Incest/Taboo Son Rise

I ran the water so long it started to get cold. The shock made me realize I couldn't wash this away so I got out of the shower and toweled myself dry. I moved around the bedroom in a trance, dressing, fixing my hair, and applying the little bit of makeup that I typically used. Everything I did was normal but in random order.

In the end, I sat on the bed, unmoving, but eventually realized I couldn't hide there forever. I had to go out and face my son.

Then a thought struck me. Maybe it hadn't been Jamie at all. Maybe the young man had simply made his escape through Jamie's room. Of course, he wouldn't just walk brazenly out the front door. Jamie's window opened above the bay window at the side of the house. He must have jumped down onto it and made his getaway. That would explain why Jamie hadn't come with all the noise I was making. He wasn't even home.

I burst out of my room and stared at Jamie's closed door. Uncertainty settled over me. What if I was wrong?

With great hesitation, I walked down the hall to my son's door, took a deep breath, and knocked.

"Jamie?" I called quietly. No answer.

"Jamie?" I knocked again.

Silence. I opened the door a couple of inches.

"Jamie?"

Nothing. I pushed the door open. Jamie's room was empty. I went downstairs but he wasn't there. I was alone.

I was deluged with relief. My pseudo-Ra*e was still a private affair, my own little secret. I decided I wasn't going to go back to the mall to see the young man. I was done with it. If I saw him again, I would tell him if he ever came here again I'd call the police. The stress draining out of me made my legs weak and I had to use the handrail as I descended the stairs. To think, for a minute there, I thought had made love with my own son!
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It turned out that Jamie hadn't gone to the boat with his father. He came home just before noon. I couldn't breathe when he came in the house and yelled 'Hi Mom' as he took off his shoes. I was standing in the kitchen, face ashen, when he burst in and made a beeline directly for the fridge.

"I'm starved," he said. "Are you making something for lunch?" he asked, grabbing a container of juice and a large block of cheddar. He looked at me when I didn't answer.

"Ah, y...yes. Sure. ... What do you want?" I stammered. Why did I feel so guilty? Jamie didn't know what had happened that morning. Did some part of me think he did, or was it that fleeting thought when I first heard the click of his door closing, that it was Jamie that had been in my bed, and despite the horror that welled up inside me, there was a tiny part of me that didn't mind. That thought had nagged me ever since and it terrified me.

"Anything. I don't care," he answered, getting a sharp knife out of a drawer while opening the cupboard to grab a glass at the same time. "A sandwich, maybe. Not soup."

I got some tomatoes and mayonnaise from the fridge and watched my son slice up some cheese. He was a good-looking boy. More of a man really, now that he was almost twenty, and just as strapping as the young man I had met at the mall, and this morning in my bedroom. I blushed furiously.

"What's the matter, Mom? Mental pause?" Jamie laughed.

Thankfully, his teasing put me at ease. This was so typical of him. I knew then for sure that it couldn't have been him this morning. There was no way he could act like this if it was. I would know. There would be some sign. And that guilty feeling, well, it was just that. I had never felt it, not really. I was just trying to make myself feel even worse than I already did for what I had allowed to happen. I put on a cheery face.

"Away with you. Go on. Get out of my kitchen while I make your sandwich, brat."

I shooed him out. Darling boy. He laughed and did as he was told.
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Doubt infiltrated my mind several times that afternoon but I banished it as soon as I felt its debilitating presence. Dinner conversation consisted of listening to Ken reliving what he had done with his boat that day. He had been monkeying around with his bow thruster. The word thruster made me blush but Ken didn't notice. He blathered on about how he should have spent the money to get the one with twin 135's instead of the single diesel, and blah, blah, blah. Somehow, it seemed like my fault that his back was sore from fixing his boat. Jamie noticed my condition but attributed it to my age, a heat flash.

"Mental pause," he whispered.

"Eh?" Ken asked.

"Nothing," Jamie replied. "I was talking to Mom."

"Oh." Ken continued on, despite the obvious evidence that he didn't really have an audience.

Jamie smiled, amused by both his father and me. I scowled at him, smiled, and barked, "Eat your dinner before it gets cold."

Several times after supper, I found myself gazing at my son. He was ruggedly handsome, taller though less robust than his father but that would probably change over the next few years. I shook my head after the third such incident, suspicious of my own motives. Yes, Jamie was a good-looking young man, like my morning visitor, but my mind had no business going there. Now that I knew it hadn't bee him in my bed the thought didn't terrify me anymore. The last thing I wanted to do was turn my son into a fantasy. God, I hoped my thoughts didn't turn to him in the morning after Ken had left for his boat and my mind, and fingers, began to wander.

I stayed up late, reading in bed. Ken came in to say goodnight before going to his own bedroom. Sadness fell over me as I watched him go. Why had 'a good night's sleep' become so important that we needed separate bedrooms, let alone beds? I knew I had to take the lion's share of the blame for it. I was working then and had tired of his constant movement during the night and his evening 'noises'. Ken, fourteen years my senior, didn't put up much of a fight. Perhaps he had been relieved of the pressure to rise to the task when I went to bed early and waited for him with the lights on, reading a book I wasn't really interested in. When I looked back, it hadn't taken long for the weekly visits to become bi-weekly then monthly, and now sometimes less frequent.

"Did you bolt the front door?" I asked.

Ken turned and looked at me oddly. "Of course," he assured me. "I always do."

That was true, I thought. Ken was very consistent and thorough with everything he did. He had looked at boats for three years before buying the Gypsy Lass. I could have strangled him near the end. Silly me. I thought once he bought it I wouldn't have to listen about boats any more. How naive is that?

"Thanks. Goodnight, dear."

"Night," he replied, quietly closing my door.

Jamie knocked on my door half an hour later. He popped his head in and said goodnight after I answered. He didn't pull the door completely closed. I started to call out for him to close it but thought better of it. I'll just get it myself, I thought, and continued reading. Sometime later, I put my book down and turned off the light. I forgot to close the door.
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My eyes popped open. It was dark, very dark, and I couldn't see a thing, but I knew someone was in my room. I lay very still, listening intently, trying to locate the intruder. I didn't want to run into him when I bolted for the door, or alert him to my awareness. It was him again. It must be. Why wouldn't he come back after the welcome he received this morning? I hadn't expected him until next Saturday, or at least until morning, but he was a man, a young man, and he had needs. If there was a reasonable-looking woman that was willing and able, why not partake of her? I think I understood the young male mind well enough.

I also understood the adventurous thrill of sneaking into my room. It wouldn't be so scary now that he knew how accepting I was. In fact, it might be more thrilling. I bet he was brimming with anticipation at the imminent prospect of another illicit fuck.

There was a rustle next to the bed, on the door side. I couldn't escape that way but all I had to do was speak. I wasn't afraid. He hadn't hurt me this morning and I was surehe had no intentions of doing so. All I had to do was tell him it wasn't going to happen and that he should leave, right now, or I would call out.

But I didn't say a word. I simply listened to the rustling and tried to figure out what it was. He was taking his undershorts off. I smiled. Had he already taken the rest of his clothes off before coming in or were they on a pile on the floor. I bet they weren't. I bet he'd taken them off and in his eagerness to sample my wares again, he'd forgotten his shorts.

Would your wife be so exciting as to let a strange man sneak into her room and fuck the daylights out of her? No, I imagine she wouldn't and you know it. You're intrigued, just like I am.

The covers were lifting. It was now or never.

His weight sank into the mattress and he carefully turned toward me. As in the morning, he lay still. Several minutes passed without a touch but I could feel his silent breath disturbing the air. What was he doing? I could feel his excitement, even over the tingling of my pussy.

I wanted him. Could I still feign sleep if I turned over onto my side? He must know I wasn't really asleep, or wouldn't be for long. Would it ruin it if I moved too early to show my acceptance? Did he want to savor the feeling of being in a strange woman's bed without her knowledge or permission? Was he waiting until he couldn't stand it anymore, until he just had to touch me? Unsure of what to do, I did nothing.

Another minute passed before I felt a tentative touch on my hip. It was just a single finger pressed against my side, unmoving, for at least a minute. I found it hard not to react but managed to control my breathing with some difficulty. The finger became several before sliding up onto the front of my hip and then down, onto my thigh to my knee. Circling my kneecap, his hand retraced the same path back to my hip, following just inside the bone, paused, and repeated the journey.

I had almost moaned aloud at his touch because it was only then that I realized I hadn't put a nightdress on or even panties. Why I hadn't was beyond me. The young man was unable to stifle his own reaction and sucked in his breath, a sound that was music to my ears. To be wanted so much was very satisfying.

He strummed my thigh for several minutes while I strained to see him in the dark. I turned my head, in tiny increments each time his fingers circled my kneecap when I thought his attention would be drawn away but I couldn't see a thing in the black night. I wished I hadn't closed the blinds. I would have loved to see his adoring face in the moonlight and wanted him to be able to see my body which was straining so hard to feel more of him.

His hand had stopped at the top of my hip again, folded over the bone. Absolutely still and then, his fingers began lightly scratching, as if his nails were trying to gather my skin in toward him. His dragging fingers pulled my skin, imposing a delicious tension that ran like a river of lava from my hip bone to my pussy, stopped by the yawning crevice there, but only briefly before the electricity of it vaulted the gap to the other side of my labia. He wasn't even close to touching me there and I was already lubricating.

Who was this man?

I could no longer hide; my breathing betrayed my excitement. The only sound in the room was the sound of our breaths intermingling. I imagined I could see it, a ball of sex-laden mist hovering in the air above my face.

His hand was moving, dragging his fingers onto my tummy, over the pout I had been trying so hard to get rid of, an impossible task. He circled around my navel, around and around but he never dipped into it. Then, he moved up to the underside of my bare breasts, his fingertips tracing the line where they sagged onto my stomach while his knuckles brushed across the swelling underside of my tits. This path was retraced again and again, like he had done with the knee to hip excursion.

After about the same amount of time, his hand moved between my breasts and quickly blazed a new path around each breast, a path that teased across each nipple. This new trail was traced repeatedly but this time, not always in the same way. Every once in a while he paused to flick a nipple several times. I tried to predict which one he would do, and when, but I couldn't.

I shouldn't have been surprised but I was. I gasped when his fingers suddenly closed around my left nipple and tugged it and my whole breast off my chest, much like he'd pulled on it that morning. My God. Was that only this morning? I could hardly believe it. I was so ready to be fucked again. I whimpered quietly to signal my desire.

He wasn't to be hurried. He continued encircling my breasts, pausing randomly to pinch a nipple and tug its tit up, lengthening my nipples to their greatest extension ever. I couldn't see them but I imagined they were sticking up like short little pencils, begging to be touched.

Suck them, my mind begged.

Could I say it out loud? Could I stop myself?

As if I had actually said it, his lips suddenly folded over my right nipple in a dry kiss. I lifted my hand to pull his mouth onto my tit but he pushed it away and held it down. His mouth opened and I felt the hot, moist dart of his tongue over my nipple. I moaned my delight.

"Mmmmmmmm."

The other one. Do the other one too. Please.

But I arched my back, pushing my mouth farther into his mouth, reluctant to let it go, even to grace my other tit. His mouth switched breasts and I groaned when he sucked its nipple into his mouth, louder this time, because at the same time, his finger teased my clit. It brushed sideways across the top of my pussy, flicking, flicking, then dipped into my slit and hooked upward.

Oh God.

Did I say that out loud?

His finger worked its way through my slit. I was so wet. He was pushing in, finding my hole, slipping in, here it comes... the push, the big push... oh, yes. I scrunched my hips, pushing up, helping him to bury his finger deep inside me. Oh Jeez, he was flicking his finger inside, curling it up, like a dog's lapping tongue, up and down, again and again, oh, so good, so very, very good.

He kissed me. I wanted to put my arms around him but I obeyed his early wish and stayed submissive. His taste was so sweet, somehow familiar but different. Who did he remind me of? I reached back in the dim memories before my marriage but I couldn't pinpoint that sense of deja vu. Who cared? He was a good kisser, a very good kisser. Was I surprised?

He put a second finger inside me while we kissed but he was still gentle, not moving too fast or pushing in too deep. He knew how to be inside a woman's cunt. How could this young man be so accomplished while my husband, twice his age, was such a novice? Maybe he got around, and maybe it was the internet, a source of so much information, useful information for those inclined to use it. Oh, shut up Patricia and just enjoy it.

He had moved up on one elbow to kiss me. He broke the kiss and pulled back. I knew he was looking at me even though he couldn't see me in the darkness. I preened on the bed, loving his blind admiration, and sensed his smile, his pleasure at my desire to please him. His hand left my pussy and I responded with a disappointed purring sound and a heaving tummy.

His hand under my knee urged my leg up and I raised both because I knew he wanted me to, pulling each thigh way back, exposing myself lewdly in the darkness. He was so gentle but I could feel his power. After all, he was here in my bed, with my son and husband only tens of feet away in nearby rooms. This was not the act of a weakling.

I knew the power of his cock and I wanted it inside me again, way inside. Now. I opened my legs so wide my knees pushed against his chest. Finally, he got up onto his knees and moved underneath me. His hands found and gripped my ankles. I had seen this done on the internet but had never experienced it. I could hardly wait. He pushed my ankles way back, holding them over my head. I felt like a bow-legged cowgirl lying on her back, open and ready for a long, hard ride.

His hands urged my knees together. I wasn't sure what he wanted at first but then closed my legs, holding them as straight as I could. He pushed my feet even further back, lifting my ass right off the bed. He lurched and I knew he had shifted onto his feet and was squatting over me, over my lewdly offered pussy. His hands pressed hard on my ankles. He was leaning forward. His cock slapped onto the length of my pussy.

"Mmmmmmm," I moaned.

He sawed it back and forth, teasing me, but only for a few seconds. He pushed his tip into my slit, lifted higher and pushed, slowly inserting until the head popped inside. Oh yes, so thick, so deliciously thick.

"Fuck me," I whispered.

His cock slid in, pushing down, down, until he was all the way in. I couldn't breathe, he had pushed all the air out of me and the pressure of his cock in my twisted, curled up position made it hard to suck in air. He lifted, pulling out, paused, then sunk back inside, deliberately, deliciously. What a marvelous cock. He ground himself in this time and I felt the tickle of his heavy balls on my ass. I groaned.

"Ohhhhhhnnnngghhhh, fuck me."

He started then, the slow, chugging departure. Slow and hard, gouging, digging, gorgeous fucking cock.

"Ohhhhh, God. I love your cock," I rasped.

In answer, his hands dropped from my legs and grasped my tits, squeezing them them hard but allowing the nipples to poke through his fingers.

He didn't miss a beat. He was like a metronome in a positive feedback loop, gradually getting further and further out of whack. I sighed and moaned and purred. Nothing altered his pace. I tried to fuck back, churning my hips as much as I could, which wasn't much the way he was holding me. It had no effect on this fucking machine. It didn't matter so I relaxed and concentrated on taking it.

I'm getting fucked, and I love it.

He was really heaving into me now. I knew what was coming, how virulent he would become, and I was glad I had a solid, expensive, relatively new bed. I didn't know how much noise I was making until his hand covered my mouth, careful not to block my nose. The sound of my breathing doubled as I wheezed through my nostrils but my moans were muffled by his palm.

He was fucking me so hard now. I couldn't believe we weren't disturbing anyone, even with my mouth muzzled. I could understand Ken. He slept like a rock and was half deaf, but I worried about Jamie. If he couldn't hear, would he feel the trembling of the floor? It didn't matter. Nothing mattered now. I was going to come, and come hard. It was only our second time but already I could sense his impending orgasm. It was unstoppable.

His fingers were in my mouth. Soon, it was coming soon. I sucked them and he moaned. I was close too. The first tickle of his hot seed would set me off. I knew it and relaxed. I wasn't worried, I was going to make it, together, with him, my secret lover.

"Oh yeah, yeah... ungghhhh, unghhh, uh uh uh, huh, ohhhhh, ohhhh, ahhhhh, ahhhhhh."

He was flooding me. Squirt after squirt sent me into spasm after spasm as his spend emptied into me like a high pressure hose bursting with a violent eruption that quickly passed and then slowly ebbed away.

Quiet. He let my legs go and hovered over me, our heaving, sweaty bodies barely touching. His mouth found mine and we kissed, a long, slow, tender kiss. Sometime during that kiss, he pulled his slick cock out of me. He was pulling away, stepping off the bed before I realized he was leaving. I wanted to say 'stay', I wanted to say 'goodbye, see you next Saturday' but I didn't. We had made love in silence, twice, and it seemed wrong to speak now. I heard the door open and gently close. I couldn't hear his footsteps. He left as silently as he had come.​