most any 20 year marriage there are going to be some dry spells. The lack of release usually leads to bickering, bickering to the point where it's easy to lose sight of why the dry spell started. We have had them before and we always snapped out of them, usually after a few weeks, but some had gone on for months. This one was one of the latter variety. For my part, I never lost sight of why our bed had become a winter desert. It was really starting to worry me that I didn't know when I would be comfortable making those noises at night again.
With Justin, our relationship had quickly reverted back to something more resembling a mother-son relationship, at least much closer to our previous status quo. The only difference being that he had become a bit more talkative with me, but he still avoided personal issues and girls were completely off limit. I made a conscious effort not to show any overt, or otherwise, sexual invitations for him to act on. This seemed to allow for some reconciliation with his father as our family came back to some semblance of normalcy. I even kept a count of my panties and came back even each laundry day.
"Maybe it was good for him and he got it out of his system?" I found myself reflecting while brushing the knots out of my hair in front of my mirror.
Any of my fear about being grouped, or worse, in my own home had faded long ago. However, the dreams remained. It had become a reoccurring dream, or nightmare. I was always back in my childhood home, sometimes it would shake and sometimes not, either way, I was transported high into the air to take the position of a detached observer. The scenery around the disaster would often change, but the same desperate need to save my babies would remain. Door to door I would search the house, each time I would find myself bent over my sofa, getting fucked by my son. Each time I would wake in a cold sweat. Perhaps, nothing ever changed in the dream, but only that I would remember different aspects each time. I found myself getting lost in the implications of this dream. During this introverted inspection, my brush was scraping the top of my head mechanically, as I contemplated with no particular focus.
"Green tea Epsom salts!" Almost was quickly as the thought popped in my head I was running the bath water.
Mid-week in the evening is the best time to bathe. The day is done, and there is nothing nagging my mind for attention. In the bath I can truly switch off and just be. No thoughts, just wonderful soothing sensations and smells. While the bath was filling I went to get my robe from my closet. With only mixing the salts on my mind, I shed my clothes and left them in a spot on the floor beside my side of bed. It's hard to use too much salt, but there does come a point where nothing extra is gained from adding more. I finished pouring and filled hands with two full handfuls to rub over my body, so I could feel the rough grains, as I sank into the lovely warm water.
I must have spent over an hour, that Wednesday night, soaking up the relaxation. I had added hot water, at least three times, to keep the temperature. It was exactly what I needed. I was transported to a place in time where thinking was just feeling and stress a concept so foreign as to not even exist. Upon exiting the bath the mirrors were all foggy from the steam; steam that still felt pleasant in my lungs. I covered myself in my robe, wrapped my hair in a towel, and went straight for my blow-dryer before even attempting to dry off. Blowing hot air through my bath robe is, another pleasure, enjoyed best in the evening when there is no rush to dry off because there is nowhere to go. The warm air, and buzzing noise associated, both indulge me in complete relaxation. After such delights, stepping into the cold hallway I feel completely clean and sexy.
In my room, I shed my robe and towel so that I was completely naked and feeling free. I returned to my mirror for some last touch grooming. I plucked some eye brows and cleaned up some of the hair around my vagina. I had been a while since having sex, but these things tend to turn on a dime.
"Tonight could be the night." I remember thinking to myself.
It was only 9:30, too late to really get dressed, but I felt too clean to put on the same panties that I had been wearing all day. I took a sexy white lacy pair, from the back of my drawer, in an effort to maintain the sexy free feeling I had built over the past few hours. I found my old baby blue nightie, one that in its day had been a pretty sexy baby doll sort of style nightie. This baby doll was a little worn from age, being my favourite ever, but it gave me a sense of comfort. It also had an uncanny way of showcases my legs in an oh-so perfect way. I gave myself a few sexy poses in front of my body length mirror in guiltless self-admiration. After which I did a half turn and stood on my toes to make sure my backside still had lift; I passed the test. With one eye on the mirror I went to retrieve my clothes I had worn that day to throw them in the hamper.
In an instant my joints stiffened and it felt as if my hair shot out into fiery points. The split second of confusion turned to complete awareness in an instant. The cold and oddly slimly substance made my hand release its grip.
"Splat..." Excess semen was ejected in a translucent white splatter on my hardwood floor. I shook some more off my thumb and forefinger completing the mess.
My light pink panties had been soiled with sperm and left for me to find. It pooled in a white glob at the point of the highest concentration on the floor. The sheer amount left only one real suspect. I had only seen this much cum in one place one other time in my life, and that was pool on my son's stomach before I wiped it off those few months back. This was no shy or stealthy heist, he knew I had to find them; I had to pick up my underwear at some point. It occurred to me that he may have done it in my room, right by my side of the bed, possibly even on my side of bed. I felt my mattress looking for evidence. If he had been so bold, he carefully made the bed with more skill than he ever used when compelled to make his own.
"He must have retreated to his room before returning them to their place," I thought while staring at his mess, "everyone is home." I finished my thought.
Being less shy, for obvious reasons, to the feeling of his sperm than maybe I should be, I picked up my light pink small panties and washed them in the bedroom washroom's sink. Recently spilled semen on a hardwood floor seems to take more effort the longer it's left. It soaks into the cracks and tends to make streaks that are next to impossible to erase. I hung my panties on the rack and got on my hands and knees, in my nightie, to deal with the splatter.
"I'm forever cleaning up after him!" Flashed in my mind while I noticed that water wasn't going to be enough.
I exhaled, on my hands and knees, and took a depth breath when I was interrupted by, "Michelle, what are you doing?" My puzzled husband inquired.
"What are you doing here?!" I said while frantically turning and falling on the crime scene so I was sitting on the floor.
"I live here," he said laughing, "I thought I might sleep here tonight if that is ok with you madam." He added sarcastically.
"You're acting weird, why are you sitting on the floor?"
This was reasonable statement followed by a reasonable question; I decided to only deal with the latter, "I spilled something." I said unconvincingly.
"And now you're sitting on the floor?" He said while taking off his socks to recline on the bed.
"I'm cleaning the streaks." That was the best I had.
"What did you spill?"
I went back to scrubbing without answering. I needed to get a cleaner to do this right, but he still wouldn't know exactly what it was without me telling him. At that point I figured less information was less of a hole to dig myself out of as he may have been able to tell what it wasn't. In any event, I felt the need to guard the immediate area from inspection.
"Michelle, if there were a broken wine glass and red towel that would be par for the course," his sarcasm had taken on a more curious tone, "why are you acting so funny?"
"I just need to clean this, ok?"
Sensing the futility in following the line of questioning he almost let me off the hook with a, "whatever Michelle."
I felt like I was actually covering up for myself. The last thing I wanted was a blow-up like the first time; maybe my part in this would be exposed. The last thing I wanted was another open confrontation between the two of them. My heart sank as I thought, "What if Justin tells him? What if he tells him what I did in his room?" Acting weird was a much better alternative to that. Despite not using a cleaner the floor was starting to look ok just from alternating the wet and dry part of the towel. It's not like he was going to take a magnifying glass to it while I slept.
"What's with the panties?" My husband asked in a curious but casual tone.
"Huh, with the panties?" I repeated his question in an attempt to buy myself some time.
"Michelle...the panties dripping from the towel rack."
"Oh, those panties?... The pink ones?" I stalled.
"Yes dear, those panties." The sarcasm had returned to his voice.
"Oh, I forgot I was wearing them when I got in the bath." Under the circumstances I thought I came up with a winner.
"And they are still dripping wet?" He avoided the contraction in the spirit of emphasis.
Ok, so the ridiculousness of my lie had been exposed, I had to change tactics. Clearly my rational explanations were failing the rationality test. I had two options left, one was to tell the truth and that really wasn't an option or I could go on the offensive. Hysterical theatrics were my only ticket out of this.
"I dropped them in after getting out OK!! I mean who the fuck cares! I'm sick of answering all these stupid questions. I was perfectly relaxed until you came in here questioning nonsense! What the fuck do you think is going on? I've been in the bath all night and I spilled something and you give me the god damn third degree! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
It was outlandish and ridiculous, he had done no such thing, but I was down to my final shot. Luckily, for me, I had made it count.
"Honey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it, really. Honey, really I don't care. I'll just drop it." He said in an attempt to defuse the exploding bomb.
In the end my greater fire power carried the day, but I was in no way proud of my victory. My tactic was as dirty as it was effective; in both cases, completely. Feeling guilty, and a bit embarrassed, with my tirade I grabbed my phone and was making my way to the living room when I saw my son's closed door. In a moment it clicked that he had listened to the whole thing, from my feeble cover up lies to what I was willing to say to keep his secret. If it were a test of loyalty he had his answer.
Passing the living room, with my phone in hand, I descended the last flight of stairs to the basement and right back to the little, seldom used, washroom. It's the one room in the house that escapes any renovation or upgrade; it's sort of a reminder of what the house once was. The all beige interior gives it an impression of being smaller than its, already small, size. One of the light bulbs seems to always be out, almost like it had a sense to blow the working one out as soon as you got around to replacing the burnt. I sat up on the small counter with my bum partially sliding into the sink and put my feet on the toilet to the left. I began to think.
I didn't want to confront him again; at least not in person. This was way too aggressive for me to meet head on. He's my son, but after this I wasn't sure exactly what he was capable of. He had long since outgrown me in terms of size. All physical advantages were in his favour; all I really had to fight with was my force of will. I decided the best plan of attack was to feel him out with text messages.
"Honey, what happened?" I pressed send and waited.
"You know what I'm talking about." I followed up to let him know I wasn't going away.
After a few minutes came the short reply, "Sorry mom", acknowledging his guilt
"Sweetheart, you can't be doing that stuff, ok?"
"I know mom, sorry."
After another long pause I asked, "Are you ok?"
"I don't know mom."
"It's ok to have feeling and thoughts but that's my room, ok?"
"I just don't know how to tell you."
"Sweetie you can tell me anything, what is it?"
After what seemed like a long pause, "Mom, I want to fuck you." He dropped the biggest bomb to date; a direct attack.
"Sweetie", was all I could think of to reply.
"You don't get it mom, I want to fuck you so badly, it's all I think about. Every day, every night all the time. Mom I want to fuck you so bad."
I didn't know what to say, I just stared at the words on my phone allowing them to burn into my mind. I read them over and over while my heart raced uncontrollably. I had to write something.
"Sorry mom." He added while I was still gathering my thoughts for something to say.
"Honey, we can't do that, I'm your mom." I appealed to society to make the case.
"It's all I want mom. I'm doing it again."
It should have been obvious, but it didn't dawn on me before I asked, "doing what again?"
"I'm jacking off about you."
"Right now?"
"Right now, yes!"
I should have put a stop to it right then and there. I should have fired angry missiles to shoot down his attack. In the end, I just didn't have that in my arsenal against him. He seemed so confused and needy and this completely disarmed me. The intensity and taboo shock were also deeply stimulating. All my senses were focused on that moment in time; all of my energy was being spent on this back and forth. Sweat had built up all over my body and my pussy was tingling as if it was a new feeling. I should have stopped it, but I didn't instead I took his side once again.
"What are you thinking about sweetie?"
"You."
"And you're all big and hard?" I said encouraging my son in his lust for me.
"Yeah mom"
"It's ok baby just keep going, I'm here with you." I swallowed deeply at my transgression.
"What do you like most?" I continued to indulge him with my own hand on my sex.
"Your hips and ass, how you look naked, stuff I want to do to you."
"And what do you want to do?" I wanted him to say it again.
I looked at his words while pleasuring myself leading to an intense orgasm. I dropped the phone and braced myself by pressing my hands into both walls at the right corner of the counter. The phone sprung into the air as I kicked my legs from side to side in ecstasy. My mouth was dry with excitement making my orgasmic cries sound horse and strained. I had never cum so quickly in my life or with less stimulation. I saw the sort of stars you see when you're dehydrated, and stand up too quickly, in front of my eyes. I dropped my arms from side to side trying to locate my discarded phone. Fortunately, it had landed harmlessly in the waste basket between the toilet and the sink; not a scratch. I picked it up and saw a series of text messages.
"I want to fuck you mom...I want to fuck you mom...I'm cumming...mom I'm cumming...mom, I came everywhere...mom?...mom?...I'm sorry mom...you ok mom?"
"Honey no I'm fine, I just dropped my phone." Which was true, I just neglected to say the reason.
"Should try to get some sleep dear."
"Love you mom (followed by plenty of hearts)"
"I love you too sweetie (also with an excess of hearts)"
I stumbled around a bit upon standing. It was as if I had poured so much energy into the nasty exchange that I had sacrificed basic motor skills. My mind was buzzing and it felt like I had gotten away with something. As if there should have been some sort of consequence for my abhorrent behavior, which I wasn't paying. I had just let my son talk dirty to me. I let him use words that would have inspired slaps in most situations. I passed right by his closed door and sheepishly slid into my side of the bed. My emotions soon turned to soft tears because I knew I had opened the gate to his invading army.
"He used the "F" word; my baby used the "F" word." This though reverberated most in my mind.
A declaration had been made. A vague understanding had been reached. A resolution was going to require complete privacy; the two of us needed to be alone. This was not going to be realized until Sunday. Sunday is usually my day to go to the gym, run some errands and do some chores. My husband had always taken a break from work to do something with the kids. Since Justin was a little old for it the day had become a daddy-daughter day. The upcoming Sunday he was taking Lisa to a matinee at the theatre downtown. This meant they would be gone all afternoon.
The sexual tension was intense for those days. Justin played it cool, but subtly watched me as if stalking his prey. I decided that this would be the make it or break it moment in all this. If he had the courage he was going to get what he wanted, if he couldn't muster it, it was lost forever. This was going to be his chance. I rationalized it until it seemed logical and correct in my mind. Almost like there was nothing wrong or unusual about it.
I read a scholarly article on the subject through a journal subscription I have. The argument was fascinating, the only one of its kind, and encouraged my already formed intentions. Without getting too much into the technical nature of the article, it allowed for the possibility that mother-son incest by consenting adult partners could be symbolically beneficial for both mother and son. The author points out that this sort of incest was, likely, the most under-reported type of incest. The reasoning being that neither party ends up feeling abused and therefore feels no motivation to cause the other distress. It goes on to say that the, nearly universal, condemnation of the act is based on almost no documented case studies. The article was fact based and very non-committal on the moral side. Any morality that I took from it was value that I added to the points. I wasn't convinced by the article, but it gave me a non-dissenting voice and allowed the possibility that my morality is the correct morality.
I began to think about ways it could help him. I knew he hadn't had the easiest time with girls. We didn't need to talk about it for me to know that. He is a good looking young man, but not completely convinced of his own powers in that regard. He's tall, in shape, handsome and smart. Nevertheless, he loses his presence in the face of girls. His voice becomes timid and non-direct, his posture becomes awkward and his eyes fail to make contact. Basically, his deepest insecurities come to the surface in unbecoming ways. Maybe, together, we could get to the root of them. The root was obvious to me; he had a fear of sex and a fear of rejection. The unattractive qualities he projected to girls ensured he didn't have to face those fears directly. With me he has unconditional love. With acceptance, perhaps, I could show him how to project his attractive qualities. I understood this did not come without serious risks but I was ready to accept them.
All the reasoning in the world couldn't save me from the fact that the prospect still scared me. For this to happen I would have to stand naked in front of him again, only this time give him my body. There were no, halfway serious, articles explaining the best way to do this. The only certain guideline I gave myself was that he had to come to me. He had to at least show me that he was willing to work on finding his self-confidence. I decided that I should play somewhere halfway between being difficult and providing guidance. The more he showed me the more I would help.
When Sunday came I went about my usual routine of getting ready for my day. I spent a bit more time getting ready but nothing close to dolling myself up. I wore navy, rather ordinary, panties under my black yoga pants. The pants hugged my figure in a very complimentary way. I put a loose fitting white T-shirt on with no bra underneath. When I looked in the mirror my expression caught my eye. It was hard to put my finger on but it was a look of bad girl self-satisfaction. I was ready for this.
The hours it took for the afternoon was pure agony. I went to my study to mess around on the computer and listen to music in an effort to pass the time; bring us to a moment of truth. I couldn't focus on anything and the minutes seemed to go backwards at times. I knew Justin was home but I hadn't seen him. I closed the door ensuring that he would have to cross that boundary to make his intentions known. I left my phone in my bedroom; text messages would not be enough this time. Every moment brought the unknown closer; my nerves felt my every pulse. I wanted him to succeed, I wanted him to claim his victory but I had no idea how.
Once I heard the door shut, and the car start, I felt my nerves tighten. I expected it. I looked straight at my computer screen. The bittersweet melody of Born to Die was playing softly through the speakers setting a melancholy mood. I heard the door open but I didn't look back; I could feel him standing there, watching me. He stayed just beyond the doorway, as if he was expecting something else. I sat with my foot rested on the chair and one knee pulled tight to my chest, allowing the music to calm me.
Eventually I spun the chair just enough to give him a sideways glance, "Do you really want this?" I said rather stoically.
He stalled as if he was a soldier who after perfecting his war cry, found himself lost in battle. Perhaps he expected me to throw myself at his feet. I kept my body language closed and turned my attention back to my computer screen, my chin rested on my knee. He lingered in the same spot; an invisible force prevented his advance.
"Want what?" He said timidly; hoping I would invite him with open arms.
"Are we not done talking yet? If you're going to do it...then do it..." I baited him coldly.
"I will." He said unconvincingly.
Still facing the away "I'm over here." I said flatly.
He closed the door, sealing us in. Slowly, he made his way across the room, feeling each inch of space for a sense of resistance. My heart was racing, a fact I didn't want to give away. I knew that this was the moment. I wanted him to show some courage. He stood behind my chair as I blankly stared at the screen.
"Mom I want to." He said softly.
"Do you?" Playing the femme fatale, I challenged him.
"Yes, mom I want to." He repeated his intention.
"Do you have a condom?" I reminded him of the safe sex talks we had in the past.
"No, I never thought." He stumbled with his words.
"Ok." I said with an implication of agreement that this wasn't going to be safe sex. It was my safe time of the month, so the risk wasn't extreme.
I heard the rustle of my son removing his pants. I didn't look but I could feel the presence of his hard cock pointed right at me. I briskly stood, with my back to him.
I turned left and around without facing him, so that was facing the sofa the long way. I pulled my tight fitting yoga pants to my knees where my panties soon joined them. Bent over with my hands on the armrest I stood on my toes and parted my legs.
If you're going crazy just grab me and take me I'd follow you down down down, anywhere anywhere
Lana's beautifully icy drawl was somehow fitting to the feeling. The afternoon light came through the venetian blinds in bars and made the little room look more solemn.
"Well are you going to?" I turned my head half way with a look that told him it was now or never.
I saw resolve in his face and knew that I had my answer; he wasn't about to stand down and in that I was proud. He just didn't know exactly what to do. Justin was noticeably nervous. I didn't blame him, I was nervous too.
"Honey, put your hands on my hips, ok." I said with a much warmer voice.
His hands shook as he more put his hands lightly on my lower ribs than my hips.
"No, not that high, in my hip creases and get a grip." I instructed.
"I've never done this before mom." My son explained the awkwardness of his approach.
"It's ok honey, just focus on what you're doing."
Even standing on my toes he is taller than me. Justin, with a firm grasp of my hips, pulled me up slightly as he entered me in a downward angle. I was very wet and he slid in easily. I felt the jerk and pulse immediately. He tried to keep a hold of my hips as he involuntarily slouched over me after ejaculating prematurely.
"Mom I'm sorry!" His voice trembled with alarm.
"Honey, it's ok." I said softly and re-assuredly
"But mom...I didn't mean to...I was awful!" His panicked voice was a mile a minute.
"Honey stop, relax, it's ok. We can work on it." I said in an effort to calm him.
His penis slid out as my feet touched the ground and I stood up with my back to him. I could tell that he thought he disappointed me. Really, nothing could have been further from the truth. He went through with it. Whatever his game was, it had worked. I didn't feel able to stop it. Instead, I felt compelled to encourage it.
"Honey put your hands under my shirt and hold my breasts." On command he hooked his arm around me to rest his palms on my breast.
"Now hold me close and kiss the back of my neck...say nice things." I was trying to teach him about love making.
"Mom it's just that I never...I mean it's so warm...and wet...I just never..." My son whispered in my ear.
"I know...it feels good, right?" I playfully cooed back.
"Mom...it feels so good...like nothing else" His tone was still apologetic, kissing my neck and ear.
"Sweetie, you fucked me."
"...but mom..."
"You...Fucked...Me" I emphasized each word to remind him of his accomplishment.
I could feel his grip get tighter and more confident. I turned my head sideways to meet his kisses mouth to mouth. The heat between us was really building after the awkward breaking of the ice. We were both becoming surer in this liaison. My initial emotional distance had been to protect myself from committing in the event his valour left him on the battle field. I wanted the decision to be his. I was willing to help and participate, but he had to show me he wanted it; that he wasn't going to leave me with my pants down so to speak.
"We can work on it. You want to get me naked?" I said, with a smile, to assure him that the games weren't over just yet.
He released the grip on my breasts and helped my step out of my yoga pants one leg at a time. He relieved me of my t-shirt as I raised my arms straight in the air. The mood had become all together playful. I turned to face him, my son, and smiled seductively. His cock didn't stay down for long. It poked at me, pressed up against my stomach and became enveloped between us as we each kissed without restraint. Whatever he lacked in technique he made up for with passionate fire.
"Let's go again." I managed to say between kisses.
"Where?"
"On the sofa baby." I was already making my way onto my back and spreading my legs as an invitation.
It's not a big sofa. There was enough room for both us without getting too creative, still far from spacious. Much like mounting me from behind, he didn't really know how to approach this. I felt like I was walking a fine line with giving instructions. On one hand, I wanted to help him. On the other, I didn't want to frustrate him or make him feel like he was doing everything wrong. I sided with patience as opposed to commands.
I sensed he was looking for where to put his hands, so without a word, I guided them to my thighs. Once he looked settled, I let me head fall back on the cushion and closed my eyes. His first few attempts were a bit off the target. I did my best to stay still as he took his one hand to hold his penis steady, the other to hold me in place, as he sunk it back into me. He held it deep inside of me, only this time there was no jerk. I usually keep my eyes closed during sex this time however, I opened them to see how he was doing. He had his eyes tight shut and was biting his lower lip. He was trying not to cum.
"It's ok sweetheart...just hold it still...it's ok if it goes off." I said in encouragement and to let him know that I meant it when I said we would work on it.
"Mom...itttss...ook..." His voice was really straining, "...I can do this..."
"I know you can honey...when you're ready pull it out and put it back in..."
He pulled out, completely, in one swift movement. Breathing hard, he pushed back in and held it in again.
I opened my arms toward him and coaxed him into my arms. "Relax sweetie, it's ok, mommy is here...ok?...your with mommy..."
"I love you mom!" My son grunted in my ear.
"And you're doing good, sweetie I love you...take it out a bit...then push down, ok?...Relax.."
He did as he was told and braced me tightly while letting all the air out of his lungs. He had gotten over the over excitement and was pushing in deeper and then relaxing about an inch before pushing again. I could feel the confidence begin to grow, taking control of the sensation.
"I think I'm ok now mom."
"Better than ok honey...fuck me..." I let the last part slip softly from my tongue into his ear.
Still extremely hard and deep inside me, Justin sat up to retake our original position. This time he started to fuck me. I could feel any sense of inadequacy he was feeling being transformed into confidence. My baby was holding my thighs tightly pulling me to meet his thrusts. He was fucking me like a man. I kept my eyes open to observe the metamorphosis. Sweat had built on his brow and the tips or his hair. His gaze was serious and deliberate. The lines on his well-defined face looked sharper as if carved from granite.
He didn't need any more words of encouragement or any more instructions. In the time it took him to adjust to being inside of me the balance of power had shifted. He knew he was in the dominant position over me now, he knew he was the one fucking me. I was filled with a strange mixture of lust and pride; he was doing a fantastic job. Much better than I thought he could have. Justin maintained his stamina through my gasps and moans. Our eyes were locked in a way I've engaged with no other lover. Neither could do any wrong in the others mind.
My orgasm hit from the sheer force of feeling rather than any direct physical stimulation. I could feel it building very deep inside, like a ball of electricity under my stomach, getting ready to explode to every part of my body. I lost control of my eyes, along with my other senses, and they rolled backwards in my head. In the throes of ecstasy any filter I was employing was broken wide open. As is my habit, during orgasm, let dirty talk fill my son's ears.
"Fuck me! I'm cumming! Fuck me! I'm cumming! Fuck me! I'm cumming!" I repeated emphatically.
The cascade of filthy utterances continued to flow. "I'm a slut! Fuck your mother's slutty fucking pussy! Your cock is so big! Fuck me hard! Fuck your slutty mom!"
Somewhere during the middle of my sexual diatribe my son found his release as well. He hoarsely said, "mom...mom...mom...mom..." Over and over as if he was finding satisfaction in the word itself.
He fell down between my arms still saying, "mom...mom...mom", increasing the pause inversely to the intensity of the sound, until he was rambling it in detached amazement.
For the first time, he could see me as a fully sexual being. A side of his mother he was never supposed to see. And for the first time he realized that his own mom is a bit of a bad girl. The realization was sinking in, that I not only had sex, but that I knew how to have sex, that I knew how to be dirty. There was nothing that could have prepared him for such an afternoon.
His penis slipped out of me as his head found my breast where he rested, his cheek pressed firmly. I pulled the blanket over us so we could settle in. I cradled him in my arms and accepted the full weight of his upper body on mine. Despite what we did, I didn't feel dirty, I didn't feel anything remotely close to dirty. Laying together, exhausted from passion, felt strangely natural; more natural than sex has ever felt for me. I felt his sperm leaking out from between my parted legs onto the soon to be stained sofa. I figured that I better clean up a little.
"Honey, I have to go to the washroom." I said gently.
"No, mom...don't leave..."
"I'll be back, it's ok...just need to clean up a bit...ok?"
Eventually Justin relented and allowed me out from under him. Finding my balance after a few steps, I made my way to the main bathroom. I looked in the mirror; my skin seemed to be glowing. I saw the mess he has made. It caused me no hint of shame. I cleaned up, where necessary, but made no attempt to scoop any out. My hair looked shiny. I felt wonderfully vibrant.
When I returned to my study, Justin was sitting upright, naked, on the sofa where we had made love. He was staring straight ahead; he appeared to be without a thought. I walked directly over and sat on his lap so I was facing him with my legs pushed between the sofa cushions. His height became even more obvious in this position as it only brought me to roughly eye level. We were both completely naked. We kissed slowly and fully on the lips. Each kiss confirming what we already knew, we were both happy this happened.
I didn't want to ruin the mood with questions about what was to happen now, but I also knew the moment couldn't last forever. Our relationship was forever changed. We had become lovers. The complications of such matters could wait.
"Are you ok?" I asked inviting him to say whatever was on his mind.
"Mom...mom...I can't believe...mom...that... that...you're so...sexy" He said in wide-eyed wonder.
I started to laugh in conceit at his complement. "You're not so bad yourself stud."
"Did you like it mom?"
As if he even had to ask. "Honey, it was the most wonderful."
"I fucked you good?" He said with bravado.
"Baby, you did it best." I smiled before planting another kiss.n the dead of the winter with a rattle, a push and low groan the battery light stays on for just a moment before the headlights flicker with life. I've put a lot of miles on my little car, more than I would have thought she could handle, yet she just keeps starting. We're going to need my little car because this tournament is even more important than the last and the last one before that. As a hockey mom, you forget how many tournaments you've seen, you just know that each one is the most important one. To Justin, my son, there is no doubt as to the veracity of this statement. My job is simply getting him there, he lives for the ice but he hates the snow, cold cars and long drives. Helping his mom chip the ice off the windshield may be a bit too much to ask, but considering all this is for him, a good mood should be par for the course.
"Couldn't we take dad's car? This is stupid."
"You don't like my car now?"
"Mom, we can't even fit everything in the trunk."
"Well maybe if you cleaned out your hockey bag every now and then we wouldn't have to smell it for the next three hours."
"How'my gunna do that?"
"Soap? Water? A dry cleaner? You're 18, you're an adult, figure it out."
"Sure Mom, whatever you say. Dad's is warmer too."
"And I'm not driving that monstrosity. He should've never bought an SUV, I didn't agree with it and I'm never going to drive his SUV. You know I work in a clean air emissions lab, you know that, right?"
"So that means you have to drive a crappy car?"
"This crappy car is still the best at limiting carbon monoxide, hydrocarbons and all sorts of particulates..."
He cuts off with a salty tongue. "Mom, who cares? You and the tree huggers?"
Feeling frustrated and more than a little bit insulted I replied. "Well, maybe you should care! What about your kids?"
He looked distantly out the passenger window to indicate this conversation was over. "Hmmph my kids."
"Does your father get the attitude too? Or this is just for me?" I asked rhetorically, not expecting a response. "He probably wouldn't put up with it." I added under my breath.
He never fails to upset me on these drives. It's always the same, I want to have some time for us to relate and maybe get to know each other better, but something always goes wrong. I say the wrong thing, don't get something I clearly should or am just made to feel lame. This time the breaking point was quicker than usual. The thing that bothers me most is that my lameness somehow makes a saint out of his father; the same father too busy to ever take him. My husband's demands at work exclude him from being a chauffeur so that meant four days with mommy dearest.
I'm the one who is up at 6 in the morning, lugging his luggage, chipping ice off my crappy car and warming it up. All I wanted, through all this, is some common ground, perhaps a place where I'm not rebelled against as if I'm his tyrant dictator. Lugging your kids around is truly the most poorly advertised aspect of being a parent. I probably could have driven around the world with the amount of miles I've put into driving to hockey arenas. I'm sure the scenery would have been more pleasing on my world tour; rather than a darkened road framed by the ice bordering my windshield. There's no trophy for this, in fact there is rarely, if ever, a thank-you. His dad just wants to know if they won and if he scored. This is just expected of me and, in truth, I expect it of myself too. I just wish it didn't cause me so much anxiety. He's always so moody; he dumps on me every chance he gets.
With resetting on my mind, I stopped at the drive-thru to get some coffee. I don't know if caffeine even works for me anymore but I'm scared to find out whether or not I can function without.
"Large black!" Turning to my son. "What about you?" He doesn't reply. "Nothing?"
"No cream? No sugar?" Crackles through the speaker.
"No, just black.....and one of those breakfast thingies."
"Mo-om, breakfast sandwiches, they're called breakfast sandwiches and you have to say what kind!" He sighs in frustration at my lameness.
"Well, it's for you, I don't order this stuff."
"Sausage" He said all in one syllable.
"Sausage?" I asked him feeling confused.
"Say, sausage Mom, it's a sausage breakfast sandwich, ok?"
I leaned slightly out the window again. "That's a large black coffee and a sausage sandwich!"
Justin looked at me as if I had just broken all Ten Commandments. "What?" I asked in confusion.
He shook his head, gave me the customary roll of the eyes and sighed again. "Just never mind."
We rolled up to the window, where the cute girl serving us didn't look nearly as frustrated with my inept ordering abilities. Very cheerfully, she chimed, "So this is one black coffee and the sausage and egg breakfast sandwich. That will be $6.08." At least someone looked happy to be up before six in the morning.
I felt the caffeine that morning, there's no doubt about that. My first sips of hot coffee are usually cautious, but I wanted a jolt and a jolt I got with a reckless gulp. In the spirit of starting all over again, I hit that reset button. Sure, I felt belittled, under-appreciated and generally stepped on, but I wanted this to be friendly. When I take my daughter on long rides, she teaches me new pop songs, before long, we're signing along and talking about boys. Not that I expected that, but I wanted him to at least see me as a person, maybe even someone he could be friends with.
I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I said. "Well, she was cute, right?"
"Huh?" He clearly hadn't made the same commitment to the blank slate that I had.
"The girl at the donut place."
Without taking the time to stop chewing, he answered. "Huh? Didn't notice."
Attempting to be a little bit playful, I continued. "Oh come on? You had to have noticed. She looked about your age....cute smile...blonde hair...."
"So? What's the difference? She wasn't even, nevermind." He snapped.
"I thought she was looking at you, that's all. We can go back? Get her number?" I said with the tone of a mock suggestion.
"No, she wasn't! She was just trying to be nice to a clueless customer. Just stop it, ok? It's stupid!"
I took another gulp of coffee and stared straight ahead at the still darkened road. Attempt number two had failed and left me feeling heavy. I could feel my hips press into the seat as my shoulders sagged. I should have never brought up a girl. Girls have always been a sore spot with Justin, I just thought with getting a bit older he might be willing to open up a bit more about it. He's not the most popular kid in school by any stretch, but he does have his group of friends and they wouldn't be considered the uncool kids either. He's shy around girls, but I don't see why he takes such offence to talking about them, I know he's attracted to them. She was a pretty girl; he could have just admitted it. I wasn't really going to make him talk to her.
In the car, he had brought a device that was full of all sorts of music, most of which I had little to no understanding of, but I wanted to try to be hip.
"Let's listen to some music!" I tried to sound enthusiastic.
"Intentions meet wall." I thought. Any time I expressed interest in one of his bands or songs he would sigh and change the song. It wasn't long until melodies were replaced by hardcore rap that was as clumsy as it was vulgar.
"Why do they have to call women hoes and bitches like that?"
With a dismissive shake of the head. "It's just the way the music is."
I playfully reminded him. "You know your mom is from the 80's and I know what rap is all about and that this isn't it. They can make fun rap and socially conscious rap too, not all about killing people and their bitches."
He snorted. The notion that his mom ever listened to rap seemed almost funny to him in a mean spirited way. He shrugged off my contribution as clueless. Well, that was another fail for me. I wanted to relate to him and nothing was working. I was hoping this one time I could breach the wall between us for long enough to have some sort if adult conversation. After letting him cool off for about an hour, while listening to all sorts of methods for killing people, maiming people and creative uses for F and N words, I reminded him. "Justin, honey, you know you can talk to me about stuff, right?"
"Whatever Mom."
He's a good looking guy; he lacks confidence, but not looks. Rather tall for his age, but lanky too and standing up straight wouldn't hurt. I'd almost given up correcting posture. There are certainly more satisfying ways to turn your hair grey out there than that battle. His bone structure he took from me; I was a complete stick in high school as well. A bit of acne didn't take away from his handsome face. My attempts to introduce him to a bit of make-up were met with a short temper, nevertheless it isn't unsightly. With luck on his side, he got my full brown hair, and like mine, it curls at the ends if he grows it out. Unlike my grey eyes, his eyes are deep brown. They are his most striking facial feature; very expressive. He avoids making eye contact with me as if in an attempt to shut me out from his feelings.
"We talked about this." I say in exasperation.
"Talked about what?" He said darkly while picking at the panel of the car door.
"That we can't do that stuff again. You know that right?"
"What stuff?" The last syllable is stressed as the panel is freed from the door.
"Justin stop it! Ruining my car isn't going to help so knock it off! This instant!"
"Why should I?" He picks up his gaze and I can feel his distain acutely.
"Because I'm your mother and I'm telling you to knock it off, so knock it off." The silence is deafening. I soften my tone, "Look, honey, I know what happened happened but we talked about this."
"No Mom, you talked about this, you talked about it, not me."
"So what then?" I wanted to cry. "Honey, I don't know what to say."
"Mom, I'm horny." I could feel the pain in his voice.
"What about girls from your school?"
"No."
"No, what?"
"Mom, why are we talking about girls from my school?"
"Because we can't be doing that again."
"So you didn't like it? What? I wasn't good enough?"
"Did I say that? Why would you ask that? That is so insulting, stop being a fucking baby about it! I don't owe that to you!" In the moment I was angry, I hate when a man whines and blackmails with insecurity. The fact my own son was trying to do it to me had me seeing red. We had sex that one time and it seems that one time was a mistake. I thought it would build him up and give him the courage to approach girls. Instead he was using it as emotional blackmail. I took a deep breath and tried to reset my aggression. "Honey, please don't be like that. Have some confidence...believe what I say when I say it."
The rest of the drive was as frosty as the air outside. I wasn't being unfair, what did he think was going to happen? I couldn't be his girlfriend. Is that what he expected? It started with my panties and ended when I gave into him on a whim as far as I was concerned. He already got more than he could have ever expected and he still expected more. My mind retreated to reflection on what led me to the incestous relationship I shared with my son.
My name wasn't always "Mom", in a different life I went by Michelle, to some I still do, but mostly I answer to the call of "Mom". That is my identity, and not one I resent. I love being a mom and I love being his mother, what happened between us makes that so difficult to define now. At 44 years of age, my million motherly tasks plus my day job hadn't worn heavily on my looks. I loved seeing people's reaction of true surprise when questioned about my age. I was active with the kids and somewhere in that tornado I found time to chase my own athletic glory in the form of rec mixed soccer. By glory, I mean the one goal I scored when the ball hit me in the head and ended up in the net. It's not like either of my kids ever came to watch me play anyways. I also keep fit with yoga and regular visits to the gym once it became clear I could kick no more. When not busy with all that, being hockey mom extraordinaire never let me catch my breath.
We arrived at the motel with just enough time to check in, drop the luggage and look around before his first game. The drab and less than luxurious room would be home for the next three nights. The tournament runs from Friday through Sunday, but I hate driving at night after a long day so we typically stay the extra night. The room is clean enough and has all that we're going to need, two beds, a shower and a TV. I brought a few things to read, but I can never concentrate on reading with him in the room, so the bookmarks usually don't get lost.
These hockey gatherings are burning infernos of macho aggression, intimidation and bellicosity, and that's just the other moms. The young men on the ice make them boiling cauldrons of bursting testosterone. I'm not really your typical hockey mom, I don't yell at the coach, I don't argue with the other parents and I only watch the games with semi-interest. As such, I never made many friends or enemies in the peanut gallery. I watch when Justin is on the ice, but I can't really follow what's going on, or what everyone gets so worked up about. Seriously, it's almost as if they all expect their kids to be on their way to the NHL. I feel so bad for some of the boys who are just there to play hockey. I just want my son to have fun, get in shape and stay engaged with something he loves. He really does live for this stuff; a win or a loss can severely alter his mood. I try to rationalize his quick temper with me as nerves and angst for the game he has trouble expressing.
His transition from sluggish to animated is one of the genuinely remarkable changes in nature. No matter how many times I bear witness, it never ceases to amaze me. He goes into the dressing room a literal foot dragger and emerges with powerful strides once metal touches ice. I feel an intense measure of pride from watching his slouched posture turned upright. He wasn't the best player on the team, but certainly not the worst. He played safe, not gambling or taking risks. It could be to his credit sometimes, but also hold him back a bit at others. He was never as aggressive as the other boys were, but his height made him hard to push around. When tempers flared, he would generally avoid the action.
A crowd stood in the hallway waiting for their triumphant return to shoes. The fathers wait with bated breath to further coach on points the coaches clearly missed. A few parents hovered near the door anxiously for their first crack at the coach, mainly with ice time or some other bone of fairness to pick. The less obnoxious stood in their little social circles, which include the girlfriends and siblings. Some of the girls looked so pretty; they clearly put a lot of effort into looking good for the occasion and it's easy to tell them apart from the sisters. I always notice some other girls slyly hoping to nap one of the single guys. I try to stay as inconspicuous as possible and watch the menagerie, but Justin always spots me before any stray young lady can swoop in.
"Mom! Did you see I scored a goal!" As if the world has flipped on its axis, he looked for approval from the same woman too lame for words hours earlier.
"Honey, it was fantastic! So exciting when you got close to the net, I almost died!"
"Yeah well it's no big deal anyways, they were the worst team and we barely beat them. Doubt we have a chance tomorrow. I should have scored more really." He moved quickly into pity.
"Well you still won, right?"
"You don't get it Mom; they were the worst team, tomorrow we face the best; we're going to get killed."
"I think you can win, you played really good today." I said with a bit less exuberance than before, but I really didn't see any reason they couldn't win.
"I guess we could." He agreed but looked unconvinced. He looked very attractive with the sweat still in his hair and his loose white t-shirt clinging to his tall slender frame.
"Ok, well, do you want to go out with your team?" They usually have a celebration if they win.
"Aren't you coming Mom?"
I didn't want to let him down, but I don't fit in with the other parents and he always seems embarrassed of me. "I can pick you up after? I don't really drink beer and they always want me to." Not to mention I don't really like getting hit on by other parents.
"Nah, it's ok, I don't really want to go anyways, and I need to take a shower." He never showered at the games. It's not really highly unusual, some boys do and some don't. He was just a bit shy.
"Why don't you shower in the change room?" I figured he should just get over it.
"The floor is dirty in there. I don't like it." He made a seemingly well-rehearsed excuse.
"Well, I can drive you to the restaurant after....looks like there'll be girls there." I gave him a little wink.
I must have said the wrong thing, because the slouch returned to his shoulders. "Nah, it's ok, I'm sort of tired from all the driving and the game."
"Well, maybe we can watch a movie at the motel? It's still a bit early." I offered him something a bit more comforting and in line with some of our shared introverted tendencies.
"Yeah, for sure" He looked relieved that I wasn't going to pressure him into going. I feel bad when pressuring him, but I'm just trying to break him out of his shell a bit, not make him feel bad about himself. It wasn't easy for me to break out of mine, but I had more fun once I did.
Returning to the motel, I felt better than I had earlier in the day. He really has this effect on me that pushes my emotions every which way. One moment he's treating me like a throw away and the next I'm the most important person in his world. One thing that never changes is that he is the most important person in my world. He has the ability to really hurt my feelings or make me feel good about myself in equal measure. On some level, he knows it too.
I'm not sure how to say this without sounding harsh, but he will always be number one for me. Ahead of my husband and, if being completely honest, ahead of my daughter too. It's not that I don't love my daughter, I obviously do, it's just that I get the feeling that she would be ok without me, but he really needs me. More than that, we have an unspoken connection which is impossible to describe.
Relationship between mothers and sons, especially the first-born, are often the most complicated of family relationships. Despite his treatment of me sometimes, I know that he's intensely protective of me; it's obvious in his body language where ever we go. He starves for my attention and acts out worst usually in the absence of it. Whether the attention is positive or negative doesn't seem to matter as long at the emotion is felt intensely. No matter how much I nag him, correct his behaviour or yell at him in frustration I never feel less love for him. If he were to take up serial killing, I would be the mother in the courtroom every day and visiting every chance in jail. Hyperbole, but the point is not, the point being that we don't always have to like each other to have this intense loving connection. My love is blind of his behaviour.Nevertheless, it is his behaviour had forced me many times into the role of disciplinarian. It's not my favourite part to play; in fact I detest it. I would rather be nurturing and understanding, be someone my kids can just come and talk to, but it never works out that way with him. In those times when I feel like maybe I have gotten through to him, catastrophe is never far on the horizon. Not a bad student at school, his infractions always, and invariably, involved drugs. He once served a two-week suspension sitting in the supply closet at my work; I believe this was more humiliating for me than it was for him. Understanding talks became lock and key room searches, my empty bag policy and random hair tests. No matter what he would find a way. We have fought so bitterly about it that I believed that a part of him had come to hate me.
I wanted to get past all that, be the cool mom that I had always wanted to be. Being cool is hard while chasing him around with prison camp rule standards. Casting the eye of suspicion doesn't often lead to comfortable back and forths. But what choice did I have? I couldn't just let him smoke his life away. I'm not even going to pretend I was squeaky clean when it came to marijuana, but as a habit, he could have picked a better one. If he just did it every now and then, maybe I'd even take a puff with him from time to time. What I'm saying is, I'm not a complete square.
I don't know if it was this need to be part of his world that led to that fateful afternoon on the sofa. He had been back inside me and that would never change, and I had a sinking feeling that it would never be enough for him. The lust in his stare was palatable with just the two of us in a motel room, that had two beds, poor lighting and a TV.
"So you jump in the shower first, ok honey?..........oh here's your toothbrush.....and....."
"Just give me the bag." He said while reaching his hands out in expectation.
I felt this was a bit rude. I was just trying to remind him. "Please?"
"Hey, please...." He looked at me for a moment and then recomposed his words. "Could you please pass me the case Mom?"
"Was that so hard?" I really don't understand either of my kids' disdain for manners.
Taking the entire bag with him, he went off to shower and clean up. With a big, "sigh" I sat down on the bed. Feeling emotionally exhausted, I actually remember the room turning slightly fuzzy before snapping back into focus. "Why doesn't he like me?" I thought feeling intensely sad. "Why do I have to nag him like that?"
"Mom?" He sounded a bit puzzled emerging from the shower with just a towel around his waist. He looked so lean and toned, his abs trailing under the roll of the white towel, his hair wet and beads of water in droplets on his young skin.
I shook my head a bit to reset my thought. "Yeah, it's nothing, what is it?"
"Nothing, you're just sitting there."
"I was just waiting. I'm going to hop in the shower too. Pick something to watch? Can order something to eat if you want to."
"What if I don't want to watch anything?"
It didn't feel like a question as his eyes focused on me with a hint of menace. My pulse jumped. I knew what was coming, but I didn't expect fierce eyes. "Honey...." I protested by dropping my shoulder and raising my gaze.
"I don't want you to take a shower Mom." His eyes were those of hunters.
Being the first to break eye contact I looked down. "Honey, stop it." I said unconvincingly; he was winning.
He stepped toward me letting the towel fall to the floor. "Mom, I'm going to fuck you on this bed, take your clothes off."
The shock was visceral, his resolve had hardened and he wasn't asking, I understood at once that he wasn't asking. He was ready to overpower me if it came to that and there was no doubt that he could. Looking up, his resolve was not all that had hardened. His cock was sticking straight out and up at an angle. It was bigger than the last time I'd seen it. "I'm your mother." I said softly appealing to his sympathy for my position of authority. Standing right in front of me he ran his hand softly through my hair and encouraged my gaze up with a soft touch of my chin.
"I love you mom, I'm not going to hurt you." He toyed with my emotions, he threatened me and presented himself as my saviour all in a single manipulation. Weakness permeated my bones and turned my resolve to mush. The truth is that this is what I wanted, I wanted him to tell me what to do, I wanted him to bend my will.
Sensing the moment he caressed my hair softly until he gripped the back of my head. "Suck my dick Mom." Presenting his cock with a sigh and encouraging me to wrap my lips around it, he guided my head. Taking his cock into my right hand and holding the chair for balance I looked up at him, "This is a big cock. You want mommy to suck your big cock?" He tried to say yes, but all he could do was nod. His cock strained so hard that I thought the head might burst. Wasting no more time, I started slowly by licking the head. His cock is lovely. A lot bigger since our afternoon on the sofa, he must be 7 inches, maybe more. His dad is only about 5, so he got lucky in that department. More impressive than his size, he gets so hard that the head shines stretching the skin to its limit. Three prominent veins run up the shaft, one on the side and the other two crossing on the top side. He trims the hair down neatly, which is actually a welcome change from what I'm used to from older men. It's smoother and I don't get any stuck on the back of my throat. My son really has been blessed with a beautiful cock.
He looked very attractive. I've never felt a harder cock in my mouth. There was absolutely no give and certainly no room to grow any larger. His stamina was better this time too, no premature ejaculation this time, he was ready to enjoy this. Putting as much in my mouth as I could, I moved my tongue over the shaft while slowly taking it out, letting my tongue linger and swirl to the tip before doing it again. "Mommmmmm!" He said in aggravation while surrendering control. His cock pulsed in my mouth half a second before he shot his first spurt of cum. It hit the back of my throat with force, followed soon by another full spurt. I knew I wouldn't be able to swallow it, so I took his orgasming cock from my mouth. I tried to shield my face with my hand but he was spraying everywhere. I never let men cum in my mouth, but I took a pretty decent amount of his.
"Are you good now?" Thinking that this might be the conclusion I presented the question.
"Take your clothes off." Directly and casually he informed me that the night was early yet.
Sure I have a few signs of aging, but aside from my stretch marks caused by his highness, now sitting on the bed devouring me with his eyes, my skin is smooth. My long brown hair curls a bit at the ends and my grey eyes take the reflection from my surroundings. I'm 5'7", not as slender as I once was, but not overweight, and I still have a natural lift to my butt, I had a dancer's body in my youth and all that had changed were my hips, they were wider in a flattering sort of way. I felt no hint of shyness in my underwear. I stood in the middle of the hotel room, incredulously inviting him to look. His cock hardened as if he never got soft and I removed my panties to stand naked for him.
He sat on the bed stroking his cock, looking at me, just like the first time in his bedroom. Totally wet and horny, I wanted nothing more than for him to fuck me. He looked at me cold as ice. "Get on the bed." He calmly ordered me.
"How?"
"Hands and knees." He stood up and walked around the bed as I got in position to present myself. Justin walked around and tilted my head, he kissed me sweetly and deeply with me naked on the bed on my hands and knees.
"Mom"
"Yes, sweetie?"
"I love you Mom."
"I love you too."
He took his place behind me for his ultimate conquest. I didn't have any expectations, I didn't offer any directions and I didn't make any suggestions. He entered me very easily with his rock hard cock. Once he was in, something took over inside of him. He fucked me very hard. He slammed into me with full force for each thrust, his hands gripping my hips tightly. Grunts and moans filled the little room.
I looked up from the mattress and saw us in the large mirror. My pleading eyes met his in the mirror and locked in the throes of passion. His startling brown eyes appeared more defined and pronounced as if dipped in glass. With each hard thrust, his eyes narrowed on mine in an expression I had never seen in him before. It was the look of a lion finishing off his prey; concentration mixed with satisfied anger. My son was in control, my son was dominating me and he knew it. I looked at him with sympathetic eyes, showing him my weakness and he responded with further displays of strength. The confidence had exploded from his very core. His muscles flexed in the mirror defining his slender frame.
"You're fucking your mother! You're fucking your mother!!!" I screeched in response to his pounding.
My son fucked me relentlessly. His cock hard as steel and pumping like some rapid fire piston in a finely tuned machine. His rough hand twisted my long brown hair around his fist lest my entire body collapsed, he held firm straining my roots. His grunts primal and aggressive as he pounded without respite. "You ever been fucked like this?" He hissed through gritted teeth. "Answer me mom!" He demanded with spiteful impatience. My son pulled hard on the fistful of hair he took to put me at his liberty, all the while not slowing down the motion of his hips. He was fucking me so violently, so violently that I couldn't reconcile him with the timid and shy boy I knew so well. With another yank of my hair he held my head all the way back lifting my hands in the air as if I was a trophy. Very slowly and deliberately he repeated, "Have you ever been fucked like this Mom?"
"No! Never!" I screamed in a mix of fear and exhilaration as he relaxed his biceps and let my hands feel the mattress. "Never, never, never." I whimpered in submission to his wants.
His thrusts became more measured and deliberate, but lost no measure of their violence. He must have been trying to push through me he was fucking so hard when he pushed in. "You like this? You like this don't you?" The mocking tone undisguised the relief of his frustration. Domineering, sometimes strict and always meddlesome, I had been a monolith in his life, now he sees just how vulnerable I am. His aggressive fucking displayed strength, stamina and force of will. I submitted to him completely. He was fucking his mother and I couldn't have been more proud of him. His motions were assertive as they were assured; he handled me as if he never had a doubt that he could. Every time I had ever disciplined him, every time I had ever corrected him, every time I had ever undermined him, criticized him, chastised him or denied him, he was giving it all back to me. The display of power and masculine energy directed at me had never been so intense. "You like getting fucked! Don't you Mom?"
Before he had the chance to pull my hair again I gave in to his will. "Yes, I like it!"
"Like what?"
"I like getting fucked!" I cried in agony. I could feel my orgasm starting to explode.
"By who?"
"You're fucking me so good! You're fucking my pussy so good! Fuck your mother's pussy!" I cried words of encouragement, which he took in stride and continued aggressively fucking me. His control surprised and affected me deeply.
"By who? You fucking bitch!"
"I like it when you fuck me! I like getting fucked by you! Nobody fucks me better! I'm fucking cumming, I'm cumming!" I trailed off into nonsensical blabbering as my orgasm took hold of my entire body. I rarely ever cum from intercourse, but when it happens it's so intense my senses turn to mush and then sharpen. It was as if I could feel every strand of hair he hadn't stopped pulling, I could feel the numbing pain from every point of my scalp and feeling was intoxicating to my delight. Of course he was right, I love getting fucked, more I love getting fucked hard and I was proud of him for fucking me so well. Would it ever be possible to see that shy timid boy again? He had broken through this right of passage, my son controlled me and I knew my pussy was his whenever he wanted it, whenever he demanded it. Even through my orgasm he didn't stop pushing his big hard cock into me, we both heard the loud squishy and splashing sounds as my pussy gushed around his rock hard manhood. His thighs smacked loudly into legs as the mess of my orgasm built up between us.
"Don't cum in me..." I begged in a protest I knew would go unheeded. "Please honey, not inside of me..."
In a single motion he released my hair from his firm grip and followed my collapsing head into the mattress pinning my face and arching his body over mine. His cock deep inside me with nowhere for me to squirm I could feel the victory in his grunt. "Fuck mom! Mom! Fuck fuck fuck!" Horsely he shouted obscenities. He then took an unmistakable finishing grip. I tried to kick free, but his fingers dug into my hipd making sure I couldn't get away. I gave it my best effort, but in truth I didn't want to get away, I only wanted him to show his strength and dominance. His cock tensed before his ultimate release, he pumped his sperm where he wanted to and he wanted it deep inside of me. He must have shot ten powerful blasts before his ejaculation ceased. "Fucking good pussy, so fucking tight Mom." I squeezed as hard as I could while trying to look back for his approval.
After emptying himself completely, he released my hips and the room went silent apart from our heaving breaths. Unable to move, I kept my hips high in the air with his sperm dripping into my womb. Suddenly, with one hand on my ass, he roughly pushed me to the side as if he had just fucked a whore. Hitting the mattress in a fetal position, I felt fear looking up at him from the bed. My entire world balanced on the next few seconds. I squeezed my fists as hard as I could while trying to look up for his approval.
"Did you like it?" His approval was the only thing in the world that mattered to me in that moment. "Did you like it?" My words stressed and frantic, I demanded an answer.
His face no longer hard, his manner no longer aggressive, instead he looked dumbfounded. "Mom?" He looked taken aback. "Why wouldn't I like it?"
"I just have to know that you liked it? So tell me that you liked it." I turned over to look up at him, his features sharp, the sweat dripped from the tips of his hair and his toned body wet with a mixture of sweat and my juices, he looked so sexy. "Don't ask me anything, just tell me that you liked it!" I pleaded.
"I liked it, of course I liked it." He said softly as if still confused, but almost mid-sentence something clicked and he continued more self-sure. "Mom, I loved it and I love you." The covers enveloped us, turning our cold sweat warm as we kissed beneath the blanket. The mattress and sheets were soaked but neither of us cared, naked we kissed passionately until his lips found my breast. He softly sucked as we both descended into post orgasmic bliss.
We passed the night tightly embraced, alternating between oral pleasures of the physical and the verbal. Truly open as lover now, he expressed his desires and fears with no reservation. For the first time, I was able to relate to him as my equal partner. We talked of my sexual desires, even past lovers and even his father. Taboo does not exist between taboo lovers. At some point in the night we drifted into dreams twisted together at the soul. Somehow, I knew it was no longer just the two of us on that bed, I could feel his baby in my womb.