Incest/Taboo Instruction

As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters within are ficticious!

There are quiet moments in my life where I reflect about the strange, wonderful and terrible twists my life has taken in recent times after a life of quiet, meek frustration. Sometimes, I wonder if perhaps I shouldn't feel at least a modicum of shame for what has happened, but when I search my heart for such feelings, they are not there. Maybe, instead of shame, I should feel guilt, but I do not. All I find is the joy that was missing for so long, a joy that brought with it a feeling of wholeness and happiness for the life I now lead. Perhaps others can judge me, but even then, who knows what longings and desires lay within their hearts?

It began when the power went out in Campion Hall early one Wednesday afternoon during Spring Semester. I was the executive assistant to the Chair of the English Department, a position I have held through the tenure of three different people. To most, I was a glorified secretary, but I am the glue that kept the University's English Department together and running at peak efficiency. Unfortunately, with the power out and my trusty computer dead, there was little I could do. When the maintenance people pulled the long face and said it would be late in the evening before the problem was resolved, Dr. Lane told me to take the rest of the day off.

I did a little grocery shopping on the way home, wondering if my son would be home for dinner. My husband was a given, Paul was a very regimented data manager at a major bank and did everything out of habit...the most punctual man I have ever known. My son, John, on the other hand, a grad assistant at the University was much more unpredictable...in part due to his ever changing work schedule – he worked in the Chemistry Department – working towards an advanced degree in Bio-chemical studies and helping with research and development of new pharmaceuticals.

I was a little surprised to see John's car in the driveway along with a small, sporty looking car parked right behind it. I presumed that my twenty-three year old and one of his buddies were hanging out – probably playing video games as we hadn't gotten the pool up and running yet...the weather while pretty had remained stubbornly cool,

I came in through the kitchen and put the food away, not hearing my son or his friend. I assumed they were up in his bedroom killing monsters on his X-box. It was only when I was passing through the living room returning from retrieving the mail from the mailbox that I heard them, the noise stopping me dead in my tracks.

A woman's voice cried out in something close to a scream, "YESSSSSS, JUST LIKE THAT, JOHN! FUCK ME HARD!"

It took my mind a moment to get my head around what was happening. If I had not been able to hear her words clearly, I would have thought someone was being murdered upstairs, but she had left little to the imagination, confirming my suspicions when she cried out, "YEAAHHHH, FUCK ME, FUCK ME, FUCK ME WITH THAT BIG DICK, BABY!"

I went a little weak in the knees and turned left and made a beeline for the den, suddenly needing a drink and Paul's well stocked bar being close by. That proved to be a mistake as I realized that I was now directly over John's bedroom. As I poured myself a brandy, the woman's cries now competed with the noise of box springs being tested vigorously and the thud of the headboard hitting the wall again and again. I overfilled my glass unintentionally and carried the large snifter to Paul's favorite overstuffed leather chair and sat down before my legs gave out.

As the woman's screams grew louder, I couldn't help but wonder what in the world he was doing to her. I was a little stunned. In twenty-seven years of wedded life, I had never once been made to scream like that by my husband. I took a long sip of the brandy and gazed up at the ceiling, mouth open in slack-jawed amazement that a woman could make such sounds.

Now, I never reckoned myself to be a prude...just inexperienced. I was raised in a religiously conservative family and had married an equally religiously conservative man. Paul was a good man...a faithful man in all his duties to me, although not very imaginative, in bed or out. We had been each other's first and only partners and even in the beginning, the passion and the magic that I had expected from sex wasn't there.

Paul, like every man in his family had been raised to treat sex more or less as either a chore of procreation or as a release when the pressures built to too high a level. At our best, we'd made love about twice a week and I can't honestly say I've ever had an orgasm with Paul. It felt good, sure enough, but with him it was basically two minutes of foreplay and then him climbing aboard and when he got his nut off, climbing off me and going to sleep.

A red letter event was when he deigned to let me ride him, but those moments were far and few between. Oral sex was outside his comfort zone and had only come into play the last few years when he'd begun having trouble getting it up and it had been totally one-sided, me sucking his cock because he believed that cunnilingus was nasty.

"CUM-CUM-CUMMMMING, JOHN! FUCK ME, FUCK ME HARD, MAKE ME CUM HARD!" I had listened to the woman sobbing and screaming for nearly twenty minutes with short pauses between her cries of passion and I was now completely freaked out. Twenty minutes was close to three times the amount of time Paul and I made love and as near as I could tell, my son wasn't done yet.

Her orgasm came and went, but the bed's creaking and slamming continued as did her moans which gradually grew louder again until perhaps twenty-five or twenty-six minutes had passed at the very least. "OH GOD, JOHN! FUCK ME, BABY! GIVE ME THAT BIG DICK FOREVER! CUMMING BABY! MAKE ME CUM!" Her screams of pleasure escalated even as I finished the last of my brandy and then I heard my son bellowing like a bull moose, nearly dropping my brandy snifter as it hit me that I was hearing my son climax. I sat my glass down and for a moment placed my hands over my ears, trying to drown out the noise of my son and some girl having an orgasm, the likes of which I had no experience.

When silence finally ensued, I struggled to my feet and shakily poured myself another overfull snifter of brandy, scarcely collapsing in the chair again when I heard giggling from upstairs and the shower go on in the upstairs bathroom. I shifted nervously in my seat, wondering if I should try and slip out – pretend not to have stumbled on my son's afternoon tryst with...whoever it was that was upstairs.

My thinking was just cloudy enough for me to realize that I had already drunk too much to get back in my car and drive away. I decided that the best thing to do was sit here in the shadows of our shadowy den and let them slip away. Silly me, I didn't even consider that my car that I knew I shouldn't drive was sitting in the driveway next to John's little Toyota. Then the noise of sex began again.

Though I couldn't hear them as loudly as I had in my son's bedroom, clearly my son and his friend were having sex in the shower. She seemed to be incapable of words, but her screams were loud and clear and again, I wondered what my son was doing that could make a woman make noises like that. I felt feverish, perhaps in part from the unusual amount of brandy I had downed, but also from a warmth that was spreading through my body, especially between my legs and across my chest and face. I didn't have to look under my blouse to recognize see the sexual flush spreading across my upper chest, neck and face.

It occurred to me in my suddenly slightly intoxicated state that I was turned on by the noises I was hearing along with the sudden graphic images of my son and his mystery woman and what they might be doing that were passing through my mind. Idly, I wondered if they were face to face or was my son taking her from behind...something Paul had never done with me. My free hand slid slowly down across my wool skirt to press between my thighs only to jerk back as I felt a powerful burst of sexual pleasure from caressing my covered mound. My heart was pounding wildly and my head was buzzing from alcohol and amazement.

The screams reached a fever pitch and again I heard my son bellow like a rutting animal and then only the shower could be heard, continuing on for a few more minutes. It stopped and I peered owlishly up at the ceiling, trying to track movement from the little noises that came now and again. Finally, I heard voices and the footsteps as they came downstairs.

I was silent as a mouse as they passed the den and they never noticed me. I saw John and a quick glimpse of a young woman...a few years younger than himself – tall and slender, with auburn hair and jeans that looked painted on. I felt a twinge of jealousy deep inside and wondered why.

I heard the front door open and then her exclaim, "Omigod! Is that your mother's car? Is she home? Do you think she heard us?"

There was some amusement in John's voice as he replied, "I doubt it. It's no big deal though...I am twenty-four after all. C'mon, Kelly, I'll walk you to your car."

The door closed and I was alone again. I discovered in the following silence that my brandy snifter was empty again and I rose and wobbled unsteadily to the bar and poured another drink, this one more reasonable than the others. I returned to my seat, not turning on any lights, suddenly appreciating the dimness of the room.

A few minutes passed by as I imagined John and his red-headed friend kissing passionately in our driveway – the images in my head showing them lip-locked while John groped her perfect, denim clad butt. Then the front door opened and closed again. There was a moment of silence and then my son called out in a tentative voice, "Mom? You home?" I heard footsteps and saw him pass the den and as he neared the kitchen, he called out louder, "Hey, Mom...where are you?"

I cleared my throat and said a bit hoarsely, "In the den, honey."

John returned and stood in the doorway, his tall build blocking what little light was in the windowless room. "What're you doing sitting her in the dark, Mom?" he asked slightly amused.

"Just having a bit to drink, dear," I replied, trying not to slur my words.

John said nothing, but slipped into the room to the couch and turned on a lamp next to it before sitting down. I smiled at him, trying to reconcile the man sitting there with the little boy he'd always been to me. His longish brown hair was wet and combed back out of his face. He was wearing a Red Sox jersey and blue jeans, battered sneakers on his feet. At six foot-one and nearly two hundred pounds, he was borderline stocky, resembling my brothers and my father more than his own father – Paul being a skinny fellow who was five inches shorter than his son. His dark brown eyes stared at me with amusement and curiosity. I stared back, not knowing what to say. As fearless as he'd always been, John leaped right into it.

"So, I guess you heard Kelly and me going at it, huh?"

I nodded and trying to smile, replied, "Uh...yep." I felt lightheaded as the alcohol began to really hit me.

John smiled just as he had as a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Are you mad, Mom?"

I slowly shook my head which made my head spin. "Nooo," I finally responded. "You're a grown man. I wouldn't recommend letting your father catch you like that." I sighed and said, "I'm not mad, but I..."

John leaned forward, his brow wrinkling with curiosity. "What, Mom?"

I knew that this was inappropriate – that a mother shouldn't discuss such things with her son, but between the alcohol and my own need to know, I replied, "I um, was just wondering how you made...Kelly, was it, how you made her scream like you did?"

My son's mouth fell open in surprise, his eyes widening before he leaned back and laughed. "You're not serious, Mom!"

"Yes, I am!" I answered, the alcohol lowering my inhibitions. "I've been married to your father for twenty-seven years and he's never...I've never screamed like that when we made love. Never!"

John laughed again; not seeming to mind hearing his mother's complaining confession. "Well, then, Dad's not doing something right."

I took a sip of my brandy and sighed, "Maybe I should have you give him some pointers." I laughed, amused at my own awful comments.

My son licked his lips and a thoughtful expression crossed over his face and he said in a lower, teasing voice, "Well, I could always show you a few things and you could teach them to Dad."

I nearly dropped my glass as I gasped, "John, I'm your mother! That's not funny!"

John scooted a little closer to me, sliding along the couch. "I'm serious, Mom. You deserve to be treated right and if Dad isn't doing his job, maybe I can help!"

I drained my glass, although whether to avoid answering him or to find some liquid courage, I wasn't sure. "What could you show me anyways?" I finally said in a strained but curious tone.

John moved to the edge of the couch, his knees almost touching mine. Grinning like the cat that'd caught the canary, he said, "Lord, Mom...where do I begin?" He mockingly stroked his chin as if in deep thought and then snapped his fingers. "I know, tell me about Dad's oral technique."

I felt that warm blush on my skin begin to burn as I snorted derisively, "What technique? Your father has never..." I stopped, my embarrassment temporarily overwhelming my alcohol spurred brazenness.

"Oh, Mom," John gasped with maybe actual disbelief in his voice as his hand dropped onto my knee – gently squeezing it through the cotton of my dress... "You're telling me that Dad has never gone down on you? He's never licked your pussy?"

I fell back into the big chair like I had been slapped. "JESUS CHRIST, JOHN!" I yelled, partly out of fear and partly from anger. "I am your mother. You don't...we don't discuss such things. You're my son for God's sake!"

John didn't remove his hand and he seemed to ignore my ire as he calmly replied, "Yes, I am and it pisses me off to think Dad's not doing right by you. I mean...hell; eating pussy is one of the essential keys to good orgasms. What's a man's tongue good for if not to slowly slide up and down a woman's lips, curling around her clitty and diving deep into her sweet flesh, making her wetter and wetter for the..." He paused and rubbed his crotch which I suddenly noticed had quite the lump. Suddenly, I realized that somehow, John's fingers had slipped under the hem of my dress and were now resting on my bare skin...

John was suddenly was on one knee, his hand still on my leg. "I mean, a woman deserves a little orgasm from her man's tongue alone...it helps prime the pump for the really big orgasms later!"

I shuddered and closed my eyes as I whispered, "Did you...did you lick Kelly's pussy before you fucked her today?" I was desperate to hear his answer and yet frightened at the same time.

My son chuckled as he slid his hand forward a little and brought his other hand to my other leg. The hem of my modest dress had somehow slid above both my knees. "Until my tongue and jaw ached, Mom. I bet she climaxed twice before we fucked. She loves my tongue." He flicked it out in an obscene way that reminded me of that snake-tongued rocker from my teenaged years – the one the preacher had said was a knight in Satan's service. "You're telling me that you've never had your pussy licked?"

Slowly, I moved my head from side to side, barely able to whisper, "Never."

John leaned forward, his hands sliding up my upper thighs even as his forearms slid back my dress nearly to my crotch. "That's just so wrong, Mom," he said, his voice both sad and serious. He licked his lips and said, "I know you'll think this is an awful idea, but Mom, I would love to show you how wonderful it is. I would love to eat your pussy."

I moaned, feeling something wonderful spurt inside me, making my panties wet underneath my dress. "Oh, that's...incest, son. That's so wrong. I – we can't....um, no!"

John moved in a little closer and I felt terrible embarrassed as the scent of my aroused cunt suddenly wafted up into my nostrils and if I could smell myself, I knew my son could smell my wet pussy. "I can't see how it'd be wrong if you and I did something out of love. You always taught me that love was the most important thing a man and a woman could share. You know I love you. Do you love me, Mom?"

I shivered as I felt his hands atop my thighs began to slip slowly downwards, his thumbs and a couple of fingers resting lightly on my inner thighs. "Don't you love me, Mom?" John repeated softly, his gaze so intense I couldn't meet it.

"Of course I do, I'm your mother," I replied faintly, but then tried to put iron in my voice as I added, "I am your mother, John and that's why we can't do this! It's wrong!"

John gave me that reckless grin of his and said, "Maybe it's wrong, but I think you like the idea. You're turned on right now thinking about it aren't you?" He leaned closer, his face hovering over the hem of my dress so close he could have snagged it with his teeth. He inhaled deeply and said, "I can smell how turned on you are, Mom. I can smell your pussy."

"N-no, I'm not!" I moaned.

John's fingers slipped further up my thighs and he shook his head teasingly as he said, "Yes, you are, Mom. I bet you're sopping wet right now. I bet you're creaming in your panties." I jerked as a spasm of pleasure exploded between my legs as suddenly his thumbs stroked up and down my mound, tracing over my swollen lips plastered against the cotton of my panties.

My son's eyes widened with pleased surprise as I moaned, "Please..." as he stroked them again. Then I felt his fingers hooking over the waistband of my panties. I moaned, "Please, son...you can't..." even as I raised my hips and my son peeled my panties away and proceeded to slip them off my legs.

John raised my wet panties to his face, pressing his nose against the sopping wet spot in the gusset. "You smell lovely, Mom," he said and then he confidently ran his tongue over the soaked material. Grinning, he said, "Just as I expected, you taste wonderful.

"Oh John," I sobbed as I had a little orgasm burst between my legs and spread throughout my body...my nipples now so hard that they hurt, scraped against the fabric of my bra and I was helpless to stop myself from running my hands over my covered bosom.

My son flipped my dress up, revealing my pussy, naked and flowered below my neatly trimmed 'V.' John literally licked his lips as he glanced up into my flushed face, his eyes locking on mine and said, "Mom...you're going to love this!" He shifted on the floor, his hands spreading my thighs wider to give himself more room and as he stuck out his tongue, a car horn blared outside and we both froze as it blew again...Paul's signature and habitual way of announcing he was home.

"Dammit," I said out of frustration, a little flame of shame deep within me recognizing that I wasn't the least bit relieved that my husband's arrival home had prevented me from doing something unnatural with my only child. I tried to stand, but the room was spinning somewhat and I knew I was drunk. John reached out to steady me and I clung to him like a piece of driftwood in a flood. "Get me upstairs, honey," I moaned. "Get me up to my bed."

John nodded, pausing only to snag my panties off the carpet and stuff them in his pocket. He then surprised me by scooping me up in his arms and quickly hauling me down the hallway and up the stairs, moving swiftly and gracefully as if I weighed nothing and not stopping until he gently set me into bed.

"Tell...tell your father that I'm lying down with a headache." I saw my panties hanging out his pocket and said, "Give those to me and don't say anything about this to Paul."

I could hear the front door opening and my husband calling out, "I'm home!"

John shook his head and said, "Agreed – we won't mention this to Dad, but we will finish this conversation later!" He pulled the panties and gave them another sniff. "I'll keep these to remind me that you and I have unfinished business." He glanced at his wristwatch and shook his head. "Aw, hell. I'm late for the lab."

My son leaned down and gave me a quick kiss smack on the lips. "I'll be home late...gotta lot of lab work tonight." He winked at me and turned and went out the door, stuffing my panties deep inside his pants pocket.

As he went down the stairs, I heard his muffled voice and then his father's. With my head still spinning, I crawled underneath the covers until only the top of my head was exposed. In a few minutes the door opened and I heard my husband murmur, "Cathy? You okay, hon?"

"Headache... lemme sleep," I groaned softly, hoping I sounded sleepy and not drunk.

A long silence ensued and then Paul whispered, "Sorry, honey. Get some rest."

The door closed and I was left alone...just me and my guilt and my sudden lust. I had been scant seconds from letting my own son put his mouth on my cunt and I was still wet at the thought! My body quaked with unrelieved need and I squirmed and pulled up my dress under the heavy blankets, momentarily stunned to find myself without panties, but then plunging my fingers deep into my pussy, aching to be loved by someone. I shut my eyes and tried to picture Paul touching me, but he kept morphing into our son, that awful, carefree grin of his on his face as his tongue emerged snakelike to pleasure me.

Like a wanton slut, I fingered myself, rubbing my swollen clitoris and swirling three fingers inside my pussy, creating pleasure, but never enough...just getting within reach of orgasm, but unable to make that last bit of distance and then...

The bed swirlies suddenly hit me and as the room began to spin, picking up speed with every revolution, I staggered from the bed and barely made it to the master suite bathroom before I was on my knees before the toilet. I heaved and heaved, all for naught – caught up for agonizing minutes with the dry heaves, knowing that I would feel so much better if only I could throw up.

Eventually, my need to vomit faded, much like my desire to orgasm had in the moment of extreme distress. I climbed to my feet and rinsed my mouth off. Suddenly, feeling hot and tired, I struggled out of my dress, tossing my bra on top and turned to return to bed. I paused and looked at myself in the full length mirror hanging in the bathroom, my own nakedness giving me pause.

I looked at myself and tried to see what my son saw...what would cause him to be so daring with his own mother. At first, I was repelled, but then I tried to see it from his point of view and it was illuminating. True, I did not have the tight, firm body of his sexy young girlfriend, Kelly, but for a forty-seven year old woman, I had nothing to feel ashamed of.

I ran my hands through my short, tousled black hair, still happily pleased to see no gray streaks yet. My face was still unlined and my dark brown eyes still clear. My body, while not young and tight was still good for a woman my age or even a woman ten or fifteen years younger. My breasts were still pert – small melons with the nipples still pointing slightly upwards...with a 36C cup, there was still more than a handful, but not too much. My tummy had a slight pooch to it, the one that nearly every woman who's had children would recognize. I was actually proud of it, my small belly giving me a more womanly aspect. My hips were a little larger than when I'd been eighteen, but my cheeks hadn't sagged too much and I'd seen more than one college boy sneak a peak on the rare days I wore slacks to the university.

I slid hands through my neatly trimmed bush, taught by my mother to keep things neat between my legs. Speaking of my legs, they were still shapely and toned. I turned and looked at myself from different angles and suddenly felt a little better about myself. True, at five foot, two inches, I could have stood to lose ten or fifteen pounds, but I suddenly realized I wouldn't be ashamed to show my body off to a lover. Or my son as an image of him between my legs popped up.

I walked unsteadily back to bed and crawled beneath the covers, suddenly feeling weary and afraid. Realization of how close I had come to committing incest with my son washed over me and part of my dismay wasn't over that as much as how willing I had been in the moment.

Struggling with those thoughts I fell asleep – my dreams a strange mishmash of being lost and alone and wanting something I could not identify, but which seemed to be just beyond my reach. Often, I could hear my son's voice calling to me and saying, "I can help, Mom...you know I can!"

Suddenly I came out of my sleep, a hand on my shoulder, shaking me. "Cathy? Hon, are you okay? You've been out for hours."

The dim light of the bedside lamp was on and my Paul was sitting on the bed in his pajamas looking at me with some concern. I coughed and replied in a raw voice, "What time is it?"

My husband yawned and said, "It's ten-thirty – time for bed. How's your head?"

"Better," I murmured and then on a sudden whim of lusty desire, I shrugged off the blankets, exposing my naked upper body to my husband and caressed his crotch. "Make love to me, Paul."

My husband nearly jumped off the bed at my touch, looking shocked at my nakedness. "What are you doing without any clothes on, Cathy?" He said in a voice that was mixed with both surprise and irritation.

"Waiting for my husband to get naked too," I giggled as I sat up, trying not to wince as my hangover announced itself. "Let's make love, darling. I need you!" I kissed him on the face, trying to wrap my arms around him even as he raised his arms to block me. My head felt like it was about to explode, but my horniness overrode my hangover.

"Cathy, good lord. It's Wednesday for crying out loud!" He moved away, sliding away from me and removing his glasses. "I've got a ton of work tomorrow. We're bringing the new client banks on line in a few days."

As my husband rambled on, I scrambled to my knees and tried to kiss him and entice him with my nakedness, rubbing my medium sized breasts against his pajama clad body. "Make love to me, Paul, please!" I moaned, my tongue brushing against his closed lips.

"What's got into you, Cathy? It isn't Saturday night and you know I need my sleep to stay sharp." He pushed me away even as I cupped his crotch again, confirming his lack of interest. I fell back onto the bed, feeling embarrassed, ashamed and frustrated. I rolled up in my blankets and rolled away from my husband, blinking back tears. I felt Paul settle into the bed and the light went out. He leaned over me and kissed me on the cheek and said, "Get some sleep, Cathy; I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning."

He flopped down on the bed, pointedly ignoring me and turning away, depriving me of any last chance of enticing him if he'd snuggled up against my naked body. As I lay there in my humiliation and anger, I could hear his breathing quickly slow and then Paul began snoring. I tried to get back to sleep, but my frustration kept me wide awake, helped along by my pounding hangover.

Finally, I rose, finding a nightgown in the dark – an old flannel granny gown that zipped down the front and fell to my ankles. I slipped quietly out of the bedroom and went downstairs, pausing in the kitchen to find some aspirin and then wandering dissolutely through the house. I peered out the living room window to confirm that my son's car wasn't there...both relieved and disappointed that he wasn't around. Finally, I made my way back to the den, intending to watch a little television, but I couldn't get into anything so I turned it off and decided to have another brandy...a little hair of the dog as my grandfather used to say.

I sat in the den, occasionally sipping at my brandy, but not getting drunk again. I small lamp provided light as I sat there and thought about my life and Paul and my son, John. I was tired, the day's strange events wearing on me, but I didn't want to return to bed. I was waiting for something...waiting for my son to come home, even if I didn't want to admit it.

Just before one in the morning, I heard a car pull into the driveway. A few minutes later, the door opened and closed quietly. Footsteps walked past the den, then halted and returned, John noticing the light. Then my son was standing there, smiling down at from the doorway. "Hi, Mom," he said softly. "Couldn't sleep?"

I shook my head and said, "Got a lot on my mind."

John snorted and stepped down into the den, pulling off a light jacket and tossing it aside as he replied, "I guess so. Things got kinda heated this afternoon."

"And then some," I said as John sat down on the couch, sitting close as he did earlier. "We're not going to get carried away like that again. I am your mother after all."

"We're not?" John replied, reaching out to again put his hand on my knee. "I thought I promised you we'd finish this conversation later. It's later, Mom."

I pushed his hand off my knee and hissed, "Stop this, John! You're my son, goddamnit and we're not doing any of this!"

Undaunted, John knelt at my feet and placed both hands on my knees. "Are you sure, Mom? You look pretty...I don't think the word frustrated does you justice right now. Did Dad leave you hanging again?"

I looked away as I muttered, "He'd have to start in order to leave me hanging!" I immediately regretted saying it. Paul was my husband and deserved some respect. "John, stop it!" I snapped as my son's hands encircled my exposed ankles and slipped underneath the hem of my nightgown which had enough play to allow him to raise it up. I locked my knees together, but he suddenly had my nightgown lifted up enough to expose my legs above the knees.

"Dad is a fool, Mom," John muttered with a knowing smile on his face as he rubbed the tops of my thighs. "Maybe I will give him a few pointers on how to please you. Of course, I need to find out what pleases you first, Mom." He slid his hands up under the gown, trailing his fingers along the tops of my thighs.

I made as to get up, but put up no real fight as my son again slipped his hands onto my inner thighs and pushed them slightly apart. "Don't do this, son. I'm your mother...respect that."

John looked into my eyes with a wolfish expression. "Oh, I plan to respect you, Mom...I expect to show you how much I really care before I'm finished...if we ever really are finished." My son licked his lips and smiled almost hypnotically into my eyes. "I've been thinking all night that making you happy could be the work of a lifetime."

"Please, John...don't." I tried to push my gown down and his hands off me. I managed to get his right hand free of me, but quickly realized that he'd moved it of his own volition.

He looked at my flannel gown with some distaste. "I know this is comfortable, but it's sort of in the way, Mom. What say we at least open it up some?" He reached up and hooked his index finger into the metal pull ring at the neckline attached to the zipper. I moaned as he gave it a yank, sliding it down enough to partially expose my breasts.

John arched an eyebrow in surprise, expecting, I suppose for me to fight him every inch of the way. "Let's start small, Mom. Let's just undo this gown and get a good look at your fine body." Slowly, he began to pull it down as he stared intently into my face. "You want to stop, okay by me, Mom, but you have to do it."

"Please, son...don't," I whimpered.

John laughed and shook his head. "Not good enough, Mom. Words are easy – you want me to stop, put your hand on mine and stop me." He pulled down on the zipper, taking his time. I watched, seemingly helpless as it descended towards my stomach. He brought his other hand free and tugged my gown down to keep the path of the zipper straight. As he unzipped me, my gown began to spread wide, exposing my naked body. I suddenly realized my hand was softly caressing the skin above my breasts and that they were completely visible. Had I pulled the gown apart?

My smallish breasts heaved with excitement, my nipples, erect and sticking out prominently like two extended eraser nubs, pulsed almost painfully with blood. The zipper steadily descended, the gown now spreading with a little help from my son's free hand, past my belly and then my son sighed as he spied the crest of my trimmed bush. "Lovely, Mom, just lovely!" Helpless and unwilling to stop him, John finished unzipping me and after spreading the flannel cloth back to reveal me, my son placed his hands on my knees and spread them, revealing my pussy, wet and dripping since the moment I'd heard his car come up the driveway.

John ran his hands along my inner thighs, only pausing as he brushed my outer lips, making me quiver. "Mom, your pussy is...well, beautiful. I cannot understand how Dad refuses to eat this pretty thing."

His touch on my skin, so close to my pussy was maddening, but I still made a feeble attempt to dissuade him. "John...son, your father is upstairs. If he found us like this..."

"He can sit down, shut the fuck up and take notes," John interrupted me in a harsh, forceful voice that somehow made me even wetter than before. My son looked up at me, intently staring into my eyes. "You need this, Mom. You want this. I want this too." He paused and grinned at me. "I want this because you're my mother and I love you and because you deserve it and because I just can't pass up the opportunity to eat a good looking woman's wet pussy!"

John winked at me and then without warning, mashed his face against my pussy, making me cry out as I felt his mouth on me and his tongue rolling up my slit, plowing between my labia and tasting me. I clamped my hand over my mouth, fearing I would wake Paul up as for the first time in my life, I felt someone's mouth on my pussy...the strangeness...the wonderfulness of it sending spasms of unsuspected pleasure coursing through my body!

There was something wicked and alien as John rolled and spun his tongue around in me, over me, like some mad and curious creature...alive and seeking something that it craved. Carnal joy swept crashed over me as John growled approvingly and I realized that what it craved was me.

My son rose up suddenly, his face dripping with wetness...my wetness hovering scant inches from my own mouth. I felt his hands on my breasts, covering them and squeezing as he hissed, "My God, Mom, you're delicious!" Then John kissed me, his tongue assaulting its way into my mouth to find my tongue which responded out of instinct as much as desire, sharing with me my own taste. Fingers pinched at my nipples, clamping down hard as I moaned into John's mouth. Passion I had only dreamed of swept me away as we kissed...passion I had never felt with my husband...passion that compelled me to abandon all restraint and unleash all my basest desires.

John broke the kiss and slithered back down my body, his lips planting kisses on my neck, breasts, nipples and stomach before he again assailed my pussy, licking and sucking my sodden flesh. I'd never felt so wet or hot between my legs. I wanted to open myself up wide and let my son worm his face back to the place it had originally came from.

My moans were getting louder with each lapping stroke of John's tongue and while I tried to keep one hand over my mouth, the other scrabbled frantically for something better to use. I snagged a corner of a decorative pillow and pressed my face into it, letting go with a terrible scream as my son's insatiable tongue swirled around my clitoris, mercilessly teasing it with the tip of his maddening probe.

I writhed about, mastered by my son's oral loving, utterly his. He lifted my legs up and draped them over his broad shoulders, giving himself a better angle to delve into my exploding pussy while his hands again sought out my breasts, pulling and twisting my nipples and kneading my breast flesh with an expert's touch.

Into the silky material of the pillow, I moaned his name again and again as he rolled that magnificent tongue up and down my slit, now delving deep inside me to lap up my flooding juices, then sucking on my pussy lips and again and again, returning to my clitoris to tease, lick and then ever so gently, to capture my swollen nub between his lips and suck.

I screamed into the pillow as my first ever true orgasm rocked my world, not caring if the pillow was muffling my cries or waking up the entire neighborhood. I was caught up in the rapture of pure sexual ecstasy, reveling in it and knowing instantly that I would be forever addicted to it, consumed with the need to recapture such joy and perfect pleasure again and again.

John masterfully rode my pussy with his face with the ease of a longtime practitioner, his tongue ever in motion as he slurped and sucked at my pussy, drinking of my creams as if they were the nectar of the gods. My heart pounded wildly in my chest till I thought I was on the verge of a heart attack. I could barely breathe – the intensity of my orgasm producing black spots in my vision until I gave one last lusty scream and collapsed, nearly comatose as John made my body continue to shake and quiver as he continued to eat me...easing me back to Earth with his expert tongue.

I was crying a little when my son rose up to smile at me and then leaned in and kissed me again. With what little strength I had left, I kissed him back and with trembling arms, hugged him to me as fiercely as I could. "T-thank you, s-son," I stammered between gasps of breath. "I-I n-n-never knew...it w-was w-w-wonderful!"

My son kissed me again and again, kissing away my tears, lapping up the smears of my own creams his face had pasted over mine. Kissing me softly on the lips, he finally replied, "Mom...this is just the beginning. You've just experienced the tip of the iceberg as far as to how wonderful I'm going to make you feel."

His words, coupled with the absolute conviction in his voice, sent a delicious tremor of anticipation through my aroused body. I was about to reply when suddenly from above us came the unmistakable sound of Paul's cell phone, the tone an annoying electronic song set at high volume that I recognized immediately. It was Paul's company. They only called when something was wrong.

The noise abruptly stopped as Paul must have answered it. A minute or two of silence was followed by a loud, "DAMMIT!" and then we could hear my husband stomping about upstairs. By the time he came downstairs, John and I were sitting at the kitchen table, our faces scrubbed, my gown back in place, although the soft flannel felt sweeter than ever against my aroused flesh.

Paul was wearing sweats and toting his briefcase and a suit on a hanger. "I told them that Connors was an idiot when it came to writing code," he barked, accepting a car mug of coffee from me with nary a thank you.

"What's wrong?" I asked as John watched bemused.

"Oh, the new client's system up and collapsed. I have to go in and find the damn problem," my husband grumped back. "I'll just catch a nap in my office if I can get it fixed. No sense driving there and back twice even if I can get it fixed before the presentation meeting at ten o'clock!"

"Sorry, honey," I replied.

Suddenly, Paul seemed to be aware that we were both up in the middle of the night already. "What's wrong, Cathy? Why are you up at this hour?"

I shrugged and replied, "I couldn't get back to sleep after being in bed all afternoon and evening. John got in from his lab about a half hour ago." I could feel the sudden guilt crawling all over my face as I said, "We were sitting here talking."​