SHOW YOUR TITS, SHOW YOUR TITS CH. 02

The state wrestling tournament was scheduled three weeks after we returned from New Orleans. The finals were in St. Louis, a four hour drive from our home. The boys rode together on the team bus; Bruce and I drove the SUV, reserving a two bedroom suite at a nearby hotel.

Jacob had moved up a weight class. His opponent, Hank McVoy, last year's state champion, was stronger and had at least ten pounds on my son. Both boys were undefeated.

They met in the final match of the day. Riding on it was not only their undefeated seasons and a personal championship, but the winner's team would be state champion. It was late in the third period and Jacob, protecting his narrow lead, was parrying Hank's attacks.

With less than a minute left Hank, slightly off balance, lunged at Jacob. Jacob blocked the move, went low, and took Hank down hard; Hank literally bounced on the mat. Jacob moved in for a quick cover and the match was over, Jacob won by a pin. At least one fit older lady shot to her feet, applauding wildly. I was proud of my son, prouder still when Hank shoved him and Jacob, instead of retaliating, turned to his teammates, who had run on to the mat to congratulate him. I, along with the other parents, moved to the floor.

Jacob, followed by the others, headed our way. He took me in his arms and held me to him.

I kissed him. "I'm so proud of you."

I wanted him so bad.

"Thanks Mom. I love you."

"I love you too, so very much."

Coach waved the boys over, directed them to the trophy presentation.

* * * *

The winner of each weight class took the stage; Jacob, Hank McVoy still glaring at him, was the last to be handed his medal. We caught each other's eyes, I gave him the thumb's up, he returned the gesture. Coach was presented the championship trophy and passed it down the line of boys. After another round of applause they headed for the locker room. I was daydreaming about Jacob's naked body in the shower when Katana, whose son had won the middleweight champion, said, "Jen, you still with us?"

"Yes, sorry Kat, I was thinking about the boys."

"A bunch of us made reservations at Ruth's Chris to celebrate. Care you join us?"

Bruce and Jacob loved them a steak.

"Thanks, yes."

The boys came out of the locker room. Before we left Coach took the time to talk to each parent, saying something kind about each boy. Then as Bruce, Jacob, and I headed for the parking lot, I stopped.

"Darn, I left something in the stands. Bruce, be a dear, bring the car around. Jacob, come keep your mother company."

In the gym I took a quick look around - we were alone - and pressed Jacob to the wall, brought my mouth to his. He kissed me back, working my lips with his own. Knees shaking - I could barely stand - I molded my body to his.

We took a deep breath, joined his father. As the restaurant we were seated in the back corner of the table, against a wall. Everyone was festive, happy. My son rested his foot against mine, drew circles atop my thigh with a finger. I pressed my leg to his. Someone circulated programs from the meet, asking each boy to sign. Before passing the pen down the line Jacob wrote something on a napkin and slipped it to me under the table.

It said, "I want you."

I put it in my purse - I still have it - reached under the table, took his hand in mine.

Someone, I'm not sure who, suggested dessert. The boys had been sacrificing for weeks, struggling to make weight, there were no objections. We ordered and I said I had to go to the bathroom; Jacob, noting several people had to stand to let me out, said he'd take advantage of the opportunity. In the hallway by the bathroom he took hold of my arm, kissed me. The kiss was savage, near desperate; the weeks of longing since New Orleans lived inside that kiss. He pulled away. Adrenaline flooded my system; my son's face flushed red.

"Sorry Mom, I know I shouldn't, not here, but its just..."

He stopped, unable to find the words.

I put my hand on his shoulder, leaned forward, kissed his lips.

"Its okay, I understand. God, do I want you."

* * * *

We ate dessert. I reached under the table, pressed my wet panties into Jacob's hand - I'd removed them in the bathroom - then fondled his erection. His hand went to my knee; I spread my legs, inviting him to go further. He did, grazed my bare sex - I was happy I'd shaved that morning - and pushed a finger inside me. I squirmed, then groaned, the sound indecipherable in the din of the restaurant.

* * * *

We had a suite at the hotel. Jacob and I sat on the couch, Bruce in a chair facing us. We chatted; I reached over and straightened Jacob's hair; Bruce, who'd had a few drinks, shambled off to bed. I lay down, my head in Jacob's lap. He ran his hands through my hair, touched my face. I took hold of his hand, brought it to my mouth, kissed each finger.

I'd tried, I'd really tried, but this was inevitable. My son was what I wanted.

"I love you."

He smiled, a happy smile. "I love you."

I reached up, touched his face. "You're my husband now."

I sat up, unbuttoned my blouse, undid my bra, shrugged them both off. He touched a breast, ran two fingers down its side. I leaned forward, kissed him, a slow patient sweet long kiss. We explored each other's mouths; his tongue caressed my tongue and lips, the area behind my lips, my cheeks, the roof and floor of my mouth. We ended our kiss, but I could still taste him, a sweet fresh taste. I stood, undid my skirt, it pooled at my feet. My sex burned. I held my hand out to him and said, "Are you ready to rumble?"

He followed me to the bedroom, where I turned, folded my arms across my chest, faced him, ran my eyes up and down his body, and said, "You are wearing entirely too many clothes."

He stripped. He was the most beautiful thing on the planet. He walked over, kissed me. I kissed him back. He scooped me up in his arms, kissed me again; our tongues intertwined, making up for lost time they danced with each other. He lowered me to the bed, bent his head to my blood engorged nipples, drew them into his mouth. I writhed, relishing the sensation; my eyes fixed on his cock. I reached for it; it was hard and strong and mighty. A thick drop of pre-cum emerged; I caught it on a finger tip, brought it to my mouth, licked it from my finger.

I wanted him in my mouth.

I tugged on his cock and ran my tongue on my lips. Jacob understood. He straddled my prone body and his ass on my tits, moved forward, guiding his hard cock to my mouth. I lifted my head and my tongue flicked out, swirled around the cock-head; it was sticky with pre-cum. He moved forward and I took the head between my lips, then opened my mouth wide and cradling his balls, drew him into my face. Rivulets of pre-cum dripped from his dick.

I'd never felt more alive. This was what I was meant for: to be my son's lover.

As I sucked him I remembered New Orleans, how he'd fuck me, come, get hard, do it again. There was no need to hold back, he could go all night. I grabbed his dick, frigged it in time with his thrusts in my mouth, waiting for him to feed me his cum. He placed a hand atop my head, the head of his cock bumped against the back of my mouth. My tongue slathered on his tool; I sucked til my cheeks puckered.

We kept going, his cock spearing in and out of my mouth; soon his balls trembled in my hand, pulled back into his body, and Jacob groaned, "I'm coming Momma," shuddered, and filled my mouth with thick semen. I gobbled down what I could, but still some dripped down my chin.

He was delicious and I wanted more of his jizz - it was intoxicating - but there was something I wanted even more: I wanted him to mark me as his. I pulled his cock from my mouth, twisted my hand on the shaft. He groaned and bathed my face with spurt after spurt of hot sticky cream. It splashed across my nose and my lips, splattered my chin and cheeks.

Jacob, his cock softening in my hand, surveyed my cum coated countenance, told me he loved me, then went to the bathroom, returned with a warm damp cloth and lovingly cleaned my face.

When he was done he laid down and I rolled on my side, snuggled up to him, placed my head on his shoulder. We touched, talked, caressed, laughed, touched some more, stroked, kissed. I was happy; my son, who'd I taken care of for eighteen years, would now be the one taking care of me.

My breasts pressed to his side I ran my fingers up and down his tool; soon he was erect. I rolled onto my back, held out my arms, spread my legs wide.

"I need you inside me. Come to Momma."

He knelt between my thighs and filled me with his cock. I stopped breathing, savored the feeling of my body yielding, then molding itself to his. When he was all the way inside I kissed his mouth; we fucked in long slow strokes. He told me how beautiful and special and sexy I was. I wondered: how could I have said no to this?

Soon my ass was wriggling on the blanket, my fingers clawing his back. I flung my pelvis into him and, exploiting my fabulous new musculature, squeezed his cock-flesh with my cunt. Jacob groaned; I came. He curled his head down, licked a breast; bit a nipple - it was all fuel on the fire - and I came again, my cunt convulsing in a series of rapid spasms. Jacob growled, "Ohhhhh, Mommmm," and buried himself deep inside me, his pubic hair tickled my shaven sex. I spread my legs further; Jacob's thick log sank a little deeper into me.

Jacob fucked me with a powerful steady rhythm, rolling over my clit with each thrust. I squealed; waves of pleasure swept through my body. I grabbed Jacob's ass, pulled him to me. My head fell to the side. I could see us in the mirror. Jacob followed my eyes, discerned what I was looking at, twisted our bodies around to provide me with a better view. I watched as I fucked my son, fucked my own flesh. My pussy was meant for him. When his cock was in me everything was right; when my cunt muscles massaged his thick meat everything was just what it was meant to be.

Jacob was a piece of iron and he was all mine. We fucked, we kissed, our tongues danced together. He broke the kiss, groaned; I twisted my ass, flexed my pussy muscles. He threw his head back and shouted, "Oh Mom, I can't believe I'm fucking you."

I dug my nails into his back. "Believe it, you make Momma's pussy sing."

I pressed my lips to my son's mouth, slipped my tongue inside. His hands roamed over my body, touched, caressed, squeezed. He raised himself on his forearms and moved forward; his cock slid over my g-spot. I arched my back, tightened the contact, orgasmed; my cunt spasmed, contracting violently on my son's penis. He dug his head into my shoulder, jerked, grunted, then bellowed, "I love you, Mom," and came, flooding my womb with steaming hot seed. I wanted to tell him I loved him, but what came out was a feral mewl of pleasure.

Impaled on my son's cock, orgasm after orgasm crashed through me. I sobbed and cried and bleated and laughed; my body burned with pleasure and exhaustion. My son collapsed atop me, both of us gasping for breath, our hearts beating as one.

Our bodies were slick with sweat, the room pungent with the smell of sex.

There was no going back.

We held each other. When I told him it was time for me to return to my husband's bed, Jacob offered to walk me home and there, my naked body pressed to his, my husband's inert sleeping form next to us, Jacob and I shared a long good night kiss.

* * * *

The next morning Jacob and I returned from our run to find my husband sitting in front of a cup of coffee, looking miserable. I kissed him, carefully, on the bald spot atop his head. "Rough night?"

"Yeah, too much toasting the victory. By the way, congratulations again son."

"Thanks Dad."

"You're welcome. Jessica, Katana called. She and Frederick want to hang around St. Louis today, but her husband needs to get back. She asked whether he could ride with us. I said I didn't see a problem."

I'd barely heard him - Jacob was standing next to me, his hand on my ass - but I got the gist. "That would be fine dear."

Bruce staggered to his feet. "Well, I better start getting ready. I'm gonna take a shower."

While he did I sucked off his son.

* * * *

Wearing a comfortable light summer dress, short and sleeveless, buttons running up the front, my son in baggy shorts and a tee-shirt celebrating the team's championship, we met Katana, her husband Mike, and son Frederick in the parking lot. Rejecting Mike's chivalric offer to let me sit up front, we piled the luggage on the middle row of seats and Jacob and I climbed into the back, opening our computers to occupy ourselves on the drive home.

It started slowly. My son kicked off his sandals, dragged his big toe across my foot. I kicked off mine, did the same.

He lay a hand atop my thigh, his palm on my dress, his fingers on my leg. Just laid it there while he watched a television show. Thirty minutes later he moved his fingers, slightly, caressing my skin. I looked up; made sure my husband couldn't see what was happening, typed a message, sent it to Jacob.

"Feels nice."

His touch was sweet and sensual. It went on awhile. My nipples hardened; I looked down, made sure they could not be seen in this dress, then leaned back, sighing contentedly. Encouraged, his hand slid between my legs, caressed my inner thigh; I let my legs drift apart. Then he started working up my leg, approaching my sex; I clamped my legs shut, looked at him, shook my head no.

A ping on my computer. "But I want to..."

I shook my head again. He eased his hand out and ran his fingers atop my thigh. It felt good and oh so naughty.

"You guys okay back there?"

"Just fine Dad, how's it up there."

"We're fine."

Jacob's fingers started back up my thighs. He was persistent, thank god; I glanced around, made sure the movement was invisible, turned to my son, winked, slid forward, opened my legs. Jacob pressed his hand to my panties - damp with arousal - then hooked a finger inside them and played with my swollen pussy lips. When I didn't object he slipped his hand inside my panties, pushed a finger inside my vagina, worked my clit with the heel of his hand.

I leaned back, my hands on my knees, and closed my eyes. He took my hand in his and I rolled my head to the side. He'd unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his shorts.

I checked - Jacob's laptop would block any view - and pushed my hand inside my son's shorts, took hold of his erection, twisted my hand on it.

We drove on, mile after happy mile. The world was my cunt, his cock, the hum of the SUV on the highway.

Jacob started working me harder, my hips rocked with his hand.

"Hey Dad, how 'bout some tunes."

"If it's okay with your mother."

Jacob looked at me. My eyes were dilated, my lips parted, my face flushed.

"Whatta ya say Mom?"

I hadn't heard the conversation, my mind was elsewhere, but whatever Jacob wanted was fine by me. "That would be great."

My husband turned on the radio. Hits of the Eighties.

"A little louder Dad."

The volume increased.

My son ran his fingers along my pussy lips, stroking and palpitating the swollen flesh; he teased and explored my vulva, acquainted himself with every recess, valley, and fold; he pushed a finger inside me, moved it, in and out, up and down, round about. I breathed in short hard gasps, occasionally I moaned; the music drowned it all out.

My son kept going. He wanted me to come in the back seat of a car his oblivious father drove down the highway. He was a naughty boy; he wanted his mother to be a naughty girl. The pleasure between my legs grew ever more fervid, my hand slipped off his penis; my being centered on my cunt; I struggled, fighting the urge to heave my hips into his hand.

He dragged a fingertip across my g-spot. My heart pounded, my cunt pulsated, my breathing was deep and hard. It was building inside me; it was inevitable; it would claim my soul. He returned to my g-spot, worked it hard, my gut tightened like a spring and then it all let loose and it was here and I came and it flowed though me like a river; I let out a low long whine lost in the music blaring from the radio. When it was over I leaned against my son, kissed his cheek, dug my hand into his pants, fiddled with his penis, felt it jump and jerk, rubbed the pre-cum into the head. My pussy lips tingled.

The radio was turned down.

"How you two doing back there. I could use a pit stop."

"That's fine dear," I answered, "I'd like to stretch my legs."

* * * *

At the interstate exit there was a run-down convenience store; otherwise it was wooded and wild. Exactly what I wanted.

I went to the bathroom, surprisingly clean, then returned to the store to find Mike and my husband eyeing the donuts.

"Honey, Jacob and I are going to take a walk, five, ten minutes. I'm getting a cramp, want to walk it off."

"Sure." That left them more time for the donuts.

Fifty yards behind the store I found a secluded spot, leaned against a tree, spread my legs, looked over my shoulder. I had taken my panties off in the bathroom.

"Fuck my horny cunt."

And that he did.

* * * *

I hope I have been clear in these pages that I didn't, don't, hate my husband; he was at heart a decent man. He made a nice living, didn't gamble much, and as far as I know was faithful. Its just that he preferred the happy social world of his friends, and they were perfectly nice people, responsible people with good jobs, good kids, to me. What he wanted from me was dinner, a clean house, advice on what to wear, someone to remind him where he'd left his keys and accompany him to social events. If my needs were increasingly met by Jacob and my gym buddies, that was fine; there was less for him to worry about.

Jacob and I resumed the life we'd built before New Orleans; when we went to the gym, hung out on weekends, or went out on a weekday night it did not, other than Bruce's occasional crack that I was keeping Jacob from getting a girlfriend, draw attention. That my husband preferred hanging with his buddies gave Jacob and I plenty of time to fuck like the oversexed animals we'd become.

As to my husband, I wasn't sure if his sex drive was recovering or whether I was so sex-obsessed myself I simply saw sex everywhere, but several times a week I'd hear him jerking off in the shower or find cum-stained Kleenex in a wastebasket or the toilet bowl. Sometimes, to keep up the pretense of my marriage, I'd flirt with Bruce, offer him my hand or mouth, but he'd always proffer an excuse which I'd graciously accept.

* * * *

Then there was our first screw-up. My husband, especially after a few beers, was a sound sleeper, which meant I could slip into Jacob's bed for a middle of the night fuck. Then, one morning, I woke up in Jacob's bed. He was gone. Shit, I'd passed out.

I put on my robe, crept down the stairs. I heard Bruce and Jacob laughing in the kitchen. I poked my head in. Bruce said, "Good morning sleepy-head. Why didn't you tell me?"

Before I could respond Jacob said, "Dad didn't know that sometimes, when his snoring gets real bad, you come and lay down with me to sleep. I told him you tried the guest bedroom, but after all these years of sleeping next to him you have trouble sleeping alone."

I turned to my husband. His face was serene.

"Sorry dear, I guess I thought it might hurt your feelings."

My husband touched his belly, then slapped our son's taut stomach.

"No one to blame but myself; I've gotten all out of shape. Jacob, thanks for taking care of your mother."

spent the next two nights in my husband's bed. On the third night I went to my son's room, we made love, I slipped back into my husband's bed undetected. I did it the next night, thinking I was safe, but that morning over coffee, Bruce said he'd woken up in the middle of the night and noticed I was gone. Had I gone to sleep with Jacob?

"Yes."

"Well dear, when you do that don't think you need to come back to our room. Just sleep through the night." Then, touching his belly, he added, "As I said, I've got no one to blame but myself."

That week I slipped into Jacob's bed twice, the next week four times. Bruce seemed not at all perturbed. Then one night Bruce, on the way to grab a beer during a commercial break of an NBA game, saw Jacob and I in the living room. I was sitting on the couch in a night gown, reading a book, leaning against my son, who was wearing gym shorts and looking at his computer. My son let out a huge yawn, we'd gotten up early that morning to run a 10-K. I complemented his yawn with one of my own.

Bruce said, "You guys tired? There's no reason to sit up with the old man. Why don't you hit the sack."

I looked at him, trying to find some guile, some hidden agenda, some suppressed anger in his face. I saw nothing.

"Look, you're likely to end up there anyway, why not start there?"

Jacob turned off his computer.

"That makes sense Dad."

Jacob held his hand out to me.

"Ready for bed?"

And over the next weeks, at night, I'd peck my husband on the head, tell him I loved him, and follow my son to his room.

* * * *

The day before Jacob's high school graduation - it was set for a Sunday night - my husband was scheduled to play in a golf tournament/fundraiser. In past years I'd volunteered at the event, but this year I begged off, claiming that Jacob and I had some last minute preparations for his graduation. It was not entirely a lie, we did have to pick out a tie, but we did that in less than half an hour, then hurried home to take advantage of the empty house.

I noticed Bruce had left food on the counter he was supposed to have taken to the tournament. In the past I would have brought it to him, but today I had other things on my mind. I was putting it back in the frig when my son's muscular arm circled my waist and his rigid cock pressed to my butt. I leaned back, kissed him, loving the smell and warmth of his body. He kissed the back of my neck, my shoulders, slid a hand to my butt, praised its hard athletic perfection. His tongue explored my ear while his hand remained on my ass, massaging and kneading the flesh. He knelt, reached under my dress, took hold of my panties, pulled them over the curve of my ass; they fell to the floor. I slipped one foot out, then the other. Jacob stood, unbuttoned my dress; it followed my panties to the floor. I undid my bra, tossed it on the counter. I was nude.

Jacob kissed me and knelt; he kissed each butt-cheek, told me he loved me, that I was beautiful and wonderful and sexy, that he loved my body, that my ass was magnificent, then reached between my legs to my pussy lips. They were wet and swollen, my clit throbbed, there was a tingle deep inside me. He bit an ass cheek; I moaned. He bit the other; I gasped, long and loud. His tongue went to my asshole, licking leisurely and lightly. The tip of his tongue wriggled inside me. I felt it in my cunt.

He worked my ass and I wondered, not for the first time, was I ready, was the time right? Jacob and I had discussed anal intercourse. I'd told him someday; that I had to get used to the idea. Now, as his tongue pushed inside me, I tensed, no one had ever been there. And then I thought, that was right; it could be part of me only my son would know; something I, unknowingly, had reserved for him my entire life.

It was also dirty and wrong, deviant, contrary to the values of our subdivision, of my husband's friends. And, at that thought, I was ready.

My son, tonguing my butthole, told me how good I tasted. I relaxed and he grew bolder, his hands held me open, his tongue swirled on my anus, then wiggled its way inside. I shuddered and squealed. Holding my butt cheeks open with his hands, he tongue fucked me. I reached back and further spread my ass cheeks.

It felt weird and wicked and depraved, my whimpering filled the room. He found nerve endings I didn't know I had; arousal radiated through me.

Excited, I reached for my clit, dragged a finger across it, and said, "Jacob darling, maybe its time you sodomized your mother."

He stood, said he'd be right back, dashed from the room. He needed to work a bit on his bedside manner. I reached behind, sank my index finger into my asshole, wriggled it, groaned in delight. Jacob returned, stopping to watch my wanton display. I turned my head, pulled my finger from my asshole, licked it.

Jacob held a tube of lubricant; he squeezed some on his finger. Wondering what good such a tiny amount could do on his oversized cock, I tensed up, my asshole tightened. I took several deep breaths, calmed myself, planted my arms on the counter, tilted my butt up, offering it to him. He rubbed his hand over it and a single finger, coated with oil, effortlessly slipped inside me. Rotating his finger, my son finger-fucked my ass, spreading the lubricant inside me. A sweet warmth filled my rump.

Another finger joined the first. I whispered, "That feels good."

"Would I hurt my sexy mother?"

No, he wouldn't. If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that my son loved me. He would do anything for me, as I would for him. Yes, I'd give him my asshole. Using the muscles I had spent so many hours in the gym perfecting, I clamped down on his fingers and pushed back, moaning in growing lust.

Jacob brought his other hand to my clit, rubbing it in a tight circle, catalyzing the sensations flowing through me. A third finger entered my asshole; the fingers on my clit grew more insistent. I imagined what we must look life, hard-bodied mother, naked and leaning over her kitchen counter, a sex-toy for her fully clothed son.

His fingers kept moving; nerve endings crackled; the discomfort all but forgotten. Feeling an orgasm approaching, I concentrated on my clit, on my asshole, squealed in delight. I was a sexual animal, drenched in libidinous pleasure, celebrating my body without reference to rules or mores. I was my son's wanton slut, open to anything he desired.

I squeezed my breasts, twisted the nipples, adding pain/pleasure to the cauldron between my legs, to the fingers pumping in and out of my asshole. Jacob twisted his fingers, rolled my clit against my body, a fire burned through my mind. Writhing moaning grinding, I came. Juice ran down my thighs. I fell forward. My nipples tightened, there was a throbbing deep within my sex; I was ready. Jacob kicked off his shorts and stood behind me. I reached around and placed the head of his rock-hard erection at the opening of my well-lubed ass.

He bucked the head inside me with a short thrust. I whimpered, told him it hurt, that I wanted more. He stroked his hands on my body, soothed me, assured me he'd stop if I asked. The pain began to subside. I nodded and another inch was pushed into me. I shuddered: pain came, diminished, drained away.

Accompanied by my groans, inch-by-inch, he filled my most intimate part. When I felt his balls on my ass, I turned, bit his lip, kissed him, pushed my tongue into his mouth. His strong hands kneaded my tits. He flexed his cock inside me; my cunt tingled.

I swallowed, whispered, "Be gentle," and pushed back against him. He slid his cock in and out of me, each thrust a little harder, a little deeper. My body was no longer mine, it was ours.

His knowing practiced hands ran over me. He sang my praises, told me how beautiful I was, how much he loved me. What had been deviant and unnatural became acceptable, normal. He took hold of my hips and shoulders, pulled me back into him.

The pain continued, but now it focused and intensified the joy. My son moved more rapidly; each stroke bottomed out deep in my ass. I moaned, jerked my ass on his cock, whimpered, "It feels so good."

I could hear cars drive by, hear my neighbors talk, their dogs bark. I was something none of them would ever understand, a licentious dirty son-fucking mother. And the dirtier I felt, the higher I flew.

I felt sorry for them, for their lives; they'd never know this kind of incestuous delight.

My son was grunting, his fuck-rhythm rapid and hard. I knew that sound, those motions, his climax was approaching. I flexed the muscles of my ass, clamped down on his cock, narrowing the chute, milking his dick, I begged him to shoot his seed into my ass; told him I was his whore, his slut, his cunt.

He took control of my movements, set my ass at the angle he wanted, pulled me into him. I howled, told him to fill my asshole, to use my body.

He thrust harder, moved up on his toes, drove his cock deep into my asshole, hollered, came, filled my rectum with hot cum in a series of divine spurts. Grabbing hold of the kitchen counter, he pressed against me, groaned one last time, slumped over me. We lay there, breathing hard, my tits flat on the granite counter top; he pulled out of me with a happy slurp. I turned, wrapped my arms around him, told him it had been wonderful, that I loved him. He thanked me, said I was beautiful, that I'd made all his dreams come true.

I reached behind myself, caught some of the cum dripping from my ass, licked it off my finger.

"From now on honey, if we're careful, the backdoor is open for business."

He grinned; I placed my hands on the side of his face, brought his lips to mine. His tongue entered my mouth; more drops of cum slithered out my ass.

When our kiss ended he dropped to his knees and licked my slit, asshole to clit. I leaned against the counter, stroked his hair. His tongue pushed inside my pussy, slurping down the cream bubbling between my legs. I placed a hand on the back of his head and ground my sex on his face. The smell of my arousal filled the kitchen. He flicked my clit with his talented tongue; I squealed, took hold of my breasts, rolled my nipples between my fingers, cried out, bucked against him. He pinned me to the counter and slipped a finger into my ass, wriggled it around. I came, howling my delight. He kept licking my cunt and I came and came again, finally pushing him away; my cunt had reached its limits, for the moment it was too sensitive to touch. He stood and I undressed him, dropped his clothes on the floor; we headed upstairs.

* * * *

Several hours later, naked, I came downstairs to fix lunch. My cell phone was on the counter. There were several texts from my husband asking me to bring the food he'd left behind, then one saying never mind, he had to run an errand that would take him by the house, he'd pick it up himself. I ripped the refrigerator door open; the food was gone. He'd come home! He must have figured out what was happening; our clothes were scattered on the floor; we'd left the bedroom door open; we'd howled like dogs in heat.

I calmed myself, picked up our clothes, forgot about lunch, headed upstairs. My son, naked, was sitting on his bed talking to his father. The conversation was low-key.

He hung up.

"Was that your Dad?'

"Yeah."

"How was he? Why did he call?"

"He seemed fine. He said he wanted to let me know what time he'd be getting home. You okay?"

I explained everything. We imagined the best, planned for the worst, decided, if confronted, we'd tell the truth. My husband deserved that and all I could hope was that his fundamental decency and aversion to scandal would allow us to devise a mutually acceptable solution.

He got home when he said he would and thanked us for letting him spend the day with his friends at the golf tournament.

* * * *

That night I slept with my husband. He was his usual self. The next morning, more of the same. Over coffee we discussed Jacob's graduation and Bruce, intermixed with memories of his own graduation, asked Jacob about his plans after the ceremony. Jacob said he was going to a party with his wrestling buddies. Frederick, the designated driver, had a van big enough for twelve. Bruce said he'd take Jacob to lunch and drop him off at the school gym for the rehearsal.

Jacob and I made eye contact. I nodded yes. Jacob said great.

As his Dad dressed Jacob pulled me aside.

"What's going on? Dad never wants to hang with me."

"Maybe he's getting sentimental. Maybe he wants to quiz you about yesterday. If he starts to make a scene, lie, say whatever works. I'll straighten it out."

His father came downstairs.

"Jennifer, tonight after the graduation, why don't I take you to Moe's."

Moe's was first class. What was going on?

"Sure honey."

They left.

I checked and re-checked my phone. Then there was a ping and a message from my son: "Everything is going to be alright. Dad wants to talk to you."

* * * *

We were at Moe's, Bruce uncomfortably stuffed into an old brown suit far too small for him. I'd gone out for a manicure and wore heels and a crimson pants suit that displayed some cleavage. If I was going down, I'd go in style.

The waiter brought us our drinks, we ordered dinner. Bruce made rumbling sounds in his throat. Whatever he had to say, he was going to say it now.

"Jen, I know I haven't been much of a husband to you."

His voice was meek, apologetic. He seemed almost ashamed.

Unexpectedly, I felt sympathy for him. I took his hand in mine, "Bruce, you're a good man."

"Thank you Jen, but I've known for a long time I'm not what you want, or deserve, in a husband. I make a nice living, but let's face it, I spend all my time hanging with the guys. I don't take you on dates, don't show you off, don't pay attention to you. I've let myself get out of shape. Y'know, sometimes I tried to do better."

At times over the past decade - albeit, ever less frequently - he'd proclaim that we should spend more time together. We'd go out on a couple of weekends, make love, and he'd hit the gym, lose a few pounds, but something would come up - the NCAAA tourney, the NFL fantasy draft - and he'd return to the guys and old patterns. The first few times we went through the process I'd taken him seriously, recently I had to feign belief.

"Last year, when you started going to the gym, I was resentful. You were succeeding where I'd failed. But then I saw a bright side. As you and your gym buddies, then as you and Jacob got closer, hung out with each other, well, I didn't feel guilty about spending so much time with the guys."

He paused. "I also liked it when we went to parties, you looked so good, the guys were jealous."

I was confused. "But honey, you seemed to lose all sexual interest in me."

"Yeah. The better you looked, the more embarrassed I became about how I looked. I didn't want to be naked in front of you. When you would show interest I'd back off, but what I really wanted was for you not to take no answer for an answer, to take control, show me that you found me desirable."

I had no idea. "I'm sorry dear, I didn't know."

"Don't feel bad, it was silly of me to expect that to read my mind."

What I was afraid was going to be an ugly confrontation was turning into a therapy session; I chided myself for being so unaware of my husband's feelings. How much better than he was I?

"Then one day you and Jacob came back from a bike race. You were laughing, touching each other. I had this weird thought; it's like they're in love. I could have done something, confronted it then, but I rationalized it, pretended I didn't think something was going on. I used it as another excuse to hang out with the guys."

The meals arrived. He picked up his fork; he was quiet, organizing his thoughts.

"Did you become lovers in New Orleans?"

"Yes. We promised to stop there, and we did for awhile, but the night of the wrestling championship, we started again, haven't stopped since I'm afraid."

"Don't be afraid."

"Excuse me."

"Don't be afraid. I'm not going to make a scandal out of this; it would blow up both our lives. If you want a divorce, I'll agree and keep it polite, but I don't see why we need one. I like my life the way it is; I don't want to be single."

This was unexpected.

"Did you say this to Jacob?"

"Pretty much."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't admit anything, but said he appreciated how well I was handling it. I'm sure he wants to talk to you before doing anything."

Bruce looked to the side, contemplating what might have been.

"I would have been happy pretending I didn't know, y'know. But after yesterday you two have been walking around on tender hooks. I should have left the food in the frig."

He looked at me, waiting for an answer, but I needed to talk to Jacob before making a decision. Bruce understood. "Why don't the three of us get together tomorrow and figure it out."

"That sounds right."

* * * *

We ate dinner, made small talk, ordered coffee and dessert. Bruce was fidgety. There was something on his mind, something he wanted to say, but he required encouragement. I took his hand in mine, squeezed.

"What is it?"

He looked at me, looked down, and said in that little boy voice I hadn't heard in months, "I asked Jacob if he minded if, well, if he didn't mind, if once in a while, well, you know, if you could play with my thing. With your hand, like the old days."

Donning my best poker face I said, "What did Jacob say?"

"He said it was your body, it was up to you." The same tone, with a hint of the helpless.

I studied my husband's face. Was he really, in the midst of acknowledging that his son had taken his place between my legs, coming on to me? His skin was flushed, his breathing slow and deep. I touched his wrist; his heart was thumping.

He was aroused.

I flipped his hand over, there was a thin sheen of sweat on it. I ran a manicured nail over his palm. He'd always liked that; he shuddered.

I thought about what he had said earlier, that when he'd refused my sexual overtures he'd wanted me to push, take control.

I decided to move forward. I sat up straight, pushed my shoulders back, emphasizing my trim powerful body and chest, and touched his face with a nail painted a sexy red.

"You're being a very good boy about this."

He replied in a faltering child-like voice. "Thank you. I always try to be a good boy."

"But you've also been a bad boy."

He drew a breath in sharply, looked at me - his eyes were dilated - then looked down, seemingly in shame.

"What do you mean?' he whispered.

"Now be honest, you know you can tell Mommy anything."

"Yes," he paused, then, "Mommy." Same little boy voice.

"You've been spying on Mommy, haven't you, listening when she and Jacob fuck?"

He shook his head, indicating yes.

I slid close to him, reached under the table. He was erect. I thought about the Kleenex in the waste basket and toilet bowl. Bruce was masturbating daily. He'd never shown this much interest in sex. Now, talking about my affair with our son, had him hard.

Was he aroused by being cuckolded by his son?

I worked his zipper down, forced my hand inside his pants.

"When you spy on Mommy, when you listen to Jacob fuck her, does it make your weenie stiff?"

He said nothing.

"Now now, tell Mommy the truth, does it give you a stiffie? Do you play with your pee-pee when Jacob fucks Mommy?"

A pause, then, "Sometimes."

"Do you imagine, in your mind, Jacob pushing his big fat cock into me over and over, filling Mommy with his dick?"

A drop of sweat formed on his lip. His face reddened. I twisted my hand on his penis.

"Do you imagine me coming on his cock, squirming and shouting and shaking."

"Sometimes Mommy."

"He fucks Mommy so good; he makes me squeal like a pig."Bruce said nothing.

"You listen, don't you, you listen to all the wonderful noises Mommy makes."

"Yes Mommy."

"You never made Mommy make sounds like that, did you?"

Pre-cum was leaking from his cock.

"No Mommy."

"And after he comes, after he fills me with his man-cum, he gets hard again and fucks me some more, he wears me out, I have to beg him to stop. He's such a stud."

Bruce's breaths increased in pace and power. I glanced around the restaurant. Tucked away in our corner we were safe.

"You did a good thing and Mommy is so very proud of you. You helped Mommy make a perfect lover, a fuck-god just for Mommy. He comes in my cunt, my mouth, my asshole; he shoots his cream all over my face, my hair, my tits. He took me from you and now he owns me. I'm his fuck-toy."

My husband, his belly jiggling on my arm, rocked his hips in time with my hand.

"And for being such a good little boy and helping Mommy make such a wonderful lover, well if you're a good boy Mommy will reward you and play with you pee-pee."

"Thank you Mommy," he squeaked out.

My husband grabbed the edge of the table and started shaking, whimpering in that low voice he always did right before he...

"You're going to get a lot of stiffies because Jacob's gonna fuck me all the time. At night you'll hear Jacob fucking me. When you eat breakfast in the morning, you'll know he's fucked me on the table. When you drive your car to work, you'll know I sucked his dick while he sat behind the very same steering wheel."

I dragged a finger across Bruce's testicles; they pulled into his body.

"And if you're a good little boy Mommy will play with your wiener."

"I'll be good Mommy, I promise."

I squeezed his balls. He covered his mouth with a heavy cloth napkin, muffling his sharp grunt. We drew only cursory glances.

I took my hand out from under the table, let him lick his sperm from my fingers. When done he looked at me, tears in the corner of his eyes. "Don't make me leave Mommy. I don't want to be alone. I'll be good, I promise."

* * * *

To the world I remained his wife. I attended social events with him and when the gang gathered at our place, which was more frequently than ever, I played hostess. The group became more accepting of me and, I am told, I became a better companion to my husband, more optimistic, more positive, more engaging. But why not, I was happier than I'd ever been in my life and any resentments I'd carried towards Bruce were replaced by my gratitude at his happy acceptance of his new role in my life.

When company leaves my son becomes my husband. We hold each other, share the master bedroom, make love freely, knowing Bruce can hear us. Sometimes, when Jacob watches a game with his father, I come downstairs, dressed in a teddy, or heels, stockings, and garter, and tell Jacob it's time. He says good night to his father, follows me upstairs, fucks me. Afterwards, and on those nights in particular (for they most turn my husband on), I go to Bruce's bedroom and, my cunt full of our son's seed, my body covered in sweat, find Bruce waiting. I bring him off with my hand or, if he's been an especially good boy, my mouth - it takes but a minute and Bruce is always so grateful - then return to my son's bed.

At my request - although I never correct Bruce when he tells someone the Department transferred me - the Department of Transportation moved me to its Columbia office, where my son attended the University of Missouri. Most weekends I make the two hour drive home, often with Jacob, to continue the charade of my marriage. But it is my son who is my husband; I belong to him.