IT'S THE HEAT

When I felt that solid, pulsing pole pressing against the thin cotton material of my damp shorts, I knew that we were crossing a tenuous, taboo line. Those warm strong hands that had begun by gently massaging my tired shoulders had gradually shifted position. The left hand deftly worked down my spine, it's rough fingers adding pressure as it progressed, until now, he was slowly bending my fragile body over the counter. I felt his wandering right hand straddle my hip and slip under the front of my loose tank top, raising the goose flesh on my jittery torso.

I was petrified. Did I truly want this? My nervous mind kept whispering "No," but my salacious uterus began a steady drum beat that echoed in my chest. I knew that this could prove to be a life-changing event but I could not move. My insides were sending signals to my outsides.

His roaming fingers had eased their way inside the waist band of my sodden undies and with the downward force of his large hand I could sense both the shorts and panties sliding over my round butt, exposing the twin cheeks to view. Nervous perspiration broke out on my body and a helpless ripple shuddered my entire frame. I could see his sexy, powerful image reflected in the chrome of the appliances on the counter. I knew that he had been bare chested but at what point his own shorts came off, I couldn't say. As my squirming, moist backside became revealed, it was obvious that the warmth of his erection on my jiggly butt, was produced by skin-to-skin contact. I melted against the cool porcelain.

The afternoon started as a frenetic summer day with my flustered mind resorting to the safe routine of washing the day's dishes. I had left a few from the previous evening so I needed to get them done before they stacked up in this heat. It was another steamy August day, already ninety degrees at noon, and we couldn't afford air-conditioning. And more physical heat was being added. We both were showing the strain of another cloudless day.

As one day melted into the next and the thermometer climbed, the air became oppressive. We were in survival mode. All inhibitions seemed trivial. We were family, so it didn't seem so shocking to only dress for modesty and to say anything that might lighten the mood, even off-color sexual innuendos. Every day, leaving the house meant layering-on uncomfortable clothes and facing the blistering sun, only to return to this sauna. But the true heat would actually emanate from a taboo zeal and a hidden lust smoldering just below the surface. Staying in brought-out the raw passion that lingered just beneath the surface. It was complicated and confusing.

I was a single mom who worked for a temp-agency, this week I was a faceless secretary in some big insurance firm. My nineteen year old son was unemployed.

His name is Ted. He is tall and strong and has a job pending with a construction company. But we've been in the middle of a blistering heat wave and I didn't blame him for not wanting to start yet. He has blue eyes and a white-blonde crew cut, a lantern jaw and broad shoulders. And lately, I have been studying his muscular, sexual frame with a little more of an ogling eye than a mother should. I couldn't help myself, it's the heat.

My name is Katy. I am almost forty and never married. I also have blue eyes with long blonde hair, a pouty smile, and I've been told, a seductive figure, (most recently by my son.) My slender body is curvy in the right places; my hips are about a 36, having borne only one child and I stand 5'9" on long, toned legs that are often encased in sheer hose and high heels, my boobs are just a B-cup which allows me to forego a bra with still a hint of a jiggle, on these brutally hot days. And besides, my mother always said that, "more than a handful is selfish."

On the morning when Teddy began rubbing against my body, I broke-out in a fine glow of perspiration that gave my tanned torso the look like I had been dipped in warm butter. His hot sweaty hands ruggedly caressed my shivering flesh, sending alternating chills and hot tremors throughout my anatomy. My pert nipples sprouted at his approach and succumbed to his touch. My legs wobbled under the incestuous appeal of the taboo thoughts coursing through my brain. I realize that no mother should ever allow these incestuous thoughts to take hold, but once they're in your head and they occupy your waking and sleeping hours, they are difficult to fight.

I understand that this entire scenario should not excite me as it does or cause that warm, sensual moisture between my legs to roil and flow so easily. At any point in the past weeks I could have told him in no uncertain terms, that the leering, bright blue eyes that stole so greedily along my glistening body were entirely inappropriate. I should not have laughed as readily when he joked that he could see the outline of my breasts under the clingy, damp fabric of my light tees. Or that the sticky, humid conditions resulting in my perky nipples constantly being abraded by the moist material, seemed as he said, "to make you look like you're in a perpetual state of arousal." But one seemingly harmless thing led to another, and then an avalanche of forbidden frustrations came tumbling down on me.

Instead I indelicately pranced around semi-naked, flaunting my lusty body. Unknowingly, (I like to believe) teasing and tempting a virile young man who was cooped-up with me. I thought for the most part then, that the sexual tension in the room was all in my vivid, lurid imagination. But the not-so-subtle clues and the pointed innuendos were hanging in the still air like the humidity.

I usually just smirked-off the lewd remarks as laughably-dirty, but playful banter between a grown strapping man and his unwed sheltered mother. It probably didn't help that I felt so comfortable in his presence, that my hand would unconsciously slip under my shirt, to wipe away the dripping beads of sweat from beneath my tits and to fluff the dank cottony material of my halter-tops, to air-dry the wet contours of my chest. Possibly making it seem that as he was watching or talking to me, that I was tweaking my pointy nipples or fondling my loose-hanging breasts, giving him the idea that he was turning me on. These harmless gestures probably happen anywhere that two adults of the opposite sex are thrown together in close quarters at uncomfortably hot temperatures. Really, it's not as if I were leading him on. So I imagined.

For a few weeks; we took to lounging around the house wearing as little clothing as possible, moving lazily, liberally dousing ourselves in cold water and reclining infront of the fan in very inelegant positions. More than once I spied him sitting nearly spread-eagled, one leg carelessly draped over the arm of a chair in hopes of circulating some cooling breeze to his damp pelvic region. At these times I could see his sweat-tinged, matted brownish-blonde pubic hairs. And sometimes while his head lulled back and his drowsy eyes closed, the wrinkled pink shaft of his meaty cock, with it's thick, darker-red mushroomed cap, would dangle from the leg of his shorts, like a coiled snake warming itself in the sun.

Maybe I should have loudly cleared my throat or suggested that he assume a more conservative pose. Or I could have demurely looked away. I could even have slipped out of the room to act on my impure thoughts in private. But my own lewd fantasies held me in place and led to ever-more mischievous ideas.

Recently I have noticed while the soothing warmth stirs in my loins and my pouty nipples spring to life, that on occasion while he lounges tiredly ensconced in his dirty dreams, his long cock unfurls and begins to swell-up. Before my eyes, the folds disappear as if it were being inflated and the spidery blue veins thicken along it's exterior. It stands tall and meaty, growing into a full, solid erection. Jutting out of the opening of his shorts like a fleshy slightly curved bone, it seems obscenely hard and ready for action. I stare embarrassingly at it's immense capacity. I fear that my eyes are playing tricks on me, as if one of my erotic daydreams has literally sprung to life. I am often forced to shamefully wipe the back of my shaking hand across my drooling mouth. This couldn't actually be happening right here in the living room. But as he sits there snoozing, or just lazily dreaming, in his lap a magnificent boner emerges.

I shift unsteadily in my seat, the scent of my wetness seeming to permeate the air. I can feel the soft rumbling of my vagina beginning to brew the violent spasms that have lately been leading me down this taboo path. I watch him in stunned silence, hoping not to disturb his mood. To calm the fire in my shorts and slow it's progression, my hand presses firmly on my mons, outside of my damp bottoms. I am desperate and even anxious to reach a hand inside and ply the soft moist folds of my outer lips and rub the hardened nub of my clit that I feel poking from it's warm hood. A different, wetter heat takes hold of me. Still, I remain rooted in my place and try to keep as silent as I can. If I apply any more pressure to my aching pussy, I will shriek with suppressed desire.

My mind races," Why," I wonder, "is he so hard?" His eyes are closed, he hasn't moved. "Is it a sexy daydream?" My thoughts are muddled but my body is definitely reacting. "He doesn't seem to be in any deep sleep, but I know personally, that sensual images can appear to you at any moment." Or maybe he is awake and just resting with his eyes closed. "Has he possibly been discreetly stealing glances at me?" I ponder. As I lay just opposite him, my own legs spread to the cooling fan and my sweaty body on display. I take a look at my reclining posture. Stray, blonde hairs curl at the frilly edges of my undies, my tits are clearly showing and the stiff nips are prominently on exhibit. The moist material that I am swathed in is the smallest and lightest that my heaving body can endure. If I were alone at this moment, I would be naked infront of the fan, working frantically to cool the ardent fire in my loins. As it is, I am burning up and tortured with prohibited fantasies.

He seems to be dozing, a pleasant smile creases his face. But am I wrong? Could he have been sneaking peeks at me, or imagining me in various forms of undress? I don't dare wake him and call attention to his raging hard-on, or let him spy me playing with myself at his expense. If he is having lusty desires about some mysterious woman, or even me, I don't wish to disturb him. And his fantasies should be his own. But I am torn by the taboo kinkiness of watching my son, innocently or otherwise, sporting a huge erection and hoping in some vain, incestuous manner that his arousal is due to a sensuous mother/son infatuation.

I know that I should have atleast told him that displaying himself in this way, infront of his mother, is highly irregular no matter what the situation. I know that I should have marched directly out of the room. I could not permit myself to think that his booming, rigid erection had anything to do with me, but then why did I want to believe that it did? And why did I so desperately need to fight the urge to diddle my twat, and in some prurient way want him to see me? Was I feeling that taboo desire also? Could I ever let him think that I was fantasizing about him? What might his reaction be? What if he told me that that stiff cock is because of me, what then? The hot flush became a cold shiver. Finally I dashed into the bathroom and soaked my frazzled head under a very cold shower. But after a few minutes, I adjusted the water and took the extra time to wash my betraying pubic area. The warm cloth massaged my aching pussy and teased the straining tip of my clit until I had a tremendous orgasm and collapsed to the floor of the tub.

I have learned recently that I need to constantly relieve the anxiety of this scorching sensation in my loins, brought about by my teenage son. Even during idle moments at work, I sometimes have to run to a private stall in the Ladies Room, because my mind has absently summoned a vision of my sexy son. The temporary satisfaction allows me to continue with my day, but only invites the deviant, sordid desires to plant themselves in my brain filling my every waking moment, (and quite a few while I'm asleep.) Where this will lead to, I can't imagine. And how it might play-out, I can only hope it to be good for us both.

This is strange to me, I've led a fairly sheltered life. At work, I have had men openly ogle my body and sometimes crudely, remark on my various attributes. Even then I used to laugh about it. I seem to always be in a submissive position and that for some reason, excites me. Domineering men intimidate me, I think that I like to be told what to do. I have been asked on dates and propositioned by co-workers. But as a single mom and professional woman, I usually declined and hurried home to be with my young son. Guys often flirted with me, and I would catch them staring at my chest. At my desk, I often noticed them leaning forward over me, to look down the front of my blouse. I have only a B-cup, but my boobs are perky and my nipples regrettably sprout in the air-conditioning or at the first sign of attention. Just their maleficent gaze makes me squirm in my seat, and if they knew the effect that they had on me, I'd fear for my good-girl reputation.

My legs are my nicest feature, and I often wear sheer or mesh stockings and high heels. I prefer skirts that are slit up one side, and I am often complimented on my "walk." Filing papers and reaching for items on the top or bottom shelves, always brings a devilish smile from men. It's a nice feeling and a great ego boost to gather a man's attention. And most women will admit, (if they're being honest,) that they dress and flirt in order to catch the eye of every guy in the room. And I think that even sub-consciously, you like the fact that once your son matures, and begins to "check-out" the other moms, his eyes still follow your figure around the room. Though he normally doesn't want you to catch him looking at you like that. I can remember vividly the day that he described me as a MILF. And the effect that had on my masturbation.

At his age, having gone to strip-clubs and lost his virginity to neighborhood girls, he wasn't shy in being cooped-up with his mom and pointing-out the enticing elements of a woman's body that whet his appetite, even if they are attached to his mom. And for me, it's been years since I allowed any man to get intimate or come between Teddy and me. Now at nearly forty years of age, I am rediscovering my sex-drive in an increasingly sordid way, and the strain is taking a toll. Those vulgar maneuvers that stimulate my senses, and the closeness that I would need from a partner are now dangerously combining into a situation that is startlingly close to home.

This is where the debauchery deepened. The dilemma intensified on the day that I was cornered while attempting to wash dishes. It started as a routine breakfast but there was very little about it that could be called "innocent." Our town was in the third week of a massive heat wave. We had only a window fan in the kitchen and it circulated the dusty, sticky air. I've heard people say that things are different when the temperature goes up. The old rules just don't seem to be enforced. By now we were reduced to dressing only for morality's sake. Any item of clothing that touched warm, moist flesh immediately became damp and uncomfortable as it stuck to your skin. The light colors and cotton fabrics took on nearly see-through characteristics. It left very little to the imagination, and yet it appears that our imaginations were on overdrive. Eyes just naturally were drawn to each other's curves and bulges. There was no way to be discreet.

I was getting used to seeing Ted bare-chested with just the tiniest of shorts or swimsuits to cover him. Every half-hour he would duck under the cold shower and emerge glistening and sexy-looking. He let the water drip down his muscular torso. His short hair would be spiky and his chest and back muscles rippled. He looked like a body builder being oiled-up before a meet. I was pained to take my eyes off of him, and he could tell. The wet shorts emphasized the distinctive mound between his legs and he was always pulling or tugging at it. I'm sure it was just innocent tucking and readjusting wet body parts, like I do. We had gotten pretty familiar with each other in our need to remain cool. The elastic band of my undies caused irritating moisture that I always needed to clumsily mop-up, catching his eye when my hand would disappear beneath my shorts. The simplest, most innocuous of gestures could be misrepresented. We were just too worn-down by the heat, to care.

On that fateful morning when he sat down at the clear glass breakfast table across from me, I couldn't help but to notice the abnormally huge bulge that his small trunks struggled to contain. Lately, either by intention or body heat, that solid lump was like the proud hour-hand of a stately clock indicating the witching hour has arrived. Sitting, standing, walking, it seemed that whenever I was near him, my eyes were summoned to that firm package riding so high and alluring behind that thin layer of material. More than once; I could see the huge, pinkish, helmeted head of his mesmerizing tool as it peeked above his tight shorts, seeming to point at the coarse hairs around his navel, and riding obscenely high before his mother's embarrassed eyes.

I was dressed rather informally also. My blonde hair was already a damp mop knotted in a ponytail, to keep it off my neck. And still the sweat pooled down my back and puddled in my slight cleavage. My only concession to makeup was lipstick and a light dusting of powder so that I didn't look like a glazed beast. I wore a white cotton tank top and the sheerest of bras, but already the fabric clung annoyingly to me and by simply glancing down, I could see the tiny points of my dark nips pushing out the material and announcing their presence. In the reflection of the glass and by the leering , laser focus of my son's blue eyes, it was plain that every dimple and bump of my tan areole, were on full, lascivious display.

I was bare-legged, my toes painted a dusty-pink to match my lips. I too, wore the smallest bikini bottoms in my drawer. I had even taken the time to carefully groom the light-brown pubic hairs that delicately frame my outer lips. Even when I was shaving, conflicting thoughts wrestled in my mind. I told myself that this was only proper hygiene and that the sudsing, rinsing and oiling of my mons was not meant to trigger the electric charge received from thinking about my son, (even though in my head, I knew that only Teddy would ever glimpse my silky-smooth inner thighs.) And even if he did happen to notice the fresh, sexy approach to my "Y," and it awakened the hidden giant in his shorts, it was not my intention to tease him or invite his salacious comments. I only believed that there should be no straggling hairs or razor bumps to ruin my summer look, and if I happen to grow wet from any particular person observing my private area, well that was only natural.

At first he snuck quick glances at my figure that I only caught in the mirror or from his embarrassed smiles. But more recently the appraisals have been like a man shopping for a car. And his sexually-tinged remarks at first uttered under his breath, were now spoken directly to my shocked ears. As I said, I found them in the beginning to be a little playful, innocent amusement that brought a laugh on these steamy, close days. Some of his comments confused me, making me wonder just what he was alluding to. He would say, "If you're so sweaty, why don't you just go around naked, there's nobody else here, and I would join you." Or "Those tops don't do much more than make you hot, and I can see right through them anyway, why bother?" And, "I don't know why you try to hide your shape, and obviously reveal it, at the same time?"Maybe it was the boldness of the questions that caught me off-guard, or the dirty ideas implanted in my mind that my son might be trying to seduce me. I even thought to myself that if he came right out and demanded me to undress, I would probably entertain the idea, and maybe more. This little secret I kept closely tucked away, but I fear that my body betrayed my emotions. I often stuttered to respond. and I blushed when I should have reacted angrily. When I countered that "Do you just want to catch your mother naked?" Or, "Wouldn't you think that I was a slut if I sat infront of the fan naked, while my son was in the room?" And, "If you can already see through my outfit, why would you want to see more?"

His reply would always be coated with innocence, when there was an undercurrent of crude sexuality. "Mom, I just want you to be comfortable and happy." Then he'd say, "If I can't see you naked, who can?" And, one of my favorites though I didn't catch it's full meaning until later, "I'm not suggesting anything dirty or that we should commit incest, yet..." The more that I listened, the more his words defeated the crumbling defenses I had struggled to maintain. After every encounter with him I had to rush to my room or the tub for some privacy. There his words formed in my head again with all of their lewd innuendos, and my jittery fingers would traipse along the moist folds and delicate crannies of my pussy, until the little nub of my clit yearned to be abraded and abused. Every image that presented itself was of my son groping and fondling my body, ripping the clothes from my sweaty torso and throwing me on the couch as the fan cooled our drenched, heaving forms. Then he would force his big cock into my innocent vagina, and pour his seed into me. The mere thoughts caused my poor body to shake. The orgasms were coming constantly, sometimes before I could sneak away. He obviously saw my twitching and squirming while I sat infront of him, trapped by his steely gaze and too ashamed to slink out of the room with a fragrant wet spot wicking in my bottoms.

And the verbal assaults on my delicate psyche were only half of it. While he gracelessly appraises my tits, legs and pussy his hand is in constant motion. Even when I could no longer avoid eye contact, or thought that by staring back at him he would cease, his hand was always in his shorts fumbling and fondling that great snake. I began to wonder just how big it was. This was just harmless imagining, nothing would ever come of it. But I could never fully get the picture of his cock, out of my head. His squat, limpid cock would gradually stiffen under his trunks, to the point of the enormous mushroomed head poking out. He knew that his mom was watching, and still his meaty hand roughly stroked the big piston or his thumb rubbed across the opening at the tip, spreading the oily droplets of precum along the helmeted cap. I stared in wonder and amazement that he was not shy at all in displaying such aberrant behavior. And infact he seemed proud of his anatomy and especially of his prodigious organ. He would deliberately stroke his gigantic erection until it grew to it's full, loaded girth and length. And it was amazing, shamefully I couldn't keep my eyes from it. And he obviously noticed. It is as if he were challenging me or inviting me to react. I didn't want it, I just wanted to see it. (That's not so bad, is it?)

On some occasions I wasn't quick enough to leave the room, or was so stunned at this escalation of events that I didn't denounce his lewd behavior. It was purely because I was so surprised, (atleast that is how I convinced myself.) It couldn't have been the erotic feeling of wanting to watch my son stroke his big tool just to titillate his mom's sinful libido. Or that I wanted him to see and understand my lustful appreciation of his performance. Or certainly not to show him that I openly crave his big cock and fantasize about the sensation of his enormous rod drilling deep inside of me.

All of these actions culminated at the morning breakfast table that day. I was studying his hand under the glass as he knew he was directing me to. It cradled the cramped little pocket formed in the folds of his shorts, where his plum-sized balls were exposed and being jostled and adjusted by his big hand. The fingers strummed over the large, hairy shaft like a concert pianist plying the keys of his instrument. The big pink prick sprouted from his shorts, it was shiny and wet from his dew. The swollen lidless eye appeared to watch me, bobbing and weaving like a cobra being called by the flute.

Ted made no further mystery that he was sizing-up my body, looking straight through my damp top and mentioning to me, how nice it would be to suck on my pouty nipples. In turn, his hand moved from caressing his tight loose-hanging gonads and stroking the slippery length of his thick cock. When he cradled and cupped his balls I could easily picture his hand weighing and fondling my pert breasts. My poor pussy was overwhelmed by the sensual sensations and my pointy nipples were threatening to cut through the wet fabric of my top.

But it wasn't just this hand that captured my attention. My eyes were redirected to the top of the table and the hand holding his juice glass. I was drawn to the slow, rhythmic motion of his hand gliding up and down the cylindrical shaft of the glass. The condensation wet his palm as his loose grip moved seductively to the very top and then back down to the thicker, wider base of the glass, sliding effortlessly at an increasing cadence.

It was hypnotic to watch his hand move along the smooth, clear column lubed by the moisture on the glass. When his fingers reached the top, he playfully guided just the tips of his digits over the rim of the wet glass producing a squeaking noise that I wasn't certain at first, might not have been escaping my puckered lips. I watched entranced as the dewy droplets of moisture formed at the ridge and then slowly trickled all the way to the thick bottom. My breathing rose and halted with each tiny bead of water and then I would let out a deep, almost moaning exhale, as my eye followed the wetness. My boobs stood at attention and then my lungs relaxed causing them to rise and fall with my eyes.

I could feel my tongue hanging loosely from my dry, hungry lips, the helpless slobber seeping down my chin. I caught myself with my hand under my shirt. I had begun to mop-up the river of perspiration puddling at my slight cleavage, but my hand had caught at my bra and was now cupping the soft undersides of my small breasts, and the fingers moved over the wet flesh to tweak the stiff nipples with the same rhythm employed by his fingers circling the lip of his glass. I could readily have started the masturbatory cycle right there; my legs were wide apart with fluid oozing down my thigh, my chest heaved and the nipples were rough and hard as diamonds, my breathing was stilted and my body began to shiver and rumble.

I sensed a quiet in the room and slowly shifted my gaze to him. The cool blue eyes were boring in on me. Teddy had been studying my gestures as I had his. I was wide-eyed like a deer in the headlights. I quickly acted to remove my sweaty hand from my slippery chest. Ofcourse the clingy, wet material snagged my bracelet as I yanked my hand down, nearly ripping the soggy tank top from my neck and strangling me in the comical process. I must have looked like a madwoman struggling to escape from a straight-jacket He only smiled.

I was agitated and breathing rapidly. Even in a cold room, my body would have been soaked-through with sweat. Loose strands of my blonde locks escaped my ponytail and clung to my face. My body slumped in my chair, with my wet back practically glued to the plastic seat cushion. The flimsy shirt stuck to me like a second skin, with my pointed nips protruding straight ahead. His eyes took-in every detail, the blue orbs shining on me like a spotlight.

His eyes couldn't conceal the wanton pleasure he received from catching me lusting over his sensual maneuverings. His toothy smile, framed by a sexy stubble of blonde chin hairs, was gleaming like a cat snaring a canary.

The waistband of my damp pink bikini was soaked through with flop sweat from my total embarrassment and humiliation of crudely imagining a lurid meaning to his seemingly innocuous gestures and the shivering, full-body blush of having been so obviously trapped. But even more alarming as I lowered my eyes to avoid his penetrating stare, was to see the crotch of my pink bottoms turning a scarlet shade of red with moisture that was not from sweat, and the cloth becoming more translucent to the point that I could discern, as I'm sure he could also, the pouty folds of my labia swelling above the close-cropped, wiry pubes of my vagina.

I could sense the aroma of pheromones and passion emanating from my pores and I'm certain that I could also sniff the musky fragrance of my own vaginal juices as the sticky liquids wicked into my bottoms. The sweet, acidic smell lingered in the stuffy air. I imagine that Teddy could feel it too.

I was frozen in place, cold sweat dripping into my cleavage and pooling down my back into the crack of my ass, causing my body to tremble. But a hot flash starting in my uterus and rising through my twitching belly, alit on the erect tips of my nipples and colored my chest and neck in the warm, tingly glow of shame. Revealing my indecent emotions with a sinful blush for my Svengali-like son to revel in.

My only logical escape as I scanned the room, was to stumble towards the sink, where I filled the basin with hot, soapy water. I could only shield my eyes from his smoldering appraisal by staring absently out the window. Not really seeing anything but his rapacious smile. My knees knocked and my bare legs shook, barely supporting my weight. My hands trembled as I rattled the dishes to be washed. All the while, my ears were attuned to the stuttering rumble of the chair legs being pushed away from the table and the light patter of his bare-footed approach calmly stealing-in behind me.

His shadow stole across the porcelain and his cool, fruity breath chilled the perspiration on my neck. I'm used to his coming up behind me and hugging me in a warm embrace. His light footfalls always brought a comforting, loving smile to my face. This was different. I felt the rubber band that was binding my dank mane give way as he tugged it free of my straggly hair. His fingers combed through my wet tangles and he fanned-out the ends on my shoulders. Soft kisses dotted my neck and ripples of excitement surged through my limp torso. Two strong hands began rubbing the tense knots of my upper back, bringing back memories of how he would sweetly bring an end to my work days, soothing the aching joints of my tired body.

But one of those hands traced a tingly, alarming path along my backbone and to the elastic waistband of my sodden swim bottoms. The second hand circled my waist and from the front, started a slow climb up my ribcage and under my loose top, advancing towards my sheer, soggy bra. I cautiously captured his wrist in my grip, but really my arm was only along for the ride. We could both see what this was leading to. And though I was unsure of myself, I certainly wasn't fighting him off. I was simply steadying his aim while his strong hand reached under my bra and grasped my firm tits. Was I a conspirator in my own seduction?

Up until now, I hadn't uttered a sound. My teeth were biting into my lip and a low, throaty hum vibrated my vocal cords. With each motion of his surprisingly sensitive fingers on my pliant breasts, an audible gasp sputtered from my slackened lips. I needed to say something, but what? He now had hold of my small chest in his large hand and my upper body rocked and lunged under his steady caress. I felt faint. Ted's finger and thumb tweaked and pinched at my rubbery nipples. I made soft noises like a trilling purr. Then I felt my back being persistently leveraged to the tile surface and suddenly his other hand was tugging at my bikini.

Still I made no protest and offered only token resistance as the side of my face was pressed against the cool counter. I was moaning slightly under my breath and found myself continuously mouthing the word "Yes." My bottoms were being gradually lowered across the firm, round cheeks of my squirming butt. Only the wetness of my skin and the creamy juices of my pussy gripping the crotch of the panties, was delaying the inevitable. For my part, my hips were shifting and swaying to allow the damp fabric to shimmy down my thighs. If he had any lingering anxiety about me accusing him of rape or mentioning the immorality of this sordid affair, they must have been eased now. There was one last, wet feeling of total surrender as the sloppy pink material slid down my wet legs and I had to step out of the moist cloth and kick it aside.

With one quick thrilling motion, my top and bra were hoisted over my head and joined my bottoms in a damp pile on the floor. I was now completely naked, my knotted hair a mess, and with one hand he held me to the counter while his other hand massaged my bare ass. I anxiously awaited my son's next move. My pussy leaked the beginnings of what I felt to be a tremendous orgasm. I shivered in a perplexing state of arousal, questioning my own deviant intentions.

The prodding, insistent head of his straining cock was probing at the sweaty, anticipating entrance of my love-hole. Finally after shakily clearing my throat a few times, and swallowing hard to find some courage, I found my stuttering voice. It was less than defiant. I squeaked, "Are you sure that this is what you want, Teddy? "He answered by parting my outer lips and spreading my legs, splaying me open as I lay fileted across the counter. "Things will never be the same between us, if we go through with this," I reasoned almost to myself. As if that weren't drastically apparent already. "Do you really want to fuck me? Is that it, you want to fuck your mother? Then what?" I was running out of stupid questions!

Was this truly happening, I seriously had to ask of myself. Am I not going to fight this, or even argue? I told myself that this couldn't really be true. I may have thought about it. I may even have fantasized about it. But now my son's cock was circling the swollen opening of my horny cunt. My son was about to fuck me. Right on the kitchen sink. Right in the middle of the afternoon. He was about to commit incest with his mom.

Slowly and cautiously, as if defusing a bomb, I reached behind my own butt with my free hand and groped for his throbbing, sturdy organ while it bumped against my eager snatch. That marvelous tool, that at this very minute was sliding along the moist, slick valley of my pussy. My wary hand steadied it in my light grip and slid it's solid length up and down the quivering lips, actually serving to help lubricate the entire width and circumference of his fleshy pole with the oily secretions of my wanton snatch. In trying to get my first tingling feel of his throbbing monster, I was inadvertently coating it with my wetness and aiding in my own eventual fucking. Just the hot tip of his bulging cockhead against my aching, waiting cunt, sent ripples of electricity pulsing through my whole anatomy. I knew that this is what I wanted. Now he expressed to me his taboo plan and his lusty desire, and what part I was to play in it.

"Take it mom," he murmured into my ear in a raspy , breathless command. "Put it in," he groaned as he buried his face in my neck and nibbled on my lobe. His tone was suddenly forceful and demanding, and he realized my submission. Now the action was reversed. He took my hand in his, and compelled me to glide my sweaty palm over the fleshy ridges and bumpy blue veins of his rigid rod to apply the viscous moisture oozing from my wanton cunt evenly along the grand dimensions of his enormous cock. I felt the sticky skin of this pulsing tool straining in my loose grip and my hand was drawn to the fleshy dome of his spear. I had never seen as big a cock, it had pornographic characteristics. The huge cap seemed impossibly large and forboding for it's intended penetration and I knew instinctively to thoroughly lubricate the angry looking torpedo.

His controlling hand was no longer necessary, I knew that I wanted it, and I knew that it had to be greased-up if it were to enter my tight pussy without destroying my insides. My hand commenced a rapid, steady jerking motion on his slick, throbbing cock. I was serving to lube it up while also extending it's considerable girth, and preparing it for his taboo insertion. "Do it mom," he groaned as I stroked him. "Get it ready. We both know that this is what you want, What you need." It stuck in my warped imagination that I was not only masturbating my own son, but easing the path of our incestuous tryst. "Oh Gawd that feels good, I want to stick it deep inside your hot cunt and fuck you all day long." His naughty words of encouragement just egged me on. He was expertly breaking down my thin resistance.

Plus I was obviously making his big knob a smoother glide-path for my own pleasure and also signaling to him that I was willing and excited for this forbidden fantasy to proceed. There was no longer any need for force or barely a need for persuasion. Though the fact that he was a dominant partner was an added turn-on.

I was bent over the hard surface of the sink. The cool tile was refreshing on my hot body. His hand was roughly massaging my small chest while securely holding me in place with a firm grip. His grasp on my tits was squeezing and kneading my supple breasts as if he were working dough. My pink nipples were putty in his hands. Ted's body was between my legs, his knees prying my own further apart. And the flared ridge and bullet-shaped cap of his slickened pole was making it's first exploratory advances inside my yearning pussy. I directed it towards my tight, wet entrance.

When the huge helmet broke through, I jumped a little and squeaked-out a timid, startled appeal for him to be gentle with me. It had been quite a while since anything had penetrated me, and despite my obvious arousal and the heavily lubed sheen of the invading shaft, I still needed to indelicately spread my snug lips with my fingers. I had to help ease the alabaster giant on it's way until the huge head achieved a secure purchase.

"That's it mom," he instructed me. "Stick it in there. You know you want my cock, you little slut! Push your ass back and take all of me, just like that, and give me your hot cunt!" His crass words startled me, but how much gentlemanly prose could I expect of a boy who was fucking his mother? And how easily he labeled me a slut? But it did get my juices flowing like an open spigot. Once the big head was in, and my initial hesitation and alarm were overcome, he could see that my trepidation was gradually giving way to a bawdy enthusiasm. He paused for just a second, allowing me a moment to adjust to the fleshy assault on my near-virginal vagina. Or maybe it was to be certain that I would not scream and demand that he unhand me. Experiencing no rebuff, and anxious to continue his incestuous ravishing of my snatch, his rod began a determined, yet passionate in-and-out motion that was slightly complicated by the uncomfortably tight contours of my long-neglected pussy. But soon the electric thrill combined with the skin-on-skin abrasion, sent tingles to my nerves and a seismic shock-wave from my dizzy head to my dancing toes.

His powerful thrusts were driving me against the counter and I felt the full weight of his slippery torso on my back. My boobs were being crushed on the tile. It took only a few seconds more to hammer the thick shaft all the way forward against my cervix, and jam it in to the stout base. I could feel his loose-hanging, leathery balls banging against my thighs and heard the erotic slapping of wet flesh as his urges became more demanding. His long, hard tool stretched me out and filled me up. It was as if he were aiming for my kidneys. I could not believe the intense pressure and nothing had ever made feel so satisfied.

Now we needed to develop a rhythm to make this a grand fuck. He had propelled his huge cock inside my fiery hole with the force of a sledge hammer. And comically, he struggled to pull it back from the depths of my tight, hungry cunt. If ever there was a doubt about my total seduction and complete abandonment of conventional values, it came in the next moment. My surrender and submission to his dominance was clearly stated.

"Easy honey," I whispered hoarsely. "I have never seen anything like your cock. You're going to rip me apart if you don't slow down. You've got me now, I want it, help me to enjoy it." The internal liquids were starting to take affect as his steely shaft began to grind back and forth like a hot piston. The under-used muscles of my pussy held his cock in a vice-like grip, being unaccustomed to such a forceful intrusion. But once my body sensed that this pleasure-pole was not abandoning us, they relaxed enough to allow a hot, wet passage. Fast enough for erotic stimulation, slow enough for a tremendous climax. And then it came.

I was riding his thick, slick tool like a little girl at an amusement park. I began to ease my hot pussy back against his churning pelvis, with each subsequent thrust, the delightful sensation struck a chord in my cunt. The sparks were fanned into a roaring flame. The rumbling started at my toes and soon overwhelmed my inhibitions. The shattering intensity was worth defying every taboo notion that I ever held. There was something extremely sinful but dangerously exotic about giving-in to my son's commanding lust.

Teddy could feel me start to shudder and shake. He positioned his grip to my hips and held on tight. My upper body was a convulsing, squirming eel trying to find anything on the smooth tile surface to latch onto. My legs were a wobbly, limp platform with my own secretions slowly trickling down each thigh. And I would surely fall over in a soaked, quivering lump if my son weren't holding me up. All the while, he was pumping his firm erection at full speed now, jamming the plunger inside me. His body shook too, his orgasm also about to explode in my loins.

His voice was caught in his throat for a second. All I heard were the grunts and growls of an animal as his thrusting hit a fevered pitch. Then he found it's timbre, "Cum for me, mom." More grunts and desperate poundings followed. "I want to feel you cum with my cock in your hot cunt," he pronounced hoarsely. "Do it, slut. Show me how much you want my cock, you little bitch." His coarse, raunchy talk fired my imagination and the shotgun-like pumping action inside me, broke the dam. "Do it, mom. Cut loose, you know you need this, and you want me to fuck you like you're my little slut!" He continued his smutty demands, "Tell me you want it, slut. Say that you want me to fuck you, beg for it. Tell me that you have to have my cock to make you whole." He wouldn't stop, and most of it was the truth. It wouldn't be long now for either of us. I was on the brink and he was pushing me through the wall.

His last phrase sent me over the edge. The sinful, sensuous scene was playing-out in my head, because my eyes were tightly shut, even as the punishing, prodding missile was carving a wet, erotic path in my pleasure-starved tunnel. I heard his filthy descriptions and my body was being used for his raunchy gratification, and yet my orgasm mounted to it's dynamic apex. (Gee, just like every woman's dream, my son had bent me over the kitchen sink and was pounding his hard, thick cock into my wanton cunt while calling me a slut and his whore. I was naked and shivering, with a crude desire as my own fluids dripped down my leg, and at his command I was begging him to fuck me.)

I am a slut, I said to myself. I must be. At his repeated urgings, while he drove me to an extreme ecstasy with his gigantic organ shaking my insides loose, I was told to repeat his lewd demands. "I'm your slut, Teddy. You know it and I know it. I want it. I have to have your cock in my slutty hole. Fuck me, yes fuck me. I'm yours, you own me. Rape me like I need it. I want my son's cock in me. I'll do whatever you say. Fuck me... yes... yes."

The heat and the wetness in my pussy was like nothing that I had ever dreamed of. I melted on the counter, my legs giving out on me. I was a squishy, trembling mess. My climax was all that I cared about and it thundered deep within me. The sensual drilling lasted for about five or ten minutes. When I felt the hot wave overtake me and at the same time, his fluids fill my empty spaces, I collapsed completely. The sweat from his body was raining down on me, we were both soaked, steaming and exhausted. When we recovered from the fulfillment of our deviant desires, I felt the sudden emptiness as he withdrew his deflating cock. He pulled-out of me fully sated and playfully smacked my jiggly, damp butt. I was spent, and my used body slithered down the front of the sink and spilled to my knees in a sweaty, oily puddle of our combined milky fluids. I was still savoring the warmth and internal rocking of the greatest, gigantic "O" of all time!

When my embattled sense of decorum returned, slightly bruised and irreparably changed, I slowly turned around to find my partner in this lewd, incestuous seduction. I came face-to-face so to speak, with the shiny, slippery object of my erotic pleasure. There right infront of my eyes; was the half-limp cock of my nineteen year-old son, still oozing oily droplets of his potent seed, and though now only partially inflated, was hanging just two tempting inches from my gasping mouth.

Teddy looked at me tenderly, brushing aside the sweaty strands of blonde hair plastered to my face and wiping beads of moisture that were dripping from my nose and chin. For a minute again I was his mother;

a woman curled at his feet whose chest was rising and falling with the effects of the exertion, and reddened marks on her tits and hips from his handprints that would soon be turning black and blue, with a still bewildered expression on her face wondering how this happened and what might happen next.

But as he continued to observe my naked form, and my hand remained between my legs with the playful fingers fluffing and teasing the curly, wet hairs, and my eyes marveling at the dangling instrument that had just brought me so much stimulation, a quiet transformation took place. I asked him, "What now, Teddy? There's certainly no going back from this. But I have to admit, that was exciting." A devilish look appeared in his eyes, and the corners of his lips curled in a knowing grin. He reached softly for my arms and gently but commandingly tugged me to my knees.

He soothingly kneaded the pliant flesh of my swollen tits and tenderly rubbed the perky nipples between his fingers. I stared up into his eyes and accepted his further handling of my body. Deep, throaty moans escaped my fatigued lungs, but my energy and excitement were being quickly restored by his prodding manipulations. The roiling cauldron of my uterus was sending signals to my brain, that the intense orgasms I have been experiencing lately, and especially the previous one that my anatomy was still shivering over, were brought-on by my son. I have thought sinfully about him, reaching orgasm with my own hands. I have spied on him and lusted over his youthful attitude. And now I have fucked him right on the kitchen counter, and here I sit naked and wet, in the immediate aftermath of that taboo affair. And I want more. And Teddy knows it as well as I do.

As I watched in dreamy disbelief, he took my hand and once more placed it around the quickly expanding root of his enormous prick. With his hand covering mine, he urged me to stroke the long, thick tool until it doubled in size, reaching it's impossible proportions of length and width. He left me to rub it, so his hand was free to cup my chin, lifting my adoring eyes to meet his leering gaze. At this moment he was cautiously raising his bet, having taken me in a somewhat "conventional" manner, he would suddenly demand more, and he counted on my submissiveness and the need for instruction. The image of me as his mother was no longer necessary, except to enhance his (as well as my own,) incestuous fantasy. I was just a desperate woman with a hot cunt that he now announced, he would be using for his sordid pleasure and take ownership of, to control at his command. I could only nod my head in agreement and anxiously, though warily wait in anticipation.

His thumb was playing across my eager lips. My tongue reached for it and a long trickle of slobber dripped from my mouth. He wedged my red lips apart and his fat digit entered my throat and played on my gums and in my cheeks. Like a baby with a rubber nipple I automatically began to suck and slurp on it's probing tip. We both understood that I belonged to him. My mind was racked with guilt, but my cunt pulsed with a delightful, heated intensity.

Somewhere in the back of my mind a moralistic voice was screaming, "Don't do this! Don't permit him to take this final, filthy liberty. Only a true slut would suck her son's cock, especially when it was still coated with her own pussy juice." But my heart and my tingling cunt were shouting something entirely different and exotically stimulating.

He withdrew his thumb, having already primed the pump. And my immediate vision was now taken by the sight of his massive cock bobbing and dancing precariously close to my mouth. One halting moment of indecision confronted me, "Teddy, are you sure? Is this really what you want me to do? I don't know if I can go through with this. Fucking my own son was bad enough. Do you really want your mother to suck your cock? Do you want me to be your slut?" The desperate, passionate words tumbled from my lips, but still I stroked his huge knob, thumbing the tip and coaxing a drop of pre-cum to the smooth surface. He was only grinning as he looked down upon me like a piece of meat. His leering eyes narrowed as he held my chin and directed the greased pole towards my dry mouth.

By now his monstrous erection was fully engorged. Having dumped one massive load in my starving pussy already, he now took aim literally, at my willing mouth. I had never sucked anyone's cock, infact this was the closest look that I ever had of a man's penis. The only reference I had to go by was the occasional porn movie and the chatter of other women, but this humongous beast was as big around as my arm and nearly as long. And I had recently endured it's uncomfortable invasion of my constricted cunt. That orifice was greatly stretched open to it's limit, and I hope that it snaps back. This worried me. I told my son almost pleadingly, that I didn't know what to do or how to begin.

I was intimidated by the imposing dimensions, and it seem so sturdy and thick. And still abit apprehensive about the taboo stigma of incest, though I'll admit that was the least of my concerns. Teddy assured me that he would instruct me on how to please him, and that my yearning , straining body would come to appreciate the thrill he was providing. He said that I would soon be begging him to allow me to suck his mighty organ. I was captured in his spell.

I moved to lick my parched lips with my timid pink tongue and then without even any pressure, I licked at the dewy secretion on the tip and spread the salty essence along my anxious lips. With my mouth slightly parted, he inserted the mushroomed head past my teeth and rested it on my tongue. My mouth was forced open incredibly wide, hurting my jaws. I felt it's smooth cap on the roof of my mouth and the veiny column brushed the inside of my cheek. He pulled it out and I smiled at my initial cock-tasting. He was happy with my effort and gave my further guidance.

I was told to start with soft, wet kisses all along the great circumference and up and down it's length. That was easy and enjoyable, and the kisses were lovingly real. Eventually I had examined and kissed every solid inch of this beast. He told me to use my tongue now, and lick the huge shaft, paying particular attention to both the ridged head and his plump balls. The more that I pampered his rod, the greater the feeling of warm, wetness swelled in my uterus. I was getting in to this and my pussy realized the origin of it. I didn't require any more prompting, my kisses covered the domed tip and it slid easily between my lips. With just a simple push, (from either his hand or mine, I'm not sure,) it continued onward until it passed my tonsils and bumped against the back of my mouth.

"Yes mom," he directed in a domineering tone, that for some forbidden thrill, encouraged me to suck harder and to pump hic full cock into me. "You're my slut now, and you are going to suck my cock until I fill you with my cum. And you're going to fuck me and suck me from now on. I own you!" In his excitement he was pounding his mammoth organ into my mouth, causing me to gag and sputter saliva along the thick shaft. It only urged me on to further debauchery. As he shouted his intentions, I stroked rapidly on the slippery pole and fed it hungrily into my gaping mouth. The extreme size no longer seemed a problem, it merely presented a challenge. I wanted to take all of that cock, and I wanted my son to be thrilled with my effort. I was going to be his slut, I understood. But I wanted it to be good for the both of us.

He recognized my renewed passion. Ted grabbed my ears and began the piston-like effect that would serve us both. My cheeks expanded and filled, then emptied with his thrusting. My hand was a blur, feeding his length into my open maw. I choked and drooled along the fleshy column, sucking like a drowning animal. One of my hands stole down to my sodden gash and I diddled my exposed clit. The wet, sticky pubic hairs parted and two fingers found the moist opening, his spent cum oozed between my digits. I slobbered over his tool, gasping for air but inhaling his cock almost until my nose brushed his coarse, blonde curls.

To mimic the rough feeling of his hard lance jabbing at my throat, I thrust a third finger in and out of my sopping snatch. At each return, I brushed my palm against the knobby, swollen clit. The firm abrasions sent shock waves through my insides and swiftly started my vaginal juices to begin to boil again. I gripped his massive cock and plunged it to the back of my throat and out again, repeating the lewd maneuver over and over.

"Kathryn, what on Earth are you thinking?" The tiny, irritating voice in my head scolded me. "You are on your knees naked, cum leaking from your slutty hole and you're asking your son to stick his incestuous cock in your mouth. And then to take you, and to keep you as his sex-slave. What kind of slut have you become!?!" I am desperate for sexual release. The incestuous nature of this debauched affair is beyond my submissive will to control. I need to have this gigantic cock in my hungry body, this is what makes me whole. I realize now that I want to be my son's sex toy...I easily ignored that annoying little voice.

More of his cock was filling my mouth with each stroke. As it slickened with every thrust, it became easier and faster to feed it into my mouth, and I was starving for it. The pace grew rapid and the pressure increased. My cunt was working the same way. I loved it. I wanted to prove to Teddy that I would become a "good fuck." And this passion provoked my tremors. It was coming soon for us both.

His full balls contracted in their pouch, growing tighter and bumping against my chin. I felt a sudden shiver in my cheek and a strong pulse from his shaft. Then a salty taste on my tongue. For a brief second, his cock seemed to still it's motion. And then just the head of it twitched. Then I tasted it. My mouth was warmed and filled to the brink. Creamy, hot syrup flooded my throat. It blasted the sticky, white soup down my gullet. I was taken by surprise at the amount and intensity as it washed through me. I tried my best to swallow the thick sauce, but it was too little, too late. What I was able to choke down my inexperienced throat tasted slightly acidic and like a lumpy broth.

The rest of this powerful load splattered from the edges of my mouth, drooling down my chin, and twining in long, stringy threads to the pointy tips of my tits. And to further add to my embarrassment, another one of my own tremendous orgasms exploded in the kind of salacious climax that I have never felt in my life. I considered instantly that I could get used to the taste, and better adjusted to the practice, but that this is a ritual that I will not surrender. Incest is now for me, only a word. And not nearly as good a word as "climax."

Raunchy titillation mixed briefly with torrid shame as I sat back on my crusty thighs. The grayish puddle was beginning to harden and flake on my chest. I had no choice but to relieve the last bits of tension at my hips, by softly rubbing the reddened button of my clit until the ceaseless throbbing subsided. My son spurred me on in a crude monologue of depravity, "Rub it, slut. You know that it's my cock that makes you feel this good. You need my cock to cum like this, and you will be my bitch now." I knew that it was true, and that this is what I wanted. I only need help to convince myself.

Out of some latent sense of guilt, I had trouble looking up and into his wild, blue eyes. His wry compliments still echoed in my ears. "You'll be a good slut, mom. You took most of my load, and I can tell by the way you licked your lips, that you loved it. And the rest looks good on you, very sexy. I'm going to have to bathe you in cum, more often." His crude talk was actually making me blush. He continued with his dirty comments, "You obviously came like a lusty whore. Soon, you will get used to the size of my cock, and spoiled by it. But I want you to learn to swallow all of my cum, it's too good to waste. If you ask me nicely, I'll come on your tits again, for you." He laughed uproariously and I couldn't help but to giggle along with him. "You were fun to fuck, and I liked that tight cunt. We'll have to do that again, soon!"

Hearing most of those words from my son, shook me. But I noticeably didn't argue or protest. In my mind I knew that it was terrific and that I wanted more. I promised to do better next time and I knew from my own physical reactions that this wouldn't stop. Finally I took his hand and let him help me to my bare feet, where he very carefully perused my entire, splotchy, cum-soaked body. He stifled another laugh at my disheveled appearance and I couldn't help but to smile. (Another mother/son moment.) "My knees are sore and I need a shower, and then what?" I asked.

"Let's try the bedroom, it's cooler in there. And I have another surprise for you..."

the end.