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When am I ever going to learn? Maybe I should stop drinking, though actually I don’t drink very much. Or maybe I should just give-up sex, but I really love that sparkling feeling. Even though up until now, I have been mostly pleasuring myself, viewing porn on the computer and fingering my insatiable clitoris. Maybe it was my religious training that started me down this perverted path. I guess if I could do it all over, I might have gone on more dates, tried a few more things, loosened-up a bit and had a few more experiences. Instead, I’ve become a repressed, submissive, middle-aged woman slowly slipping into a taboo pattern of debauchery and incest. And against everything I was raised to believe-in, my inner-most fantasies are revealed in my lustful enthusiasm for being a sexual slave to my son.
I was married as a teenager to a selfish SOB that I met at a religious meeting. He was much older than me and knew all the “right” things to seduce and manipulate me. After less than two years, he claimed I was a frigid bitch and left me with a baby and some deep emotional scars. It took years to put my life in order and be able to raise a nice young man. My son Jeff is now twenty-three, he was a collegiate wrestler and now works as a free-lance artist, illustrating a line of graphic comics.
My life has been fairly ordinary. Friends say I’m pretty and I try to keep in shape. I’m 5’5″, slim and small-waisted. My hair is a muddy-blonde shade, I have long toned legs and a firm pert chest. I jog regularly and play tennis twice a week with some of the neighborhood ladies, and though they have attempted to “fix me up” on dates, I still prefer to be a stay-at-home mom, and lead a fairly sheltered life, until recently.
The first nutty incident happened about five years ago. It seemed at the time a silly, harmless, little taboo slip-up that could be easily excused as a family joke that went a bit too far. It was New Year’s Eve and Jeff, acting as a dutiful son, stayed home with his lonely mom to help welcome-in the year. We watched the ball drop on television, exchanged a chaste kiss and opened a bottle of cheap champagne. At about twelve-thirty, things got a little dull.
Being an athlete and under twenty-one, Jeff wasn’t used to drinking. My name is Jaime, and as I’ve said, I don’t drink much either. But since it was a holiday; he opened a second bottle while I slipped into my pajamas, he changed into sweatpants and we lounged on the sofa, giggling. He was doing his best to raise my spirits and I was remarking that he was a wonderful son for giving-up a night of revelry with his friends to keep his mother company. A mother always thinks her son is wonderful. On this night I was playfully squeezing his thick biceps and running my fingers over his muscular thighs as I boozily dribbled champagne over the both of us. He would laughingly tug at my long, blonde locks, and tickle my ribs as “punishment” for spilling my drinks.
Somehow, at a certain point, we started a silly game of “Truth or Dare.” I asked him crazy questions like: How does such a handsome blue-eyed kid like wrestling on a gym mat with sweaty guys, then showering together in a roomful of hot, naked men? I mentioned that with all that body contact and nudity in close quarters, he must have seen or experienced a few hard cocks.
On his turns, he asked if I wasn’t really asking for myself, and my deep wish to be taken sexually. Then he asked if my nipples always get hard when I talk about sex, and at the same moment, we both looked at the obvious protrusions poking through my flimsy top. More nervous laughter and long, silent stretches followed.
It was an alcohol-fueled game and I hoped he was nearly as embarrassed as I felt. And though I recognized that it was becoming a touch inappropriate, I enjoyed the bonding experience, and besides it was just harmless banter between mother and son. After one or two more rounds, my slightly inebriated son asked “a big one.” Mom, since I can practically see your boobs already, will you take your shirt off?” This was a big “dare.” I gulped my wine and hesitated a moment. He had that big grin on his chiseled, sexy face. I was just about to refuse when he said, “I knew you couldn’t do it.” He just laughed bawdily and took another sip.
Blame it on the champagne, I said, “I can’t take it off, but I’ll show you.” Now, I wasn’t wearing a bra and I don’t have big tits, (I’m a 34B) but they’re firm, they’re cute and they’re mine. And the nipples were getting pointy and tender from rubbing on the thin material. I curled both hands under the hem of my pajama top and quickly lifted and lowered my shirt. It felt so weird and strangely salacious to “flash” my son. I have seen pictures of women at Mardi Gras doing it for beads, and it always seemed playful and a cheap thrill. A little feeling of independence.
But there was something else; an odd, submissive twinge of wanting to obey sexual orders that left me feeling naughty. It was wanting to do what I was told, by a young, strong man…and a kinky thought that it was my son. Jeff’s eyes popped out of his head- I think more because I did it, than actually glimpsing my breasts. “Hey wait,” he protested, “I never even saw them. You have to do it again, slower.” The taboo tremor sarıyer escort I got from exposing myself to my son, excited me in an erotic, sensual way. And for a second I wondered if he had been correct about my sexual submissiveness. And then I instantly noticed the enormous bulge swelling in his uncomfortably tight trousers. I think any woman likes to be the object of sexual desire, and there was definitely a wicked sensation about flirting with my grown son. So I decided to give him another small show, but with a little teasing twist. I began to fiddle with the buttons on my shirt, and slowly reveal my cleavage and firm belly to his hungry eyes, I kept my small, pink, nipples tantalizingly hidden in the folds of my top. With each step of the process, my body felt warmer and a sweaty glow formed on my torso and face. I was flush with excitement and pent-up passion when my trembling fingers finally loosened the final button. I don’t know which of us was hotter when the cotton material finally slid down my arms and my perky breasts were fully revealed. I shimmied a little to give my boobs a small shake. And I could not contain my smile.
Jeff swallowed deep, and still some slobber seeped down his chin. His boyish face reddened and he momentarily averted his light-blue eyes. He stared as if in a trance and his lower lip hung open, I must admit I was experiencing a nasty, prohibited, emotion. I felt suddenly awkward while his lustful eyes took a complete inventory of my chest, but his deviant smile and the low growls he uttered, were incredibly sensual. My eyes again, were drawn to the mountain in his pants.
I stuttered, “I think it’s only fair that you show me what you’ve got hidden in there,” as I pointedly rubbed a painted fingernail along the length of his iron-hard erection. I’ll never understand what made me say that, but a chill ran down my bare back. Did I truly want to see my son’s hard cock, and what else could this possibly lead to? He shyly stood up infront of me and untied the thin cord holding his pants. Standing at my eye-level, I spied the curved bulk of his massive cock as he wiggled the sweats down his muscular legs. His coiled pubic hair was light-brown and matted down from (I hope) perspiration. His purplish balls were full and plump, and hung inches below.
“Is this what you want?” he asked tentatively. I thought for a moment there was mockery in his voice, or was I just feeling guilty at what was taking place, literally right before my eyes? He bounced his hips and his gigantic member bobbed and swayed infront of me like a cobra rising from a Shaman’s basket. “Do you like it?” again he prodded me. I could only numbly nod, with a great lump in my throat and my mouth suddenly dry. I was sitting bare-chested infront of my eighteen year-old son, his mammoth cock swaying hypnotically, inches from my confused, flustered face. My hair was now damp with sweat and clinging to my back and neck. My chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths, my boobs now danced on their own. It was the vision of that incredible cock that held my eyes. The strong upward curve of it looked so solid. And the great mushroomed head aimed at his flat belly. The sheer thickness of this beast seemed to call my shaking hand to reach for it. My hand looked tiny as I fought to contain it’s living girth, and my reluctant fingers timidly inched towards the tip and daintily fingered the fleshy, helmeted knob. I slowly lowered it to my face for a closer, more intimate inspection. I involuntarily licked my lips, some drool running down my chin, now. I was not even conscious of his one strong hand playfully kneading my mounds, and his other hand grabbing hold of my wet hair. I was slightly aware of him grunting.
This was the first time I had ever taken the time to look at a man’s cock, and I was fascinated. I was puzzled by the snaky motion of the shaft and the way it bucked and lurched in my grip. The small opening at the tip entranced me as it seemed to “wink” at me. The long shaft was slick with pre-cum allowing my sweaty palm to glide up and down it’s veiny surface. His hips moved forcefully with my tugging and I noticed the increased pressure applied to my tits. His tiny opening seemed to wink at me again, and I heard him growl, “Oh Gawd!”
I looked up just in time to avoid being blinded as a torrent of warm, creamy jism bathed my naked breasts with his fluid. I screamed, but only because I was startled. The milky, warm dew felt delicious on my chest as it cascaded down my abdomen and splattered on my chin and neck. I tried to wrestle control of this pulsing fire hose. But there was no stopping the flow of the hot, sticky cream. His hands had gone from my messy tits to the back of my neck, as his thrusting emptied the contents of those hairy balls. I could sense a subtle force at my neck, bending my gaping mouth towards his spurting tool. A last blast of his salty soup splashed on my lips and tongue. I instantly felt dirty like a cheap whore, but also a bit sexy and sultry. If this were not my son, I believe my legs would have spread wide.
“Oh my gosh, mom, I’m so sorry,” he began. “I didn’t mean to do that.” His cock went suddenly limp and he nearly tripped over the sweat pants curled around his ankles. “I’m sorry, silivri escort I tried to hold it. I don’t know how that happened, it felt so good…” I heard him apologizing all the way down the hall as he skittered to his room and shut the door. His actions only masked my own embarrassment while I sat back on the couch covered in drying, flaky cum, while my own tremendous orgasm swelled in my vagina.
I was stunned at what happened, but emboldened that I would be left alone for a minute. My fingers took this time to work their accustomed magic on my clit and seemingly, with a mind of it’s own, my tongue licked the drying remnants of his cum from my lips and fingers. This brazen masturbation on the livingroom sofa sent an erotic chill down my spine and curled my toes. I was lost in the steamy indulgence of pleasuring my hot snatch and wondering what more could have occurred.
If this was a sign of the new year to come, I was in for an adventure. My champagne-high subsided and I trudged to a warm shower, then into a cold bed. As I lay there restlessly, I kept replaying the entire thrilling, taboo affair and wondered, ” why did he keep saying he was sorry? I thought it was exhilarating.” My strong, good-looking son came on my tits. And I’m sure that he wanted his mom to give him a blowjob. And I was damned close to doing it. My body shook.
Well, that was five years ago. We both woke-up late the next day with vicious hangovers and contorted memories. No word was ever spoken about the incident and after a few slightly difficult days we returned to a relatively normal mother/son relationship. But my imagination bubbled over with dreams of that marvelous cock and the warm feeling in my pussy when I remembered that gooey sperm washing over my face and boobs.
About two years ago we attended an out of town wedding and after the terribly boozy reception, we checked into a small, crowded hotel at the last minute. Ofcourse we discovered that the only room left had just one bed. After a few uncomfortable but unspoken moments we made the best of things and clambered into the tiny bed. We kissed goodnight, snuggled briefly and separated, and finally each clung to the furthest edge of the bed and settled in for a restless evening. It was more than a little confusing.
In my nervousness, every time I felt him turn or heard the springs creak, I tensed-up. But then a far stranger, disappointing feeling crept over me when nothing happened. The lurid mixture of emotions caused a sheen of sweat to cover my torso, while flaming a burning flood in my anxious vagina. I found myself imagining incestuous sexual scenarios and wondering if he was tortured with the same taboo fantasies. The temperature under the sheets was heating up. My thin nightgown was clinging to my damp body and my hard nipples were sprouting. Every place my hands rested on my trembling body sent a sexual ripple to my moist snatch. I pressed my palm flat and steady against my enlarged clit and was able to bring some small relief from the anxiety, whimpering quietly to myself. I finally dozed-off to some bizarre incestuous nightmares of debauchery and woke-up shortly after, in a hot agitated state. My hazy mind was then drawn to a muffled drumming from behind me and a low, steady moaning. The still, quiet room seemed to amplify the wet, slapping sound and the bed was faintly vibrating.
I know this sensation well, having spent many torturous nights at this solemn activity. But I had never thought what this would sound like to another person in the room. So I hesitantly rolled on to my back to see if this could truly be happening. Jeff’s enormous cock was the first thing I saw, a shaft of moonlight from the window appeared to spotlight it, standing proudly with his large right hand pumping it feverishly. His jaw was set and his eyes tightly shut, his naked body laying above the sheets glistened in the faint light, and he strained mightily at his task. I could see an open tube of Vaseline on the bedstand and I could hear the squishy noise as his meaty hand furiously flogged his greasy erection. He appeared to be at the bursting point and my mind was clouded. Involuntarily, I let out a shrill shriek and struggled to clear my brain, while scrambling to the edge of my side of the bed.
When he was alerted to my surprised reaction, he bolted upright and attempted to shield his amazing cock with his hands and sheepishly tried to turn away from my prying eyes. I tried to diffuse a very tense situation but found myself in an obvious lack of the appropriate words. “Honey are you allright, I mean can I do anything for you…” I began to stumble. “Do you um, want me to leave you alone…or maybe to get you something.” I was totally bewildered. My dreams had never evolved quite like this.
“Mom please,” he started. “You know what I’m doing.” He groaned agonizingly as a spurt of white, syrupy liquid escaped his cupped hands and splattered like rain on the already damp sheets. “You know what this is about…how am I supposed to stop it?..I’ve tried to control how I feel…but here you are, laying beside me practically naked, and moaning in your sleep. What do you expect? You’re just teasing me to death.”
I was stunned at his conclusions, but şirinevler escort erotically aroused by his passion and the fact that he was whacking-off (pardon) to the ideal of his mother. I saw the gooey trickle of milky sperm, oozing between his fingers and pooling in his dark crotch, and his long, thick rod slowly contracting like a coiling snake. I had become a sexual obsession and forbidden fantasy for my son. Possibly every night, he would lay awake in bed tugging at that marvelous, thick piece of meat, recreating that exciting holiday night and maybe dreaming about fucking me. I must admit that I have struggled with the same type of raw, incestuous emotions. Having held that fabulous cock in my hands, and having felt the warmth of his cum coating my yearning breasts, my hand has played over my aching clit like a Steinway Piano. I hate that he thinks I have been trying to “tease” him, but I secretly love the idea that he wants my body.
Here in a strange bed, far away from prying eyes, with his naked, sweaty torso so close to me I could bring both of our illicit fantasies to life, if I only have the courage. I realize that I have already caused him embarrassment and humiliation, as his mother has caught him with his cock in his hand. Maybe I in some manner, ease the tension in the room. The situation was perplexing, and it was time to act like a mom, but not be the mom. A mom would have said some schmaltzy thing or ducked out of the room, but the mom he was looking for would be listening to that inner “she-devil” and really make him feel better.
“That mom” couldn’t take her eyes from that sticky, lean tool that he still gripped tightly with his shiny, wet fingers. “Honey,” I stuttered, “it’s only natural that a son thinks about his mother in this way. And considering the circumstances, you cannot be faulted.” I was trying to console him but the sexual tension was also wearing me down, and out of the corner of my eye, I could always see that delicious-looking cock. I continued, “that other thing you’re doing is just a natural part of life, we all do it, (whoops.) I shouldn’t have interrupted, I mean I’ll leave the room, er…should I do something.” I was totally flustered, my inane rationalization sounded childish and fraudulent. At the same instant I was reflexively reaching for his cum-soaked hands and gently cuddling his shriveled, tacky cock in my shaking palm. “Please honey, let me help you, I should never have interfered with this. I’ll try to make it up to you.” I can’t imagine what I was thinking, but my body and inner-devil were taking control. I laid my head on his smooth, firm abdomen and shielding my eyes from his inquisitive stare, proceeded to trace slow, wet kisses from his navel down to the wiry thatch of sticky curls at the base of his cock. I noticed the instant arousal of his snake, and the musky aroma of cum and warm bodies mingling so close to my nose.
“Mom, you do like my cock,” I heard him mumble to himself. “Wow, I thought you really enjoyed that, from before. I wanted to say something since then, but I didn’t know what…or how. I love your tits, and the look you had when you jerked me off.” He sounded so relieved and happy. It wasn’t exactly music to my ears, but now I knew that we could both be free to enjoy ourselves.
I gently cradled his limp but rapidly expanding pole of flesh into my trembling hands, just as I had done more professionally in my dreams. The viscous sheen along the shaft allowed my palm to smoothly glide up and down it’s length, as it gradually extended to it’s full, amazing proportions. I glanced quickly at him for a sign of approval and to continue. His face was hidden in the still deep shadows, but his blue eyes shone bright as a beacon and his rough fists clung tight to the crumpled sheets. “Let mom take care of this,” I purred in my best sultry, slutty voice. The wiry pubic hair tickled my tongue and I felt a familiar, soft pressure being applied to the nape of my neck. He moaned to me, “Suck it mom, suck my cock into your sexy mouth.” I was floored. Incest be damned, we both wanted this.
Slowly, I was being drawn towards this greatly enlarging cock. The hand on my neck was not-so-subtly guiding my slobbering mouth to the helmet-like head of his firm organ. I parted my lips wide, the dimensions of this young man’s cock were staggering. I licked my lips and swallowed to clear my throat, then I shut my eyes and held his rigid pole steady while I carefully lowered my gaping mouth over the top couple of inches. I really needed no encouragement, because I was so incredibly turned-on at this moment, but I felt his fingers through my scalp and the strong hand easing my wary head further onto his slick cock. “Take it, Mom. Suck my cock, it feels so great and I’m so glad you want it too.” I’m not sure when he formed such a definitive opinion; but with his big penis sliding down my throat, his strong hand bobbing my head up and down like a yo-yo, and my saliva pouring over his cock to the sexy sounds of my moans, I was truly in no position to argue. I was sucking my son’s cock, and he and I were enjoying the taboo sensation. My jaw relaxed to the point that I could allow for deeper penetration and my mind relaxed to where the idea of incest no longer troubled me. I stroked his slippery pole with gusto, and slurped and sucked like a cheap whore. It was wonderful. “Mom, you feel terrific, lick my balls too.” He was secure enough to issue instructions now. And there was something even more stimulating about being told to follow his directions. My pussy was heating up.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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