. She too was in a T shirt, but hers was white and tied tightly above her bare midriff, the sleeves rolled to the shoulders. She had on a studded leather sleeveless vest, and aviator mirror shades which went strikingly well with that pink hair.

"Hey, is that your Harley parked outside?" she drawled, in some approximation of an American accent.

"Sure is", I replied in a worse one.

"Nice! Play your cards right tonight, stud, and I'll be straddling that big ol' thang, wrappin' myself around you and ridin' hard with you later!"

"Big talk, baby!" I retorted. Somehow the absurd scenario and fake accents made it easier for me to respond in kind to her flirting. To play the arrogant young stud to her red hot mama persona. This didn't feel like us, but it did feel like a date.

We had a great evening playing at biker and rock chick, downing shots of Jack Daniel's and dancing to heavy rock. At last, Lavinia asked me to play a slow song. I tried to think of something but the best slow rock sort of thing I could think of was Eternal Flame. As the Bangles played, Lavinia held me close and slow-danced with me. Her body felt good in my arms, the music was soft and romantic, and unbidden my lips sought hers. We swayed and kissed on the mouth for what felt like an eternity, smooching each other as we danced.

The song stopped. Lavinia looked at me expectantly, slightly out of breath, her lips parting.

I kissed her again, harder. I felt her lips press back hungrily against, mine, I felt her mouth opening to me...

And like a fool, I drew back.

"Lavinia! We shouldn't!"

She dropped the silly accent, as had I.

"Why not, darling? Why not? Who will know but us?"

She reached a hand out to stroked my cheek, snaked it round and ran her fingers through my hair, and started to draw my mouth back down onto hers. Rather than give her a chance to seduce me further, I dashed out and ran to my room.

I lay there for some time, wondering about what had happened and what the consequences would be, thinking bout the conversation we would have to have tomorrow. After a time, I drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

BANG!

I was woken by the door being kicked open, and the light switched on. As I blinked and adjusted to the light, Lavinia swam into focus. I gasped in shock -- and in desire!

Gone was the rock chick outfit. Instead she was dressed -- or undressed -- to thrill. Lavinia was quite naked except for a tight black leather corset cinching in her already trim waist and a pair of butter-soft thigh-high black leather boots with towering stiletto heels. Her body was gloriously exposed -- smooth strong thighs, curving hips, bare shoulders and arms. Her breasts, unfettered and free, were big, full, heavy, exciting and amazingly firm. Her pink nipples were achingly erect. As my gaze darted between her legs I saw that she was completely shaven and that she was wet with excitement .In her right hand was a long black riding crop.

Her face was a mask of anger and lust.

"No. More. Games!" She shouted; "You have resisted your seduction long enough. I gave you enough chances, enough come-ons, and you took weeks to realise. I've been teasing you with sexy stories in the hope you'll rip the manuscript out of my hand and start acting them out with me. I've been getting drunk and snogging you every Saturday night and you still haven't dared to go through with it. Well, no more. I'm not giving you any say in the matter. Tonight, we are going to fuck! Get up!"

Fuddled, still quite drunk, I obeyed. My cock was hardening at the sight of my mother in this erotic outfit, and at her display of aggressive sexuality.

"Good -- you're naked! Now get on your knees, Toyboy!"

To emphasise her command, Lavinia banged the riding crop down against her booted leg.

I dropped to my knees as she ordered.

"Yes, Lavinia!" I said, happy to comply. By acting as a dominatrix, she was giving me the excuse to do what I had been yearning to do for weeks. And she knew it. But she wasn't going to go gentle on me. Her arm lashed out, and I felt the sting of the whip.

"Yes -- what?" She asked archly. I knew what she wanted me to say.

"Mommy! Yes, Mommy!" I blurted.

"Good! Now, Toyboy, let's see how you perform!"

She strode up to me, stood akimbo with legs apart. I adoringly caressed her booted feet and ankles, then moved my hands up her leather-clad calves and thighs to the bare skin above. I could smell her womanly musk.

"Mommy!" I whispered reverently as I brought my mouth to her cleft and started to kiss, lick and suck.

"Ohhh, yes!" She moaned as I started to pleasure her; "Do it to me! Do it to Mommy!"

She started to sigh and moan louder, her hands gripping my hair, her powerful thighs squeezing my head for the first time.

"Oh, you're good! That little bitch Katy taught you well! But all she was doing was preparing you for me! Hey! I'm going to use that line in a sex scene! Oh yes, darling! Like that! More!"

And then she was surrendering again to the pleasure as my tongue delved deeply into her, teased and stimulated her engorged clitoris. Satisfying her, serving her, excited me as I knelt before Lavinia as so many eager toyboys before me had done, but knowing that it was I, her son, making her moan and shudder and scream in orgasm gave me a special kinky thrill.

She came loudly and explosively, then stood over me panting heavily, looking down imperiously, a queen, a leather goddess.

"So good! So wrong, but so good! Mmm! And now for the main event! Follow me, Toyboy!"

I stood up. "Oh God, Lavinia, I can't wait...ow!"

She had lashed out with her riding crop again, catching me sharply on the bottom.

"The only words I expect to hear from you tonight are 'yes' and 'Mommy' and in that order. Is that understood, Toyboy?"

"Yes, Mommy!"

"Good, Follow me!"

And she led me to her bedroom. There, I saw her vast king-sized bed had been stripped of its covers and pillows. And prepared for sex. There was a red silk bedsheet on the mattress, and four silver chains ending in black leather cuffs extended from under the bed at its corners.

"I saw how turned on it got you when I described tying a young rock star to the bed with my stockings and screwing his brains out. Well it's your turn, now. Lucky you. On the bed!"

"Yes, Mommy!" I said, and laid myself out spread-eagled on the red silk. Lavinia expertly buckled the cuffs into place, then dangled a set of little silver padlocks before my eyes. One by one, she snapped them onto rings on the cuffs, making it impossible for me to escape -- not that I would have wanted to.

"Yes, Toyboy. You are in my power now. When you're locked down with Lavinia, you really are locked down!" She pulled a hidden strap and the four chains tautened sharply, stretching me out helpless and unable to do more than writhe uselessly in my chains. Another padlock on this strap fastened my bonds in place. I felt afraid, excited, and definitely turned on by the sensation.

I watched as Lavinia took the padlock key and slipped it onto a slender silver chain then hung it around her neck so that the key nestled between her full breasts.

"You're not the first boy I've done this to, you know. Not the first young man who's been chained up in those. Not the first that Lavinia's had her way with. I'm going to tease you, Toyboy, and then I'm going to fuck you. This key stays round my neck till you've made me come. And if you come first, I will punish you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mommy!"

"Good. But if -- somehow -- you can bring me off before I make you spurt, then I am going to unlock you and you'll have a chance to do whatever you want to me for the rest of the night. Now, let's play!"

And she began to tease my naked body with the flat leather tip of the riding crop, gently where before she had been cruel. As she stroked me with it, she began to gently scratch me with the long nails of her free hand, then to kiss her way over my naked flesh, occasionally nipping without warning with her sharp teeth. Soon I was aflame and tingling with the mix of pain and pleasure her touch brought.

"Oh, look at you. Toyboy! The man I've made of you! You were always handsome, but now you're strong and hard, with muscles all over! Just how I like them! All for Mommy! And that big hard young cock! Oh, yes!"

She snaked out her hand, caressed then firmly grasped my straining, erect cock and started to wank it slowly, her fist sliding over the head and down again, deliciously. She kept up her torturous pressure as she kissed my throat, my ear, murmuring; "Don't come yet, darling!"

She wanked me mercilessly as she climbed up onto the bed, as she slithered on top of me, as she lowered her full, pendulous breasts over my face. I reached up to kiss them, but she moved out of my way, tantalising me with those glories just out of reach. Then she slipped downwards, kissing her way down my chest and stomach until her mouth was above my hard cock. I strained in my bonds to see as she slowly, wickedly, engulfed my cock head in her open mouth and sucked on it hard with her full red lips. She was breathing heavily, as turned on as I was. Her mouth was exciting, teasing, arousing. It felt so good it almost hurt. I moaned. She parted her lips wider, slid my cock deeper down, deeply down her throat, massaging it with her internal muscles. She slowly withdrew her head until again her lips and tongue were playing with my swollen cockhead, then again sucked me deeper down. I moaned and writhed in ecstasy, close to orgasm despite her strict admonition.

She kept this torment up for what felt like an age, until she withdrew her head, climbed back up my bound body, and raised herself up on her arms.

"Oh, that was nice! I haven't gone that long without a cock in my mouth since before I was married! Tempting though it would be to taste your spunk now, we both need more. Get ready to have your brains fucked out, Toyboy!"

Lavinia straddled me, pushed herself upright, raised her leather-clad thighs up, and lowered herself down tantalisingly slowly onto my straining erection. She groaned in pleasure as I penetrated her. I did the same. She was surprisingly tight, and as she began to bring herself down on me again and again she squeezed with her internal muscles, exerting a vice-like grip on my cock.

As she ground herself onto me, I thrust hungrily up into her. Soon we were fucking hard, as I lay bound beneath her, helpless except as a hard cock for her pleasure. She writhed expertly on top of me, expert, imperious.

"Oh yes! At last! The ultimate sin! I've wanted this for so long, and so have you my naughty boy! Give in to it! Give in to me! Come inside me -- I am your mother and your lover now!"

She was amazing -- a sex goddess in black leather, a wicked queen -- the most seductive and sexually talented woman I had ever encountered. Every man's darkest secret fantasy fulfilled.

Somehow, I held back. She increased the tempo and I matched her, pushing up and driving my cock, as swollen and big as it had ever been, deeper into her. She started to gasp, to moan. She leaned forward, teasing me with those big, delicious breasts. Somehow, I latched on to her right breast with my mouth, and started sucking and teasing the nipple. She groaned in delight as I suckled her, and gasped as I grazed the hard nipple with my teeth. She ground herself tighter and harder, I thrust back faster and deeper, as we drove each other nearer and near our climaxes."Mommy! Lavinia!"

"Toyboy! Thomas! My son!"

Then I felt her shudder and heard Lavinia scream uncontrollably in orgasm, losing control and crying out; "Oh God! Yes! Yes! Oh yes! I'm coming! Oh God, Thomas! Yesssss!"

As she came, I allowed myself to spurt in climax, releasing the frustration of months of enforced celibacy in this unholy union. It was the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced.

Lavinia slithered off me, and we lay panting together for some time. Then she slipped the chain from her neck and used the key to unlock my right wrist.

"I didn't expect that. Didn't think you'd last the course. You're more of a man than I could ever have hoped. Get yourself free while I slip into something a bit more submissive!"

She left me in the bedroom and went out. I managed to extricate myself from my bonds, and was stretching and rubbing the circulation back into my wrists and ankles when Lavinia returned. She was carrying a bottle of very expensive champagne and two glasses. And gone was the leather cincher and the thigh boots. Instead, she was all in white. Pristine white lace lingerie in contrast to her dark tan, and the shock of vivid pink hair. Sheer stockings with lace tops, a suspender belt, with a garter around each thigh, a transparent lace bra and matching thong panties.

We drank the champagne, and for the first time -- surprisingly, considering all we had done -- we kissed open-mouthed like the lovers we now were. Then Lavinia stepped back, stood akimbo at the foot of the bed, displaying her glorious body to me.

"I am ready, my son. You are the man of the house, now. Your mother is yours. Do with her as you will!" And Lavinia knelt, thighs parted, hands behind her back, looking up at me docile and submissive...

Is it right to describe in graphic detail how your mother sucked your cock, worshipping it with her eager, expert tongue, teasing a long finger up your arse to stimulate you further as she made you come in her mouth? Is it right to describe how you explored every inch of her pliant, voluptuous body with your mouth and fingers? How you suckled and nuzzled those amazing breasts for long hours, then slid your cock between them and fucked her tits? How you had her up against the wall? How you ordered her onto the bed, face down, and used her own bondage harness to chain her down before taking her up the arse?

Suffice it to say, by the next morning our relationship had changed forever. We fucked in every room of the house, and in the garden. She wore her seemingly inexhaustible range of lingerie and fetish wear for me. She enacted a range of fantasies with me, sometimes submissive to me and sometimes the dominatrix. We were each other's ultimate fantasy. We came to enjoy our isolation as an endless series of intense sexual encounters.

There was one change, though. A different dynamic which occurred. On the local news, we heard about the death from COVID19 of Lord Angus Bridgington QC.

"Isn't that?"

"Yes, he was. Katy's fiancé."

A few days later, after the government had announced relaxation of the rules on isolation and the creation of "bubble" households, Lavinia developed a mysterious and scheming expression. Later, I found her on the phone.

"Yes, Katy darling, I just wanted to call to say how sorry we both are to hear about your loss...yes, it must be hard being on your own at this time, with your family all being off in the Bahamas...why not come here? Yes, stay with us...no, it won't be awkward. Thomas is quite over your little relationship. And you do remember how well we used to get on. We could keep each other company while Thomas does the gardening or his DIY projects. Do say you will? It would be so nice to have company, and you wouldn't have to be alone...you will? Oh, wonderful. Pack your things for a long stay and I'll see you tomorrow!"

I had been listening open-mouthed. The latest "DIY project", by the way, had been turning the old wine cellar into a sex dungeon.

Lavinia smirked at me, and mouthed silently; "Getting. It. Hard!" as she put down her phone.

When you're locked down with Lavinia, life is full of surprises...