Chez Fiona Ch. 02

The doorbell rang.

"Shit," I said. I contemplated not answering, but whoever it was rang again, and finally I broke down and went to answer, looking back over my shoulder as Peter put his pants back on.

I opened the door and there was Olivia, a tight-lipped smile on her face. I asked her how she was doing, but she just continued to smile, slipping past me into the foyer. When the door closed, she flung her arms around me and gave me a big kiss. I was so surprised that I didn't open my lips at first, but as I did so, I tasted a delicious slick go from her mouth. Cum. It was sticky and warm, and probably somewhat diluted by her saliva. She pursed her lips to push more of the cum into my lips, and I sucked it down.

"Wow, what was that?" I said, when she at last let me catch my breath.

"You said you wanted to taste Kim's cum. So there it is. And that's fresh, not five minutes old."

"It's yummy," I said softly. "But you might want to keep your voice down. Peter's here."

"Oh!" she looked embarrassed. "Speaking of hot young men," she whispered, and I pretended to look offended, smiling secretly to myself.

A moment later, Peter trotted down the stairs. "Hi Mrs. Graff. How're you?"

"Peter! I haven't seen you in years. And call me Olivia, now that you're a grown man and all."

I nudged Olivia. "Cum on your lip," I whispered. She turned, giggling to herself, and then turned back. "So how's college?"

"It's good. I'm doing well in all my studies."

"Yeah? That doesn't surprise me. You were always good in school."

"Thanks," he said, not looking at her. He was looking at me, and I could tell exactly what he was thinking... He was thinking about fucking my ass. I wasn't ready yet.

"Olivia," I said, turning to my friend. "Do you want to stay for lunch?"

I fixed up some leftovers and we sat down for lunch, Peter and I across from each other and Olivia at the head of the table. Olivia talked about her pet dogs, basset hounds.

Under the table, I reached across with my foot, slipping it into Peter's lap. I felt right away the hardness between his thighs, and he looked at me with wide eyes, and then grinned. I rubbed him in long strokes with my foot. I felt a hand touch my foot, and while that in itself didn't surprise me, it did surprise me to both of Peter's hands above the table. But Olivia's right hand was below the table, and I could see now from the angle of her arm that it could very well be in Peter's lap. There was nothing I could do. Peter and I looked across at each other helplessly as Olivia touched my foot again, this time feeling along the bones, finding the ankle, connecting it to my knee, my thigh. Of course, she could not say anything about it--she was the one who put her hand in my son's lap.

She moved her hand further up, grazed the hairs on the lips of my pussy, and felt my wetness. For a moment I thought she might slip her finger in right there, but she suddenly pulled away, awkward and rushed. "I just remembered I have something in the oven. I need to get going." Peter and I looked at each other as she headed for the door. I had taken a risk and we had gotten caught, but I wasn't sure how much damage had been done.

I watched through the window by the door as Olivia walked down the driveway and across the street, giving a glance back toward my house. She looked a little shocked and confused. I heard Peter's footsteps behind me, felt his hands rest on my hips with a gentle urgency.

"Will she tell anyone?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Mom?"

"Yes sweety?"

"I can't handle the teasing any more. I really, really need you."

I sighed. Part of me sighed with resignation, part of me sighed with relief at the inevitability. One last try. I would make one last try to talk myself and Peter out of it. He was pressing against me now; I could feel the warmth and firmness of his cock against the small of my back.

"Have you thought about how far it's going to go?" I asked him.

"You mean having sex?"

"I mean beyond that. Casual sex is easy enough. It would be hot; it would be taboo. But what happens if, you know, we develop feelings for each other."

"I already love you though, mom."

"You might love me, but you're not yet in love with me. Have you thought about how that will fuck you up for life? For me, it's okay. I'm in a hopeless marriage. I can acquire baggage without fearing that it's going to hurt me later. Except that at some point you're going to meet the right girl, fall in love with her, and you'll have to move beyond loving your mother. And that's going to hurt like hell for me."

His hands moved up my shirt, gently grazing against my breasts. I arched my back, forcing my tits into the warmth of his hands.

"I dunno, mom. I guess you should have thought of that before you started seducing me."

I nodded. He was right. There was no way this wasn't going to lead to a whole lot of hurt for me at some point. Be in now or in a few days or in a few years. I'd regret making love to him, and I'd regret not making love to him. He had found my nipples through the fabric, and was squeezing them gently between thumb and forefinger.

"It's time for you to put your sister's cake in the oven. Go do that and then come back to me. After that, no more teasing, darling. I promise."

He slowly detached himself from me. I was going to make love to my son. I needed to decide where. Right here against the door? The kitchen floor, the living room sofa? I could have him in the shower, on the stairs, in my bed, in his bed...

Yes, that was the fantasy: fucking him in the bed he had slept in since childhood, where I had read him bedtime stories, tucked him in, helped him get dressed. I turned and slowly walked up the stairs, and as Peter came back into the hallway, I looked back at him over my shoulder, my gaze indicating I wanted him to follow.

I began unbuttoning my shirt as I climbed, letting it slide down off my shoulders. "Do you want to suck mommy's tits like you did when you were a baby?"

"Yes," Peter said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

I turned into his bedroom, and he followed behind me. I sat down on the bed, and watched him, again cautious and hesitant. I stroked the bed beside me. "Come lie down, put your head in mommy's lap."

He laid down on the bed, his head on my lap, looking up at me with those big blue eyes. "I want you to know, Peter, that I really want this."

"I want it too, mom."

I leaned forward slightly, so that my breasts, clad in a simple white bra, brushed against his face. He closed his eyes and moaned softly. My nerves tingled with the delicate sensation, and my nipples rose to firm heights, even through the bra. I took my left breast in my hand, guided it down so that the nipple rubbed against his parted lips. He responded instinctively, and I felt his saliva soaking into the fabric of my bra. His hand moved up my back, found the clasp of my bra and unhooked it. I shrugged my shoulders forward, letting the bra slide down. I tossed it to the floor, and brought my breasts down to him again, this time naked to the touch of his lips, the surprisingly coarse grain of his teenaged cheeks.

"You're making your mother so horny," I said. "I love to have my nipples sucked. I ran my hand down his chest and then back up, unbuttoning each button with a slight awkwardness. His chest felt good, solid and muscled. I licked my fingertips, and touched them to his own nipples. They responded in their own modest way. Then I slipped my hand lower, daring to slide it flat against his navel and beneath the thick leather belt of his jeans, beneath even the elastic of his underwear, over the soft curls of air, and gripping his firm, solid shaft. It felt so good in my hand, suprising me with it's thickness.

Peter gasped, and raised his head to look down, as though needing visual confirmation that his mother's hand was, indeed, down the front of his pants. He looked back up at me, his eyes wide in awe. I smiled down.

"You've got a magnificent cock, Peter."

"Bigger than dad's?"

I thought of telling him how massive his father's cock was, larger than anyone I've ever had. A pornstar cock. But that wasn't what Peter needed to hear.

"The biggest I've ever had," I lied. It was impressively large, though. Probably the second biggest I've had. Big enough to fill me. Big enough to stretch my long-ignored pussy wide until the edges of pain, to probe me deeper than my fingers ever went.

I unfastened his jeans and turned, climbing onto my knees, using both hands to slide his pants down around his ankles. My hips were above his head, affording him a good view up my skirt.

"You aren't wearing any panties, mom!"

"I did that just for you."

His hands moved up and down my thighs, going higher each time, until he began to delicately graze the hairs of my cunt. I imagined that the girls he screwed at college were still fairly thinly haired, or maybe shaved like in those magazines. I had never bothered with grooming my pussy, though. The hairs above my quim were a thick, black thatch. I hoped he wouldn't mind. He pulled my hips down, and I leaned back, sitting directly upright, just above his face.

I felt his tongue gently exploring my pubic bone, the hollows on either side of the pussy. I loved that he didn't dive right in, that he took the time to build me up a bit more, first. And then he was at my clit, pressing his tongue firmly against it.

I laughed, remembering how, when he was a kid, he had been able to touch his nose with his tongue. Never did I imagine I'd be the beneficiary of that tongue.

He asked me what was so funny. So I told him, and he laughed too. And then he slid his tongue inside me. Deep inside me. It was so warm, so quick. I ground my hips down against his face, feeling his chin against my clit.

"You're so good," I moaned out.

He moaned something in response, but I couldn't hear, his words were muffled by my pussy. I lifted up a bit so he could speak.

"Tell me what you want. Any position at all, Peter. On top of you, on my hands and knees, standing, anything," I gasped. "I need you inside me."

"Doggy style," he said.

I ground my hips down against him again, imagining it. "Yeah, fuck me like a dog. You want to make mommy your bitch?" The dirty words coming out of my own mouth were driving me wild. "I wanna get fucked by my own pup. I wanna feel his sperm, his seed inside me."

I slipped off of Peter's face, and slid down to the floor, crawling on my hands and my knees across the carpet. I had a brief thought that I would get horrible carpet burns from this.

Peter was behind me quickly, his hands under my skirt again, rubbing my quim with his whole hand.

"You're so wet, mom."

"I'm so ready for you, dear. Now get it the fuck in me."

He did as I asked. I was amazed how easy he slipped in. He was so big, but he fit me like a hand in a glove. A long, smooth stroke, until he was lodged all the way inside me. I could feel his hip-bones against my ass.

"My god," Peter said in amazement. He didn't move. He just held himself inside me. I didn't want him to move. Not yet. I was just enjoying the pleasure of being so filled.

"I feel like if I move at all, I'm going to cum," Peter said.

"Already?" I was disappointed. I wanted to make this last.

"Don't worry," he said, apparently catching my disappointment. "I'll be able to keep going even after I cum."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I began to squeeze him gently with my hips. Just gently squeezing around his girth, and then releasing. I could feel him pulsing in reaction. And then a sharp intake of breath.

"That's it Peter. Shoot your cum deep inside your mommy's pussy. You know how she wants it." He didn't say anything as he came, but I felt the power of his orgasm as it washed over him. I felt it as his throbbing muscle shuddered inside me, and I felt it has his warm seed spread out inside me. "God, Peter," I moaned, looking over my shoulder. "I can feel your cum in me." He looked back at me with those gorgeous eyes, and slowly began to slide in and out, his cock still hard and eager. That's the best part about young lovers... the endless stamina. I purred and pushed my hips back against him, feeling his cum now flowing down my pussy, lubing his passage into me. I reached down between my legs, let some of it drip onto my fingers, and then raised it to my lips and tasted our mingled juices.

Peter's hands roamed over my back, his fingertips running over my ribs, and then to my shoulders, massaging my back with his hands. It felt good, but I wanted the intensity heightened. "Harder," I whispered roughly. "Fuck mommy hard." His hand immediately went to my hair, grabbed a handful of my black locks, and pulled hard at it, forcing my neck back, as he pulled out sharply and then slammed his cock back inside me.

"Oh yes!" I cried out, my spine tingling as he slammed in harder with each thrust. With each thrust, he pulled at my hair, forcing my willing hips back against him. His other hand dropped around me to grab roughly at my breasts, and then slide down and touching my clit with suprising gentleness. My knees stung from the carpet. "Make your mommy cum, honey."

"Yes, mommy. I want you to. I want to make you cum so hard."

I slumped forward, my face against the carpet, thrusting my ass up against him.

"You're so beautiful, mom. I've wanted you for so long. As long as I can remember." Suddenly his hand let go of my hair, slid down my back, and then a finger slipped into my ass. That drove me over the edge. I screamed out to him, screamed out his name, silently praying that the house was still empty. He pushed forward and down, pushed me down flat on my stomach, into the carpet. I felt his whole weight bearing down through his cock, deep inside me. My son inside me. My son's finger in my ass. My son's toes digging into the backs of my knees. His mouth biting down on my shoulder.

"You're making mommy come so hard," I cooed gently, still riding out the spasms of my orgasm.

"I'm going to cum again, mom."

I shook my head. "Take it out of me."

"But I want to cum."

I shook my head again. "Take it out and cum on my face like the porn stud you are."

That got him out of me, and I rolled over, sliding down between his legs. He stood for a moment, looking down at me as I licked my lips, silently begging for his juices. Then he knelt, raised my head with one hand, and with the other, squeezed the shaft of his cock. I could see the bottom of it pulsating, and closed my eyes a second before I felt his hot cream spurting onto my face.

"Oh mom!"

I opened my mouth wide, felt more cum landing on my tongue. "That's it, cum for mommy," I said, unable to stop grinning. He collapsed on top of me, his breath heavy and slow. I licked the cum off my lips and slowly opened my eyes.

"Kiss me," I said.

He did so, slipping his tongue between my lips. I hadn't swallowed yet, and I let him slip his tongue through his own cum. He lapped it up, and then raised his head above me, parted his lips, and let his cum slide again into my mouth. This time I let it go right down my throat.

"That's so hot, Peter."

"I know, mom. You should see yourself in the mirror."

I rolled over. There was a floor-to-ceiling mirror only a few feet away, and I could see my face covered in long beads of cum. "I hear this makes great face cream," I said, gently rubbing my cheeks with my hands, massaging the sperm into my skin. "What do you think?" I asked, turning to Peter.

"Very shiny. Very beautiful," he said.

I sat up, and he gave me a big, warm hug. "I hope," he said, a touch of nervousness returning to his voice, "that we can do that again."

I smiled at him. "Well, you still have more cooking lessons tomorrow." I looked up at his bedside clock. "Speaking of which, you better go check on the cake. Stick a fork in it. If it sticks to the fork when you pull the fork out, it needs more time. If the fork comes out clean, it's done."

Peter began getting dressed, and I did the same. I couldn't find my shirt, but then I remembered I had taken it off on the stairs. I went out into the hallway to the stairs to look for it, but it wasn't there, which was odd. It must have been somewhere in Peter's room. I went and found a different shirt from my closet, taking a moment to look at myself again in the mirror. The skin on my face was indeed shiny and smooth from my son's lotion.

We had leftovers for dinner, and every time I looked across the table at Peter I would get distracted and horny. It was so bad that I could feel myself getting wet, and whenever I moved my thighs, they slid wetly against one another. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Peter looking deep into my eyes, and when I opened my eyes he was there, staring at me too. My knees stung from the rug-burns.

In the evening, I went upstairs early, claiming I needed a bath. Truth was I was too horny to think. Part of me was shocked that I didn't feel guilt or regret. But the sex had been so good, so hot and intense that I couldn't think negatively about it. I undressed in my room, and opened the drawer to get my nightgown. Inside was a letter. The envelope just said, "Mom."

How sweet, a love letter from my Peter. I slipped on my nightgown and took the letter with me to the bathroom. What dirty things did he have to say? I could sit in the tub, read his letter, and masturbate. That would be a good end to the evening.

I sunk into the tub, keeping my fingers dry for the time-being so as not to smudge the letter. But as I unfolded it, I recognized immediately that the writing was not Peter's. It was Ethan's.

Dear Mom;

I'm sorry for putting this in a letter, but I couldn't imagine any other way to talk to you about it. We were let out of school early today, and I came home around 2:30. When I came home, I found your blouse on the stairs, and I heard sounds coming from Peter's room. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help hearing what you and Peter were saying and doing. You don't need to worry, I have no intention of telling anyone. I just felt that it was important for you to know that I know. I guess you're probably lucky that it was me that came home early and not Dad. By the way, I put your shirt in the laundry hamper.

xxoo

Ethan

I put the letter on the floor and sunk down into the tub. Shit. Ethan was right, we had been careless. Ethan knew, and Olivia probably suspected. That was two people more than should know about us. Could I trust Ethan to keep a secret? I wasn't sure. He was an awkward guy, 19 years old and just about to go away to college, but still having little of the maturity that Peter had. But no, I trusted him. I tried to put it out of my mind, focusing on Peter's gorgeous cock at my lips, in the seconds before he came on my face. My pussy responded, opening up to my fingers. But then I found myself imagining Ethan, sitting on the floor outside Peter's room, his pants open, stroking himself with my silk blouse. Listening to his mother and his brother fucking. What had he heard? What had I said? I had told Peter to fuck me like a dog, told him to make mommy his bitch. How embarrassing! Still, it would have turned Ethan on so much. He would have been imagining himself fucking me from behind.

A new scenario began to visualize in my mind: I stand in the kitchen, alone. Ethan comes in, and I can see right away that he has an erection beneath his corduroy pants. He tells me he heard. He knows how Peter and I were fucking, he heard it all, he even tape-recorded some of it. And he tells me he'll tell dad... send the tapes to him at work. Unless I get down on my knees right now and suck his cock. So I do.

I masturbated as I imagined all of this, my pussy opening up so wide that my fingers were becoming ineffectual. I took a slender shampoo bottle and slipped the head inside myself. Much better. I imagined my geeky younger son blackmailing me, fucking me up the ass, making me fuck him in the back of the minivan when I picked him up from school. Making me fuck all his friends too, all of them equally geeky, but so horny and so eager to cum all over me.